Under Ground, page 21
But it was too late. As Paul kissed Katka, the first trainload of criminals was unloading at Mesabi station. The men were ordered to walk straight to the boardinghouses where they were being lodged. Most, however, got lost along the way and ended up at Vince Torelli’s boardinghouse.
As the men entered the tavern, Leppe, Brina, and the other sporting girls knew immediately that their lives had just turned from grim to worse. Brina walked straight to Vince, who was pouring vodka into a glass behind the bar.
“You best call the law, Vince. I ain’t never seen a sort looking this unwholesome before. Call the law, or I’m out. Maria, too.”
Vince laughed. “Call the law? Got news for you, doll face. The law hath arrived. And you ain’t going nowhere but where I tell you to go.” He handed her the vodka he had just poured. “I suggest you drink up. Gonna be a long night.”
CHAPTER 38
Two days passed. In those forty-eight hours, the recruited company guards had made their presence known in town. They stayed up late into the night drinking whiskey and occasionally getting into fights with each other. They wandered the streets of town, popping in and out of taverns. A few of them walked up to Merritt Lake, past the Slovenski Dom, to swim. They could perform no legal duties until they were deputized, so their first few days were like a paid vacation.
The strikers walked the picket lines in shifts from 6 a.m. until 9 p.m. Each mine had its own revolving circle of men holding protest signs. The women came to deliver lunches and refreshments. Sometimes the women with older children stayed and sang or chanted slogans with their husbands. But the wives with young children had too many chores to finish, and most only lingered long enough to exchange food and quick greetings. Because the company deputies were still not authorized to work, the strikers outnumbered the guards by at least thirty to one at every mine. There had been no violence.
At night, the strikers met secretly to plan. The groups that could not speak English met at boardinghouses in the middle of the night. Other larger gatherings assembled in the forest.
The deputizing ceremony was slated to begin at 8 a.m. on June 21 in Biwabik. Katka was there on time, but she noted that only a handful of the new arrivals showed up. The rest meandered over to the courthouse closer to 10 a.m. Some obviously hadn’t slept yet. Many were still drunk from the night before. They laid about the grass of the courthouse lawn, some snoring loudly. None seemed in a hurry to start the job they’d been hired to do, especially since they knew so little about it.
Finally, at 10:30 a.m., Mr. Augustine Stone, owner of the Oliver, and Sheriff Turner came out onto the lawn. The sheriff handed each man a shiny five-point badge. He looked at his new deputies with disdain. They were a mangy lot. How many of these men had he arrested previously?
The sheriff looked about at the crowd, as if taking inventory of which labor leaders and strikers had shown up. Andre the Bulgarian was not there. Milo was nowhere to be seen. Sam Scarlett was there, standing by himself near the regal steps leading to the front door. Paul was there too, holding his Luger, standing protectively next to Katka, who was vigilantly taking notes. Adeline Sherek and Helen Cerkvenik stood across the street with a group of women outside the mercantile. A few businessmen were there with their wives, and several children hung in the perimeter. Harris Maki was present, his buggy parked on Main Street. Andy, the soda pop distributor, had been there since early morning. It was the hottest summer anyone could remember, and Andy was doing well. He had already sold more than five hundred bottles to the new deputies.
The sheriff motioned for the men to rise. Katka watched as the recruited men raised their right hands and swore to be stewards of justice. More than a few men laughed as they did so; the irony was lost on no one. After they had received their badges and had taken their oath, the men came up, one by one, and were issued weapons. A few men fired shots into the air.
“Stop!” the sheriff yelled. “None of that. We can send you back where you came from and don’t you forget it! Do not fire without cause. Do not discharge your weapons unless provoked. This is a town. There are children living here! Which one of you hoodlums wants to go back to jail?”
No one spoke.
“Do as I say. I assure you, you’ll have plenty of action if you’re patient. You can fire your weapon anytime you see a striker committing a crime. As for crime...” The sheriff took a document out of his pocket and read from it. “‘It is hereby declared a crime for union miners to gather in groups of four or more.’ Did you all hear that? It is against the law for union miners to gather in groups of four or more!” The deputies looked around at the miners and townspeople who had assembled. There were groups of women, but no men in groups greater than three, except in Harris Maki’s cart. But they were old men, not union miners.
“You were right about that,” Katka whispered to Paul.
“They make that rule during every major strike,” Paul said. “It’s good we were prepared. I’ve seen men gunned down within seconds of the declaration.” The deputies scanned the crowd again, some registering obvious disappointment at the lack of disregard for the new law.
Sam Scarlett stepped forward and addressed the sheriff loudly. “None of us here would be stupid enough to violate the decree made by a lawman like yourself, Sheriff Turner,” he said sarcastically. “But what about the townsfolk who are not present? Been my experience that the law needs to be made known before a man can knowingly break it, ain’t that right? Just how do you plan to make that law known, Sheriff?”
The sheriff held the document high in the air. “Law’s written out plain as my face. Before high noon, fliers with the new law will be everywhere across the Range. There’ll be no excuses. Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it.”
“When does this law restricting the right to assemble take effect?” Scarlett asked. He spoke deliberately, loud enough for even the women at the mercantile to hear.
“The minute a man hears my voice describing the decree or reads the flier, I reckon.”
“When do you suspect the miners in Virginia will see this flier?”
“As soon as this ceremony is over, we’ll be dispatching some of the deputies west and some to the east. Our own Moose Jackson will be leading a team on horseback to Virginia.”
Katka looked over at Moose Jackson. Of course they had recruited him. She wondered who had taken over as bouncer at Vince Torelli’s.
The sheriff continued, “They should be there within a few hours. The law will take effect when they distribute the fliers.”
Paul took his watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. “They should be safe,” he whispered to Katka.
“Let’s hope.”
The sheriff continued speaking to his new deputies. “There are other crimes committed by the miners here. The strikers have officially declared war on the Oliver Mining Company, a subsidiary of U.S. Steel. As you all know, there’s a war going on overseas. Even if we ain’t officially in it, there’s a lot of weapons to be made and sold. Miners and steel workers are considered ‘essential workers.’ Gov. Burnquist has authorized us to do everything in our power to get these men to return to work and help get American steel overseas. ‘Men who refuse to help America in these turbulent times will be considered traitors and can receive sentences of up to twenty years in prison.’”
Everyone began talking at once. Seeing what a stir the declaration caused, the sheriff read it again. Katka wrote furiously in her notebook. English speakers translated as best they could to the non-English speakers.
“We can arrest men who don’t go back to work?” one of the new deputies asked.
“You can, but we’d rather you convince them than arrest them,” Stone said. “Your job is to help them make the right decision. We wish to give all the workers a chance to return to their jobs. We do not wish for any of our workers to go to jail. We want no person harmed. We will give them three days. Although America is not currently at war, we are supporting the British in any way we can. Steel has never been more valuable or necessary. Helping the war effort is patriotic.”
People in the crowd began to yell. Many had come here to escape war. No one wanted to get involved in a war if they didn’t understand the reasons.
“It is our duty as human beings to avoid war when we can,” Adeline Sherek yelled. “Why fight the Germans? The British threatened our merchant ships too. This war is about money. Money for the master class. We don’t want money for the master class. We want to fill our children’s stomachs! We want chicken in our soup!”
“Chicken in our soup! Chicken in our soup!” The crowd started chanting in several languages. As the fervor gained momentum, the people instinctively drew closer to each other.
“Stand back!” Paul yelled in Slovenian as he saw two older men walk toward two younger men. “No groups of four or more men. Do not give them reason to fire!”
The men moved back. The crowd kept its distance, but kept shouting.
Mr. Augustine Stone held up his hand and addressed the midwife directly. “Let me remind you, Mrs. Sherek, that we have jails for womenfolk too. You are lucky we are kind enough to give you three days to learn the new law of the land.”
“I do not thank you,” she said. “I spit on your laws.”
“Arrest her!” Stone said. Three deputies quickly pounced on her. Helen Cerkvenik and Ava Nurmi held fast to her.
“Stop this! Release her!” Sam Scarlett screamed as townsfolk ran to her defense. “Do you wish to have violence within moments of your decree? Do you think you will persuade the workers to return to your slave caves if you arrest this woman here and now?”
“Arrest me!” Mrs. Sherek cried. “I would rather spend twenty years in prison than a lifetime with no hope for my children!”
Katka moved toward the steps, notebook in hand. “Mr. Stone,” she said. “I am recording everything that happens here. Within twenty-four hours, every word I write will be translated into thirty languages. Show some mercy, and I will record that as well. I only write the truth.”
Stone stared at her. “Who are you?”
“My name is Maria. I write for The Iron Range Ladies Journal.”
“No one takes seriously a women’s magazine. Who would read the writings of a girl, except silly girls like yourself, who cannot even vote? You are made to give men pleasure and babies milk.”
“It’s possible that you will not read what I write, sir. But you will be the only one who doesn’t.” Katka’s voice was even, strong. Her gaze was steadfast. Although Stone was twice her size and armed, she was not afraid.
Stone laughed loudly, as if he found Katka’s words hilarious.
“Let Mrs. Sherek go,” Katka said. “If not out of common decency, then for the sake of your own reputation.”
Stone considered her words for a moment, then gestured wildly. “Fine. Free the midwife. She’s hardly worth our energy!” The deputies took their hands off Adeline Sherek. “This ceremony is ended. Deputies, pick up your fliers. No arrests for three days. You will travel from town to town putting up fliers announcing the ban on assemblies, parades, protests, and the consequences of disobeying the governor’s edict to return to work. Sheriff Turner and his First Council will take care of everything.”
Mr. Stone stormed off to his motorcar. The townspeople stayed glued to their spots. They watched as the sheriff summoned his “First Council.” They were not from the prisons. They were from Biwabik and the neighboring towns. Katka recognized a few of the men, all of them large in stature. The tallest man appointed to the First Council was former bouncer Moose Jackson. Katka had never spoken to him, but she knew who he was. He was the man who had beaten Milo to a bloody pulp before he had come to live with Anton and Lily. Now this man would be in charge of the deputies who would patrol Biwabik and the mining towns surrounding it. She drew a quick sketch of him. As she drew, Moose Jackson caught her looking at him and smiled. Then he grabbed his crotch and squeezed it, raising his eyebrows up and down.
It began to rain, a fast downpour of giant droplets. Katka’s clothes were soaked in moments. People scattered across the street and took shelter under the building awnings.
Then, as quickly as it came, the rain stopped. Katka shivered. Even when Paul put his arm around her, she could not shake the chill. She knew with absolute certainty that her life was about to change.
CHAPTER 39
While the hung-over criminals were being deputized in Biwabik, approximately two thousand workers were lining up in Virginia for a rally and strike parade. It had not rained a drop there, although it was humid and overcast. Milo, Andre, Carlo Tresca, and Johan Koski spoke. Each organizer did his best to convince the strikers that the union understood their needs and had a plan for meeting them.
Johan Koski, using a bullhorn supplied by the Wobbly organizers, spoke first in English, then in Finnish. “We know the businesses around here, they been told not extend credit to strikers. We know that you are hungry. The Finns in my community have set up co-operative grocery stores. You can exchange food and services there to get you by. If you have nothing to exchange, tell someone at the co-op, and other arrangements will be made.”
Milo spoke in Slovenian and English. “We must keep our numbers high at the picket line. I know. It is not easy to see our old friends cross the line and get a paycheck that is two times higher than what it would be if we weren’t striking. They are benefitting from our sacrifice, and that is not fair. But so it goes. When workers unite, when they form under the big union, the companies all a sudden find gold coins in their pockets. All a sudden they can pay the wages they said they couldn’t afford. When ordinary workers like us band together, workers everywhere, even workers not in a union, reap the rewards. I hear our strike is in the newspaper all the way in the East, in Michigan, in Ohio, in West Virginia. The companies there are giving in to worker demands because they are afeard their workers will form unions and strike like we are doing. We are hungry, yes. Now. Here. But we are heroes everywhere.”
Carlo Tresca spoke in Italian and English. He explained what he imagined was going on in Biwabik with the deputizing of criminals. He explained that this was common practice and the thugs would be used to terrorize the workers. “We will form our own force,” he said, “to police your neighborhoods and protect our workers from harm. We do not have enough guns, but we expect to get some sent here in the next weeks. Big Bill Haywood himself from the IWW promised, and he is a man of his word. We have already set up a network who are informing us of company plans. If you hear anything, you must tell a strike leader immediately. It is possible that the brute deputies will arrive today to disrupt this rally. If they try to give you a flier, do not take it. If they speak to you, you cannot understand them. Understood?”
Andre spoke last. He explained how the company planned to make the workers look unpatriotic. “By fighting for our own equality and justice and dignity, we are honoring the spirit of America,” he said. “We do not want to fight the flag; we don’t want to fight anyone. Be peaceful, brothers. Do not make much noise. Let the mining companies be the ones to incite disorder. Keep your hands in your pockets and shame the company!”
They lined up, four abreast. Men took turns carrying a banner that read “One Big Union.” Some of the men carried red flags. Although most of the socialist miners were in the union, not all union members were socialists. For them, the red banners were a symbol of the blood they had spilled in the mines. Blood they hoped to never spill again. The band played “Solidarity Forever.” They marched through the streets of Virginia to the Alpena mine. The men walking the picket line cheered. The parade marched back into town down Second Avenue. When they got to Seventh Street, they discovered they could not cross. They stopped and stood in silence looking at what lay before them. Forty-four newly deputized lawmen wearing shiny badges and dirty clothes sat atop their horses, smiling smugly. Each deputy held a stack of fliers.
Paul and Katka had left Biwabik for Virginia at the same time as the deputies. Because they had taken the train, they arrived first. They stood under the awning of Oleson’s Bar with several other patrons.
Moose Jackson was positioned in the middle of the deputies, his gigantic frame perched on a strong gelding. He looked incredibly pleased with his new position of power. He began to yell. “My men will be distributing a pamphlet that you all must read!” The criminals-turned-deputies approached the men, shoving fliers toward their faces. Moose began to read the same document that the sheriff had read earlier regarding the governor’s edict. He stumbled over the word “insubordination.” He skipped it and moved on to “disloyalty, mutiny (which he pronounced as mutt-in-nye)...or refusal of duty in the military...or shall willfully ob...obstruct...shall face up to twenty years in prison.” He was so intent on trying to read and pronounce the words on his pamphlet that he paid no attention to the assembly before him.
“Moose!” one of the deputies yelled. “These son of a bitches are all fresh off the boat. Not a one will take a flier. They can’t read or speak a lick of English. Look at this.” He pushed a flier toward Milo. Milo put his hands in his pocket and kept his eyes on his shoes.
Moose Jackson looked at Milo, as if trying to place him. His forehead crinkled and then eased as he recognized Milo as someone he had once punched. He responded to the deputy. “They’re faking it. Force the immigrant slime to take ’em.” Each striker stood his ground. The fliers flittered off the men’s chests onto the street. It was still humid, and the air was stagnant.
“How about this?” Moose said. “I got a new law to deliver. It ain’t okay for you men to have your little parades anymore. As of this morning, they is against the law. This law be different from the other one, the one that says we can arrest you for not working. That one don’t take effect for three days. But this one, it takes effect right now. Sheriff Turner decreed it this morning. No more than three union men can assemble together in a group on public property. And what do I see here? One, two, three, four. Four, right there in the front row. Four more behind them. And four across as far back as I can see. Now, do we need to arrest you boys, or are you going to split up and go back home?”
