Death at Pullman (4 page)

My racing heartbeat had slowed down to the rhythm of the clip-clop of the horse's hooves by the time Mr. Safer's carriage carried us back to the heart of the city. But we were not returning to Hull House just yet. We had discussed the situation thoroughly on the return trip and concluded that—even though our attempt to mediate had so far failed—the situation was so desperate that an appeal directly to Mr. George Pullman himself must at least be attempted. We were all agreed that any reasonable person must understand the inequity of the situation in which the same company that found itself in the position of reducing its workers' salaries would not, at the same time, reduce the rent those workers paid back to the company. Not to do so was ludicrous and could not be defended. The situation we found in Pullman was bad and would soon get much worse. Food was scarce and medical attention was nonexistent. But we had sensed clearly that the striking workers were shocked by the violent death of Brian O'Malley. Mr. Pullman had only to offer even a slight reduction in rent and everyone concerned would be relieved to see the end to this strike. We felt sure that he would be as appalled as we were by the violent turn of events and that he must want to seize this opportunity to put it all behind both himself and his workers.

Miss Addams and I, at least, were convinced that Mr. Pullman would welcome this opportunity to end the strike. I noticed that Mr. Safer did not directly contradict us, but he appeared to have a much less optimistic expectation of how Pullman would react to the news. Nonetheless, the banker firmly agreed that the next step must be to approach the man directly.

So it was that we found ourselves trotting along Prairie Avenue on the near south side of the city. Here Pullman's mansion stood alongside the huge new homes of people such as Marshall Field and John Glessner. I was curious to see the home of the inventor of the Pullman Palace Cars.

When my father was alive, we took Pullman cars a number of times to visit an aunt in Albany. I remembered how amazed we had been to walk into a decorated drawing room with red plush chairs, chandeliers, and varnished wood siding. The ceilings were painted like those of a French chateau and curtains hung in the windows. But most clever and curious had been the way the room was transformed at night into tiers of sleeping berths separated by hangings. My brother and I had our own little room that way. The dining car was even more lavish, with delicate china and cut glass decanters. Never would any other train trip measure up after that and I often remembered that comfort when I later travelled west in less luxurious compartments. The Palace Cars had introduced a standard of comfort to travel that changed the way people thought about long trips. It was George Pullman who recognized that desire in the public and exploited it.

As we slowed to turn, I glimpsed the striking stone house of my friends, John and Fannie Glessner, just across from the drive of the Pullman mansion. Mr. Safer assured us that as an old friend, or at least familiar acquaintance, of George Pullman he felt no compunction about arriving without an appointment on an errand of such importance.

Mr. Safer was recognized and greeted by a dignified butler who led us into a drawing room to wait while he went to see if Mr. Pullman would see us. It was only a short while before we were joined by the man himself.

“Louis, how are you? This is a surprise.” Pullman heartily shook Mr. Safer's hand and the banker introduced us, apologizing for the intrusion and briefly explaining our errand. At this, the millionaire's expression turned sour.

He was a man of large frame with short graying hair, dark eyebrows, and a spade-shaped brush of white beard on his chin. He looked displeased when he heard what we had come for and cut off the explanations by abruptly turning and leading us to his study. We followed him across the broad foyer to a book-lined room where he took his place behind a massive mahogany desk, gesturing to chairs facing him. When we were seated he leaned back in his armchair, regarding us with a grim expression. I noticed Mr. Safer was already shaking his head with disappointment but Miss Addams took up the argument.

“Mr. Pullman, we have just returned from a visit to your company town. As part of a committee of the Civic Federation we were asked to attempt to arbitrate the dispute between you and your workers, which has led to this strike and lockout. We have news of a most terrible tragedy there.”

“If you refer to the man found hung in the brick shed, I have been informed,” he interrupted. “Mr. Wickes, the plant manager, telephoned me. I can only say I am not surprised by further evidence of violent methods used by these union agitators in their attempts to intimidate and dictate to the working men. I hold Mr. Debs and his union responsible. Such violence was unheard of before they made their unwelcome appearance.”

“Exactly who is responsible is not yet known and must be left to the police,” Miss Addams told him. “But it is clear that all of the people are terribly shocked by this act. We have come to encourage you to take advantage of this horrible tragedy by bringing this strike to an end. Having spent the afternoon speaking with a representative of the strike committee we are very confident that it would be possible in this hour of grief to fulfill our mission and to arbitrate a just agreement that will end this strike. We are sure that a minor adjustment to lower the rents during this time of economic distress is all it would take to get the workers to agree to return to the works by next week at the latest.”

“There is nothing to arbitrate,” Pullman pronounced from across his vast desk, without moving a muscle, beyond the stiff up and down of his jaw to form the words.

“But, Mr. Pullman, surely you see that they cannot live so. Their demand is for an increase in pay by a third which would return it to the levels of one year ago, but after hearing them out we are convinced that they would settle for a reduction in rent which is comparable to the reduction in wages they have experienced.”

“I will tell you, Miss Addams, what I have told them. A year ago the works employed some five thousand eight hundred. Due to the general economic depression contracts were down and it was necessary to lay off many men. By November of last year there were only two thousand on the payroll. In order to employ as many men as possible it has been necessary to bid on contracts at a rate much lower than we have ever done before. And this was done only with a view towards providing employment for as many as possible. To do this we bid for contracts at a loss, even eliminating use of capital and machinery costs from the estimates. By doing so we have managed to keep four thousand three hundred on the payroll although it has had to be done at a lower rate. Even so—as I have offered to show them in the books—the current contract for Long Island cars is being done at a loss of twelve dollars a car.” He carefully straightened several items on his desk before he continued. “Furthermore, we have expended an additional one hundred and sixty thousand dollars on improvements to the town itself since last August, which would have been spread over several years were it not for the desire to provide employment.”

“Yes, but Mr. Pullman, the rents have remained what they were a year ago. With less work at a lower pay scale you must see that the people are inevitably falling into debt. They cannot pay the rents.”

“These are hard economic times, Miss Addams, as Mr. Safer, a banker, can tell you. The Pullman Loan and Savings showed over four hundred and eighty thousand dollars in workers' savings at this time last year. By November that had fallen to three hundred and twenty-four thousand but since then it has been rising slightly, which shows an overall improvement in situation for them.”

“But, sir, the individual situations are quite dire. I have seen evidence of an elderly woman facing eviction and a man with eight children who, after paying back rent, was left with two dollars to feed them. The report is that on average there is only eight cents per meal available. Don't you see? You must lower the rents, sir.”

“Excuse me, madam, I must do nothing of the sort. The capital invested in the building of the town is being repaid via the rents. The investment was very heavy and the return on that investment is currently below four percent. No reduction is possible.”

At this, the banker, Mr. Safer, spoke up. “You must extend the return over a longer term and lower it. Good God, man, the company paid dividends this year higher than any comparable company in the country.”

This criticism caused Pullman's dark eyebrows to lower and a pronounced frown to appear on the millionaire industrialist's face. “That is no business of yours, sir. It is my company. It bears my name. It will be run according to my orders and no others. I tell you there is nothing to arbitrate. We took contracts at a loss in order to keep the men employed. We would better have closed the shops for the winter and lost no money that way. We will lose nothing by this and, as in the strike of eighty-six, they will soon come to their senses. At that time they stayed out ten days before they voluntarily returned to their places. This time they will have to wait until we reopen the works. Then Mr. Debs will see what will happen.”

I stared at him, appalled. So that was his plan. He wanted them to starve. Then, when they were most desperate, he would reopen the works and see how many of them would stay faithful to their pledge to strike and how many would return on the same conditions, having gained nothing but debt. It was diabolical.

“But, Mr. Pullman,” I couldn't help asking, “surely you will lose money by leaving unfinished the work for which you have already signed contracts.”

“We will lose nothing. There are strike clauses in all of the contracts. The company will lose nothing by this.”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea such things existed.

Jane Addams took up the fight. “Mr. Pullman, it is clear that you have every right and duty to preserve the company which you have worked so hard to build. But what of the people? Surely they are
your
people under
your
care. We all admire the town you built for your workers. We have thought it the best, the most exemplary, plan for a modern industry. Surely you do not want to see the people of your model town in such dire straits. The children are hungry.”

He sat up in his chair, his shoulders twitching like a bear bothered by a wasp. “You are mistaken, madam, if you think the town of Pullman was at any time planned as an exercise in philanthropy. It was not. It was, and remains, a business proposition. The town of Pullman was built for productivity and it must produce. In building it far from the noise and dirt of the city it was my intention not only to increase productivity by providing healthful surroundings, but to prevent the infiltration of these foreign agitators with their unions and demonstrations. I will not have it, Miss Addams.” His fist came down on the desk. “I will not be dictated to by the likes of Debs and his union. It is absurd for the Pullman workers to even be included in a railway union. The Pullman works are not a railway. It is only by a technicality, and because the company owns the line from the city to the town, that they dare to unionize here. I will not have it.”

Mr. Safer answered this. “But they are part of the American Railway Union, George, whether it's by a technicality or not. And a lot of people are worried about what could happen. Don't you see there is a lot of sympathy for them out there? It makes no sense that you cut the wages but leave the rents up. That is creating a huge amount of sympathy for the strike. And if it goes on there is fear that there may be a boycott of the Pullman cars. There is talk of railway men refusing to hook up the palace cars. What will happen then?”

“That is not my problem, Louis. The railroads contract for the use of the cars and the roads will bear the expense if they do not get them hooked up.”

“You'll make no friends of the others if you go on in this stubborn fashion, George.” Mr. Safer shook his head.

“I am not in business to make friends, Safer. I am in business to make money. The Pullman Company will not suffer from this strike.”

“You mean not financially, Mr. Pullman,” Miss Addams said. “But the Pullman workers are suffering. Very badly.”

“Enough, madam. Even my own children—my lazy, good-for-nothing, spendthrift sons and my ignorant younger daughter—dare to criticize. Only Florence, my eldest, knows enough to leave this to me. I will do no more. The workmen can distance themselves from those dangerous union agitators and return to reason, or they can make it on their own. They are criminals, Debs and his men. You will see.”

It was clear the interview was over, with frustration on both sides, but as we rose to leave I couldn't help asking one more question. “Mr. Pullman, does the company really employ men to spy on their fellow workers?”

The millionaire rose to his feet impatiently and marched us to the door while he talked. “You have no idea of the type of men we are up against, young woman. Don't you know what happened at Haymarket? They are dangerous. There is every reason to believe they will attempt sabotage. We have received information that there is a plot to blow up the clock tower in the administration building. You ask me, do we plant spies at their meetings? I tell you we will do everything necessary to preserve the Pullman factory works. Now, good evening.”

With that he closed the wide-paneled door of his library in my face, leaving the still dignified, if slightly startled, butler to lead us to the front entrance.

I felt a burning in my chest as I followed the others. It was incredible to me that this man could be so heartless. He did not have one ounce of feeling for the worried, hungry people I had met in Pullman that morning. They were nothing to him, not even faces. They were amounts beside a dollar sign in the ledgers of the Pullman Loan and Savings, that was all. I was disgusted as we drove away from the stone mansion where the portly industrialist was no doubt sitting down to an elegant supper with his recalcitrant younger children and his obsequious eldest daughter. I could not understand how Florence Pullman could ratify her father's inflated opinion of himself and his all-knowingness.