Death at Pullman (12 page)

It was all I could think to say, but it was heartfelt and the crowd responded warmly. Mr. LeClerc took my elbow and guided both me and Fiona to the stairs. Applause was still loud when we reached the bottom and I felt myself pulled back to him so that he could whisper in my ear, “I thank you. The little MacGregor, she lost her nerve, but a woman like you would never let us down. I thank you.” It was said so close and softly in my ear I felt a tingle run down my spine and blushed.

Meanwhile, Mr. MacGregor was to have the final say before the vote. I noticed a lot of activity at the table below the stage. Mr. Mooney had said that Debs and Howard were against a strike, but emotion was running high in the room and there seemed to be an argument going on about how to word a resolution. The final appeal did nothing to restrain the feelings in the room.

Mr. MacGregor was once again enumerating the difficulties of the Pullman workers, the lowering of their wages, and the high rents. He went down a list of figures proving this yet again and then made a final, rousing statement.

“Now this, brother delegates, is what the Pullman system will bring us all to if this situation is not faced fairly and squarely in the American way, for Americans by the American Railway Union. It is victory or death.” There was a huge response of applause and stamping of feet. “And so to you we confide our cause. Do not desert us as you hope not to be deserted. Be brothers in deed as well as in name, even as we are brothers in need. Every man of you, every honest heart among you, every willing hand stands ready. You know you can; will you?”

This was answered by a huge uproar of yells, applause, and foot stamping. Tears ran down the little man's face. There was a flurry of activity at the table until Raoul was handed a sheet of paper. He rushed to the podium, shook the hand of Mr. MacGregor, and then started to speak several times before the room quieted enough to hear him. “Moved . . . hereby moved . . . ” he took a breath and shouted out, while reading directly from the sheet of paper, “Moved that, unless the Pullman Company should consent to an arbitration of existing difficulties by twelve o'clock Tuesday, June 26
^th
, the members of the ARU will place a boycott on their cars.”

The roar in response was deafening and in the resulting turmoil of shouting, stamping, and the tossing of hats, the necessary second was made and the voting was done. The vote was in. The ARU would refuse to hook up the Pullman palace cars to the trains.

 “This will bring an end to the strike,” I insisted. “Pullman will have to agree to talks or else none of his coaches will be carried by any train manned by ARU members and that is most of them. Certainly it is all the lines in and out of Chicago.”

We were in the makeshift clinic above the S & H Grocery where I'd found Alden and Dr. Chapman in conversation. Despite the check from the union, it was necessary to close the relief center early again for lack of stores but I was still elated by the result of the previous evening's vote. I wanted to prove to Stephen Chapman that I was right about the ARU and how the support of that larger union was going to bring the stalemate to an end.

“I hope you are right.” He looked weary and I remembered it was only a few months since he had suffered the shotgun blast that shattered his right arm. I wondered whether he was fully recovered. The long days at the clinic were taking a toll on him. I felt guilty for arguing with him, but I also felt a spurt of joy in my heart. I was convinced that Raoul LeClerc and Eugene Debs and the ARU had come to the rescue of Pullman and soon all would be right again. I didn't mean to gloat but, for once, I was right and he was wrong, despite my comparative lack of experience in the world.

“Emily, come to the city with me if you're done here. There's something you've got to see,” my brother told me.

“What?” I could see that, whatever it was, he had already told Stephen. “Will you come, too, Dr. Chapman?”

“I am not finished here. I'll close up when I'm done. You should go with Alden, Emily.”

“To do what?”

“You'll see.” Alden took my arm and led me to the coatroom. He insisted on keeping his secret. That was tiresome of him but I was in a good mood. Good enough to humor him. It was such a relief to know we were not alone in trying to sustain the striking workers. Now that they had the power of the full ARU behind them I was convinced they would succeed in reaching a just settlement.

We took the train into the city and Alden led me through the crowds. When we reached his destination I recognized the red brick of the building known as the Rookery. Inside, he led me to a light-filled central atrium. It was one of the very tall, impressive buildings that Chicago was becoming famous for.

“It's on the eighth floor. Come on, we'll take the elevator.”

Upstairs, the operator let us off and the door clanged shut behind us as Alden hurried down the corridor. When we stepped inside a large open room, it appeared that Alden was already well known there. A couple of dozen desks piled with papers, and several having telephones on them, were placed in rows around the room. Bells were ringing and men were talking, while one man in shirtsleeves chalked things on a board at the other end. But Alden headed for a row of glassed-in offices on the side. I followed him, getting a few curious glances from the mostly male office workers. There were only a few women here and there, mostly sitting at typing machines.

“Hello, Cabot. This your sister, then?” Alden was greeted by a rotund, balding man who was hurriedly donning his coat as we approached. He waved us into his office.

“Yes, my sister, Emily Cabot. Emily, this is Mr. Spike Morgan, general manager of the Michigan Central Railroad.”

“How do you do, Mr. Morgan.” I was a little confused. “Excuse me, but my brother has not informed me of much. What is this place?” We sat down inside the glassed-in office where we still had a view of the room full of people.

“This, Miss Cabot, is the General Managers' Association. It is a voluntary, unincorporated association made up of twenty-four railroads centering, or terminating, in Chicago. As I have been telling your brother, here, we men of the roads have found it necessary to cooperate just as much as the men who have organized the ARU. The ARU's members are drawn from many railroads and many different trades across the railroad business. Our organization is a cooperative on the management side, you see?”

As we were looking out towards the room, I half rose from my seat when there was a sudden movement at the doorway. It was Mr. Jennings. “So, the Pullman Company is part of your organization?” I asked.

Mr. Morgan was staring at the Pullman assistant manager with a glum look. “Not officially. It's not a railroad and furthermore, Miss Cabot, some of us—perhaps most of us—do not approve of the way Pullman is treating his workers. No wonder they strike. No, as I have been informing your brother—so he can have the complete story to tell his readers—we don't particularly care for Pullman. If that were the only consideration, the General Managers' Association would not be involved. I can't see any of us lifting a finger for Pullman.” He shrugged and turned away from the glass window. “But the ARU is a different story. Eugene Debs and his outfit are out to try to take control of one of the most vital industries in this country and we're not going to stand by and let them do it. No, siree. Not in my lifetime.

“Look here. If Debs has his way, his group will be able to paralyze us. We can't let that happen and we won't let it happen. You see those men over there? They're on the line to Baltimore where we've got two hundred out of work railroad men ready to step into jobs if the ARU strikes. Debs says the ARU members will refuse to hook up Pullman cars, does he? Well, we've got men that will. Any one of his men who refuses will be fired and replaced. They think they can take us down because the roads won't run. But we're ready for them. One call and a trainload of them are on the way.” He was using two fingers to point to the board where figures were chalked. “And there'll be violence. We know it and we're prepared for it. We can't let them close down transportation and we won't. You see that contraption over there? That's a hot line directly to the White House. It's a special telegraph line direct to President Grover Cleveland and Attorney General Richard Olney. We've got your brother here and other reporters from all over the country and we're going to make sure they know the truth about what is going on, once this thing starts. And when the ARU shows its true colors, and starts destroying property and threatening lives, we are going to be sure the government does something about it.”

I was stunned. This was a far greater reaction than I ever would have imagined. “But the ARU only wants Pullman to agree to arbitration,” I protested. Suddenly, this room filled with so many powerful men was making me feel very small.

“That's what they say, Miss Cabot, but that's not the real story. They really plan to wreak havoc. They are dangerous men and they are planning violence even as we speak. That's what brought Jennings here.” He pointed at the tall man from Pullman, who was talking to several others. “He's reporting on a plan to blow up the clock tower down there. That's the sort of people we are dealing with in the ARU, Miss Cabot. Don't be misled by them.”

I stood up. “That may be true of some people in the ARU, Mr. Morgan, but it is not true of the men and women of Pullman. I know them and I know they have no plans to damage property or endanger lives by doing any such thing. I thank you for your time. It was a mistake for my brother to bring me here.”

“I'm sorry if I upset you, miss, but it's good for you and the others at Hull House to know who you are supporting.” He held open the door. “I'm afraid we are in for difficult times, but it's Debs and the ARU who are bringing it on. We're only trying to defend ourselves and our stockholders' investments.”

I stood up and looked out at the rows of desks. “Mr. Morgan, none of these men look undernourished. None of them have to go home to hungry children. And you say they don't even want to support George Pullman. Even you can see he is a stubborn, arrogant man. Yet, here you all are prepared to oppose the poor workers of Pullman with all the wealth and power at your fingertips. No, I do not understand your position. I do not understand it at all.”

“I'm very sorry to hear it, miss. Good day. You're welcome back any time, Mr. Cabot. We want to keep the press informed.”

I marched out through the desks. It was appalling. As I made my way out to the corridor, suddenly I was afraid. I could no longer count on a timely end to the problem. With this type of response in readiness, the struggle was going to continue. We would need so much more at the relief station and our supplies were coming to an end.

“Miss Cabot, I'm glad to see you. I told Dr. Chapman we will be happy to provide you with a room at the Florence Hotel.” It was Mr. Jennings, who joined us to wait for the elevator. Appalled as I was by the thought of the power of the General Managers' Association, I looked at him with a total lack of comprehension. He seemed to realize it. “If the ARU carries out their threat and the trains stop running. Dr. Chapman came by and asked if we could accommodate you in that case. He thought you might need to stay down in Pullman if you could not get back to the city. I told him we would be happy to oblige you.”

I tried to cover the repulsion I felt at this suggestion. Dr. Chapman had already assumed the worst would happen and officiously arranged things for me. After what I had just seen, I was afraid he was right. But that only made me more angry. “It will not be necessary for me to stay at the Florence Hotel, Mr. Jennings, if Mr. Pullman will only have the common decency to meet with his own workmen. The only request is for a meeting to discuss the matter.”

“Oh, no, I'm afraid that won't happen, Miss Cabot. Mr. Pullman has already left.”

“Left? What do you mean?”

“He and his family have gone to their summer home, in New Jersey.”

 “How can they let him do this? How can he be allowed to pack up and leave town?” It was the next day and I was stalking back and forth across the clinic floor, in front of a quiet Dr. Chapman, who was eating a sandwich, and Alden, who straddled a chair.

“Who do you think could stop him?” My brother shrugged. “No one even knew they had left till the company spokesman announced it. Did you know he has a track that leads right up to the back door of his mansion on Prairie Avenue? They were all out the back door without anyone knowing.” To my exasperation, Alden seemed to admire the plan.

“And what will happen to the people of Pullman?” I was angry. “I had to close early again because we ran out of supplies.”

It was that which had driven me down to the doctor's clinic. I could not bear to turn away any more people that day.

“Now that Pullman's fled and there's no chance for talks, they are sure to stop hooking up the Pullman cars tomorrow. That's the deadline,” Alden reminded us, as if we could forget.

Dr. Chapman crumpled up the brown paper from his sandwich. “There will be trouble with the trains. Have you brought your things down to the Florence, Emily?”

It was infuriating. “Yes, yes. We sent them over from the station this morning. But how can I stay there with all those company people happily eating full meals while everyone around us goes to bed hungry?”

Dr. Chapman sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You are here to distribute relief supplies, Emily, not to take sides. What use is it to the Pullman workers if you are stranded between here and the city or, worse yet, if you come to some harm? There will be trouble over this.” His dark brown eyes appraised me. I knew he doubted whether I knew what I was getting into.

“What about you? Have you taken a room at the Florence? Or will you return to the university and forget all this by working in your laboratory?”

“Emily,” Alden scolded me. “How could you?”

“It's all right, Alden,” the doctor interrupted. “In some ways perhaps I believe I would do more good in the laboratory at the university. The situation here will only get worse. However, I have some patients who require my continued attention and when I answered Miss Addams request for my help here I put no time limit or reservations on my acceptance.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Besides, the conditions are not so very different from my upbringing in Baltimore. I have a bed,” he pointed to his examination table and I saw a pile of blankets in a corner. “That's more than I've had sometimes, I can tell you.” He was raised by an itinerant preacher of a father who brought the boy into the slums with him when not abandoning him to his mother's wealthy family.

“Oh, Stephen, if you will stay you must come to the hotel as well. Why should I have a hot meal and a soft bed while you are here?”

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Alden answered for him. “Because you're a young lady, Em, and you can't be roughing it over the corner store. Besides, look at it this way, perhaps you can find out what the company is up to and tell MacGregor. Who knows what you'll find out. Keep your ears open.”

“Alden, you are despicable. I am not taking advantage of Mr. Jennings offer in order to spy. You
would
think of that.”

“Oh, Emily. Make up your mind, will you? You don't have to be such a prig. Come on. I'll walk you as far as the station. If you don't hurry a bit you'll get no hot meal tonight. They'll close the dining room.”

I allowed myself to be shooed out by the doctor, who looked quite tired, and I continued to argue with Alden all the way to the station. He ran for his train then, and I headed for the Florence Hotel.

It irked me to realize I would have to enter by the ladies' entrance on the north porch. The evening was warm and dark with a slight breeze you could hear rustling the young trees that lined the road. The smell of roast beef and beets still hung in the air, although the sounds from the dining room were of clearing up, not the gentle rattle of cutlery created by diners. I was too restless to go in, and the night was warm, so I walked past the north porch and around the side where I saw a curious sight. Light spilled out from a doorway and the clatter of dishes made it clear the kitchen was beyond. A woman wiping her hands on an apron was talking to a man who held a carton in his arms. I caught my breath at the distinct voice that I could recognize even at that low tone. It was Raoul LeClerc.

The woman heard my approach. She twisted the apron in her hands and frowned with suspicion. He turned then, and saw me. I stopped, not wanting to intrude as he spoke again to the woman. He stepped quickly to a small cart and added the box to some others. I saw that Fiona MacGregor was with him. She looked up at him, glowing with adoration, as he smiled, whispered in her ear, and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

As she turned to pull the cart away, using a long handle, he took two quick steps to stand in front of me. “Miss Cabot, you have caught us.” He took my elbow and told me confidentially, as Fiona disappeared into the shadows, “The kitchen staff, they have leftovers . . . things that would only spoil . . . not good enough for the company men tomorrow.” The woman still stood in the doorway glaring at me, but he smiled and shook his head at her and she finally turned back into the kitchen. “At first we came to pick through the garbage. But the staff, they know what they cannot keep and would only throw away. So they give it, you see? Only it would be trouble for them if Jennings and the others knew. But you would not tell them, would you?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Of course not. You, who have come to feed the hungry with the help of Hull House. We are all so grateful for that.”

“I only wish we had more supplies so you did not have to dig in the garbage of the company managers. I am so sorry there is never enough.”

“No, no, it is not for you to be sorry. Not at all.” He looked around and gestured to the road. “Come, a little walk? I do not wish to be seen—you understand? And there is the lake. One of Pullman's many little artificial beauties. This way.”

I let him guide me across the road to the path around the little lake in front of the empty factory. The moon had just risen and was reflected on the serene face of the water. I had to admire Mr. LeClerc. While we were all becoming discouraged by the situation, he remained optimistic. When I admitted to having taken a room at the Florence, he was enthusiastic. “But, of course you must, Miss Cabot. Emily, may I call you Emily? You see, you must eat every meal there and not feel guilty, really. You will know that all the leftovers and scraps will go to good use. The more they have staying there, the more they can prepare, and the more they can pass out the door to us at the end of the night.” He put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I couldn't help but be warmed and invigorated by him, yet I was worried.

“Mr. LeClerc . . . Raoul . . . I don't understand how you can be so cheerful. Haven't you heard that Mr. Pullman has left town? Now there can be no arbitration without him. He has left and tomorrow is the deadline. Even the threats of the ARU not to hook up his parlor cars had no effect on him.”

“Exactly.” His face was close to mine in the darkness, almost touching. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, Emily, will begin a new day. A new world. Because tomorrow they will learn the power of workingmen when they unite. Not just Pullman, but all of them. The railroad men.”

“Raoul, there is something you should know. There is a group of railroad men, in the Rookery. They are prepared for a strike.”

He laughed. “The General Managers' Association? Do you think we don't know? But we know, Emily, and we are prepared, too.” We had stopped and he stood facing me now, hands on both my shoulders. His excitement ran through me like an electrical current. He stroked my cheek lightly. “You must not worry. You will see.”

And then he kissed me, lightly at first, and then with strength and passion. I knew I ought to pull away but, for once, I wouldn't let myself. I returned his passion with my own. I felt his hands moving down and with my own I felt the muscles of his shoulders. I stroked his hair. I knew it was wrong but somehow it did not matter. How could it be wrong to share such warmth? To depend on and explore each other? I felt a small dread of what I was getting into, but I squelched it and pressed myself into his arms. His mouth was on my neck.

Suddenly he dropped his hands. “I must take you back to the hotel, Miss Cabot.” He began to walk and I had to pull myself from a trance and trot to keep up with him. I was afraid for a moment that I had done something wrong, but he grabbed my hand and swung it.

“Tomorrow,” he told me. “Tomorrow at noon. You must come to Twelfth Street Station. Bring your brother. It will be worth his while, I promise you.” He stopped. We were back opposite the hotel entrance. “You will come, won't you?”

“I . . . yes . . . certainly. I will come.” I could get someone else to cover for me at the relief station.

“Until then, Emily.” He faded into the darkness, but I could hear him whistling as I climbed the steps to the ladies' entrance. I found my heart was beating rapidly.