Sweatshops R Us

History, New York City, Organized Labor, , , ,

The deadly clothing factory fire in Bangladesh last year might make an American feel complacent about workplace safety. While people in North America and Europe do benefit from occupational safety regulations, these regulations, in the U.S. at least, were written in the blood of victims of industrial accidents. One of the worst, and most transformative, of these was the fire at the Triangle Waist company in New York in 1911.

Von Drehle writes a gripping account of the events leading to this catastrophe that claimed 146 lives, the fire itself, and its aftermath. It gives quite an account of tenement living in immigrant communities in early 20th Century New York. While New York apartments today aren’t noted for their spaciousness, the tenements that were still in use at the time were crowded, often with shared toilets. (The Tenement House Act had only been passed in 1901 which, in new construction, mandated toilets in every apartment and open courtyards.)

Between the six-day workweeks and being paid piecework, workers at the time were feeling quite exploited. Most clothing manufacturers merely provided the workplace and equipment, contracting out the different production elements. A tailor, for example, subcontract the actual sewing to several seamstresses, Sewing machines would be powered by common overhead pulleys, and the cutting room had specially designed tables with compartments to hold the scraps of fabric and tissue paper to make cleanup more efficient. To prevent shrinkage, everyone had to line up at a single exit to be searched before taking an elevator down to the street level.

Although the workers at many of the waist companies had staged work stoppages, strong-arm tactics by management and an unsympathetic police force limited their effectiveness. The establishment at the time was not impressed with the strong-willed women like Clara Lemlich, Pauline Newman, and Fania Cohn. With a steady supply of new immigrants, there was also the fear that the employers would hire replacement workers.

The bins provided a perfect place for the tissue paper to kindle the fabric (with the help of an errant cigarette). Sprinkler systems existed, but weren’t required. All that was available to douse the flames were buckets full of water. Valuable time was wasted trying to douse the fire before calling the fire department. The employee exit design restricted egress, the eighth-, ninth-, and tenth-floor location of the factory was higher than fire ladders could reach, and the fire escape ended in an enclosed courtyard. Despite all this, many people managed to escape. One of the witnesses to the commotion was Frances Perkins, who became Franklin Roosevelt’s Labor secretary.

In the aftermath of the fire, occupational safety laws were enacted. A forerunner to what is now UNITE HERE was founded. The five-day week became de rigueur afterward.

Von Drehle, David,. 2003. Triangle : The Fire that Changed America. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press.

Triangle: The Fire that Changed America cover art
Cover art from OCLC WorldCat

Fordlândia

Ford Motor Company, , , ,

Reading this book with 20/20 hindsight, it is easy to see American hubris at its worst. Henry Ford wanted a supply of rubber for his cars, and he didn’t want to rely on Southeast Asia. Brazil was eager for economic development, and environmental issues weren’t a concern at the time.

One example was the decision to build structures modeled on Ford’s company towns in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. What worked well in the short, dry summers and long, cold winters of northern Michigan did not do very well in a tropical rainforest.

While the Amazon region was conducive to rubber trees, in nature they grew interspersed among other flora. These same trees did well in Malaysia grown in plantations, because they were immune to local pests. Plantation growth of local rubber trees in the Amazon region, however, was a recipe for disaster, since an outbreak of tree blight can spread very quickly. That was, in fact, what happened.

Ford did try to pay his workers a decent wage — much more than the prevailing wage in that part of Brazil at the time. This principle worked well for a time in Detroit. His workers made enough money that they could afford to buy the cars they made. There wasn’t any way to spend this income in Fordlândia.

The book does highlight some of the less desirable qualities of Ford: His antisemitism, his desire to control how his workers lived their lives during their time away from work, and the strong-arm tactics of Harry Bennett, to name a few.

One annoyance of Greg Grandin’s was his continual reference to the Ford Motor Company as Ford Motors. It is an otherwise compelling read.

Grandin, Greg,. 2009. Fordlandia : The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City. New York: Metropolitan Books.

Fordlandia book jacket
Fordlandia book jacket, courtesy of Macmillan

The Great Molasses Flood

Molasses Disaster, , ,

There were many quirky events in history, but of all the events in modern US history, this is one of the quirkiest.

Imagine a wall of molasses two stories high bearing down on an urban neighborhood. It helps to understand some history behind why molasses was so important then. Back during the slave trade, molasses was shipped up from the Caribbean to be made into rum, and the rum was shipped to Africa to be traded for slaves, and the slaves were shipped to the Caribbean to be traded for more molasses.

After slavery, molasses continued to be used as a sweetener until refined sugar became cheaper to make. The company that owned the tank that burst made industrial alcohol, which was used for explosives. There was considerable demand for explosives during World War I, and to meet it, a bigger tank was erected that towered 50 feet high in Boston’s North End. Ninety feet in diameter, it was considered by many to be a blight on the neighborhood, which consisted largely of Italian immigrants who held little political clout.

Built during tight timelines, people worried about the tank, which oozed molasses constantly and made weird noises. Everyone was reassured that all was in order, and there was nothing to worry about. One cost-saving “fix” was to paint the tank brown, so that the molasses would not show up as readily.

As the country demobilized, the US Industrial Alcohol Company thought they could cash in on the pre-Prohibition rush for alcoholic beverages. This meant filling the tank to its two million gallon capacity.

The tank failed, sending a wave of molasses through the neighborhood at 35 miles per hour. In addition to the wave, pieces of the tank itself formed projectiles, damaging the Atlantic Avenue El. Wood frame buildings were shattered, and people and horses were mired in the thickening molasses. Some 20 people were killed, and over 100 were injured. For years afterward, the smell of molasses lingered in the neighborhood.

US Industrial Alcohol Company maintained that the tank was sabotaged by anarchists. Testimony during the inquest, however, seemed to point to the use of substandard building materials.

The book itself is an interesting read about this period of Boston history, and is the only book devoted to the subject.

Puleo, Stephen. 2003. Dark Tide : The Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919. Boston, Mass: Beacon Press.

Book jacket from Dark Tide
Dark Tide

New Orleans Vampire Death March

Travel

One year, the Special Libraries Association had their Annual Conference in New Orleans. Library associations have their annual meetings in the summer, and often in warm places. The American Library Association, in particular, has this down to an art form, choosing a toasty locale for its annual conference (Miami Beach, for example), and a cold locale for its midwinter meeting (while Fairbanks isn’t large enough, Chicago is, and its convention center is at least three turnpike exits away from the nearest hotel, allowing everyone a chance to get frostbite).

One year, SLA met in Philadelphia during a heat wave. Philadelphia, as you may know, is basically one step up from reclaimed swampland, situated between two rivers and near the coast. Any time I stepped outside, that shower-fresh look disappeared. Well, this particular year, we traded the swap upgrade to the real McCoy. New Orleans. In June. While I love the Crescent City, I like it best in the spring and fall. Fortunately, the City that Care Forgot remembers air conditioning, so if you’re indoors, you’re fine. Summers here remind you why talcum powder was invented.

I was there with coworkers Juniper, June, Magdelaine, and Brad, and we thought it would be fun to go on a vampire walking tour of Vieux Carré. Several other librarians I knew were going to be on it, too. So we met at the Cathedral in Jackson Square as it was threatening rain. In fact, one person was even wearing a rain poncho and several had umbrellas.

Our tour began promptly at 8:00pm. Our tour guide was quite into the act, both in his dress and his manner of spinning vivid yarns. We were working our way upriver toward Esplanade and, as it was approaching 10:30, Brad lay down beneath a window unit, positioning himself so the condensate would drip directly into his mouth. Between drops, he said he wasn’t up to the rest of the tour, and would be returning to his hotel. After he assured us he would be fine, we carefully stepped over his body and soldiered on. I wasn’t too surprised about Brad, since I know his favorite warm weather destination is Vermont, and didn’t really think about what all this walking in a heat index of 105 or so was doing to my body.

When the tour concluded at 12:30 or so, I knew I wanted to get into my air conditioned room. It was also 1:30 my time, and I needed to be up the next morning. So I hoofed it to my hotel, which I chose for its location near the convention center, but it was in the Warehouse District, about 12-14 blocks from where I was. I stopped by Rouse’s Market, got three bottled waters, and drank one on the way. When I got to my room, I switched the air conditioning from Tepid to Meat Locker, drank the second bottle, and went to bed.

It wasn’t until I had consumed about three pitchers of iced tea the next day that I finally felt rehydrated.

Enjoy the Vampire Tour, but in moderation.

Photo of Juniper, June, and Magdelaine
Juniper, June, and Magdelaine before the tour.
The tour guide
Our tour guide.

Jury Duty

Judiciary, Jury Duty, , , ,

I have been summoned to jury duty only four times in my life. Two of those times occurred in Cook County, Illinois, and one, just last week, was in Middlesex County, Massachusetts. (The other time was for standby jury service in the Federal Court for the Eastern District of Massachusetts for a six-week period.) Never once have I actually been seated on a jury, however.

Cook County, with a population of over five million, is more populous than most states. With a population that size, you can imagine that there are many courthouses, and Illinois, like most states, likes to send its jurors to courthouses that are in other parts of the country from where they live. Since I lived in Oak Park, the logical place to send me was Skokie. To get to Skokie from Oak Park by public transportation, you have to take the El into the Chicago Loop to transfer to the Red Line to Howard Street, to transfer again to the Yellow Line, and then to transfer to a bus. By my calculations, the trip would take a good two hours. A friend who lived in Rogers Park at the time kindly let me crash at his place, shortening my trip considerably.

Skokie District Court was a fairly new facility, and it was large enough to have a cafeteria in the building. I remember the juror room as being comfortable, with upholstered seating. It’s a comfortable place to read, because that is what we did. We were given a break mid-morning, and by noon, they decided to go ahead and let us have lunch, with the idea that maybe they would know something by the time we got back. Finally, around 2:00pm, someone comes in and announces that there were three cases scheduled to start that day, but that two of them resulted in last-minute plea bargains, and in the remaining case, the defendant opted for a bench trial; hence, no jurors were needed. After we collected our checks for $17.20, we were free to go. Unfortunately, my bus options weren’t as good, since it wasn’t rush hour yet, and I had to take a bus to Evanston to connect with the El.

The second time Cook County summoned me, I lived in Chicago itself, and was assigned to the criminal court at 26th and California Streets. It is an old, rather dingy-looking high-rise in a neighborhood that tourists would generally not visit unless they were really lost. The juror room was large, with vending machines, a smoking area, a “quiet” room, and a large room filled with overstuffed chairs and three televisions. The TVs were useful for showing the orientation video, of course, but when they weren’t playing tha, they were playing regular TV programming. The OJ Simpson trial was in progress, and televised live, so one of the three TVs was playing I Love Lucy and the other two were playing Barney. I think you’d have an easier time finding a roomful of people who were enjoying themselves waiting for a colonoscopy than you’d have found here. But there was action. Panels were getting called out to go to courtrooms, with some coming back when they weren’t seated on the jury to try again. I got sent to a courtroom once, too, but they didn’t want me on their jury. Whatever. So I go back to watching Barney and waiting to see if I’m called again. Around 4:30pm, those of us who will still waiting were told we could leave, as soon as we stopped by the desk to collect our $17.20. In Illinois, employers are required to pay your salary while you were on jury duty, so the $17.20 was really important that day.

A few years ago, I was summoned to be a standby Federal juror. Since the courthouse for the Eastern District of Massachusetts is in Boston, this was easy for me. I pitied the people who lived on the Lower Cape or the islands who were still expected to schlep into Boston by 8:00am. This notice was peculiar, though, It was for six weeks. Once you were seated on a jury, you only had to serve for the duration of that trial. So while the Federal government got the “one trial” part of the “one day, one trial” system, they hadn’t caught on to the “one-day” part. You had to call every Friday to see if you were needed the following Monday. The last week, you had to call every night. After all that, I never even had to show up. I just racked up my employer’s message units calling downtown.

Last week, I was summoned for jury service in Middlesex County. Middlesex County only has one and a half million people, so it’s nowhere as big as Cook County, but geographically, it”s long and narrow. I live at one end of it, and the courthouse I was sent to was at the other end. (Middlesex even has two county seats because of this.) Because I was sent to one of the county seats (Lowell), there are multiple courthouses (Probate, Juvenile, Superior, and Trial court.) I was summoned to Trial Court, which wasn’t co-located with the others. When I got off the train, I hopped on a bus and asked the driver if he went there. He thought he did, but dropped my off at Superior Court. This turned out to be a reenactment of Skokie. None of the several cases that were scheduled to go to trial that day actually went to trial after all. So we were dismissed at 10:30am. Since Massachusetts requires employers to pay you while you’re on jury duty, they don’t, unless you’re on a trial for four days or more.

And here I was, looking forward to the $50.

Bell Labs and the Idea Factory

History, Technology, ,

I certainly remember Ma Bell. She was the company everyone loved to hate. She suffered from a multiple-personality disorder of sorts, with each state or region of the country having its own “Baby Bell” — New England Telephone in most of the New England states, for example, or Bell of Pennsylvania in Pennsylvania, and each was answerable to the states’ departments of public utilities in each state in which operated. Because of that, rates for comparable service varied from one part of the country to the other — a pay phone call that was five cents in Louisiana was ten cents in Arkansas, Massachusetts, or New York, and 20-25 cents most other places, for example. You paid a rate (that varied, based on geography) every month to rent the telephone instrument — only a dollar or two a month — and, in the unlikely event it ever wore out, you would get a new one. If you made a long distance call and wanted to talk at length, you knew to wait until “night rates” went into effect — 11 pm, all day Saturday, and Sunday before 5 pm.

In exchange for this, we received service that was consistently reliable, and universally available across the vast geography of this country.

Behind this was the Bell System, formally known as AT&T, which also owned a manufacturing unit (Western Electric) that made all those phones and other phone system components that were built like tanks, a division that connected all the Baby Bells and other local telephone companies (Long Lines), and a research and development unit, Bell Labs.

The Idea Factory is about Bell Labs, of course, but in telling its story, it gives us a bit of the history of telephone service in the United States. The first phones, for example, did not have ringers — once the call was connected, you had to yell “Ahoy!” multiple times until you could get the called party’s attention or you just gave up.

Bell Labs invented several things we take (or, at one time, took) for granted: vacuum tubes, transistors, lasers, telecommunication satellites, to name a few. And because the Bell System was a regulated monopoly, with a guaranteed rate of return, and, because of continual threats of antitrust suits, the Labs help justify keeping the system together by making discoveries for the greater good, and licensing them to others for a nominal fee, they were able to spend their time dreaming and thinking big — something that would be difficult to justify with today’s investor myopia.

Gertner spends perhaps a little too much time talking about the childhood and personality quirks of some of the key players, but I found the book fascinating to read. Several reviews were published about it, including The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, Business Week, and an author interview on NPR’s On Point.

The Idea Factory by Jon Gertner (Penguin Press, 2012)

The Idea Factory
Cover art from The Idea Factory (Bloomberg BusinessWeek)

San Francisco Walking Tours

Travel, , , , ,

An excellent way to see San Francisco is to walk it. There are several walking tours, some of which are self-guided (such as the Chronicle Books series.) There are titles available for several cities around the world, and they consist of a deck of 50 cards, with a map on one side, and highlights on the other. Each card indicates the difficulty of the walk, so if there are people in your party who can’t handle rigorous walks, you can plan accordingly. As in the case of anything published, there is always the risk that information (such as transit directions to the starting point) do go out of date. The most recent edition was published in 2004, and not only has a new light rail opened since then, other changes have been made to the transit system, so you may want to double-check with an up-to-date SFMuni map to make sure the bus or trolleycoach they suggest you take even still operates. Still, you can’t beat the portability.

Victorian Home Walk is another opportunity. It operates every day, around 11am, but it is the same itinerary. It costs $25, and includes a bus ride from Union Square to a neighborhood you might not choose to go to yourself since it is a little bit off the beaten path. There are no hills on this tour, so it is an easy walk.

One of the most interesting guided tours, however, is a series called San Francisco City Guides. The series was started by the San Francisco Public Library, and has been associated with the Friends of the SFPL for several years, but is now part of the city’s Parks Department. The docents are knowledgeable, the tours are all free, and there are several different tours. For example, in a one-week period, we were able to join both the Alamo Square tour and the Russian Hill tour. (A given tour might only run once every week or two.) They are mostly free — you just show up at the appointed time and go along with the group. These two were, of course, both hilly, but not onerously so.

The nice thing about the guided tours is that the docents can add some history and background. The Alamo Square tour, for example, includes handouts that detail the differences in the various architectural styles that are unique to San Francisco. On the Russian Hill tour, you will have the staircase pointed out that was used in the TV series Tales of the City. In fact, much of the Russian Hill tour takes place you through shared gardens and courtyards, and you wouldn’t notice them from the street.

So rather than just visiting the sites you know about, learn about some of the history of this beautiful city the next time you go.

Alamo Square Victorians
Probably the most photographed set of houses in San Francisco, these houses face Alamo Square on Steiner Street. Many matching houses were built on spec by the same builder.
Staircase on Russian Hill
This is the staircase at “28 Barbary Lane.”

Trick or treat?

Holidays,

One Easter, we went to Giles’ family’s house. I don’t know what arrangements were made with the Easter Bunny, but I had an Easter basket there.

As afternoon faded into evening, and our candy supplies dwindled, Giles said he had an idea as to how we can replenish our candy.

Before I realized what was happening, we were going door to door in his subdivision, carrying our Easter baskets, and ringing doorbells. Although we hadn’t worn costumes, our haul was substantial. I don’t think we even left the block.

When we got back to the house, our parents asked where we had been. When we proudly showed them our replenished Easter baskets, they were not as ecstatic as we were. In fact, Giles’ mother exclaimed, “You mean, you went around to all the neighbors?” Being an upright Southern woman, she was clearly worried about what the neighbors might think.

Trick or treat — it’s not just for Halloween anymore.

The New Deal: A Modern History

Great Depression, New Deal, United States, , , ,

I read this book a few months ago, and I can’t recommend it highly enough. Even if you’re not a big fan of history, this book is very accessible in the way it presents the relief efforts, and the thinking behind them, during the Roosevelt Administration.

I learned a fair amount about the first female Cabinet member, Frances Perkins, the Secretary of Labor.

Surprisingly (to me, anyway), some of the programs and measures that were enacted had been contemplated by the Hoover Administration, but, for a variety of reasons, were never tried.

The bank holiday, while a major inconvenience in that banks were shut down nationwide, ended up being such a success that people lined up to deposit money in banks as they reopened.

The Interstate Highway System, largely credited to the Eisenhower Administration, was planned during the Roosevelt Administration, but was tabled because of World War II.

The history of Railroad Retirement, Social Security, and unemployment insurance, are very pertinent today. When the Great Depression hit, none of these social safety nets were in place, but they were all here for the Great Recession of 2008. Social Security was so controversial, particularly with its mandatory worker participation, that it took 20 years before it was settled law.

Although this book is now out in paper, you may find remaindered hardback copies cheaper. You can, or course, read it for free from your library.

Reviews were published in Kirkus Reviews, the Los Angeles Times, and Mother Jones.

The New Deal: A Modern History, by Michael Hiltzik. Free Press, 2011

Cover of The New Deal: A Modern History
Cover art for The New Deal: A Modern History, from GoodReads

Goodness, Gracious, Great Balls of Lightning!

Lightning, ,

When I was about six years old, my mother and a friend of hers took me and Giles with them to see a drive-in movie. Giles and I saw each other at least once a week, even though we lived about 15 miles apart. Our dads had been stationed together in the air force, and continued their friendship into civilian life.

Friday night was poker night, and our mothers, wishing to escape the serious male bonding going on in the dining room, what with all the smoking, drinking, and general debauchery that went on, used it as a girls’ night out. That usually meant putting me and Giles to bed while they went out on their own, so that we could annoy our dads by getting up, wandering into the dining room, and being greeting with a “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Drive-in movies, however, were different. You drove your car, sometimes paying one admission for the whole carload, and kids could sleep in the back of the car or go to a playground that many drive-ins had. They were basically a parking lot that faced a giant movie screen, except the parking spaces were arranged so that the front wheels were elevated a bit. Between every other car was a pole that held two clunky loudspeakers, connected by wire, so that they could each reach to the window of the neighboring car. Behind all the cars was a concession stand, which sold the usually nutritious snacks that one always enjoys at movies, along with perhaps the most important commodity of all — the mosquito coil, which was a piece of incense that was shaped like the element of an electric range. It was supposed to repel mosquitoes. It sort of worked.

Giles’ mother drove a 1963 white Thunderbird hardtop. Sitting in the back seat, as I often did, wasn’t the best, but a few times I got to ride shotgun, and the front seats were like a cockpit. The steering wheel was a SwingAway, which, when the car was in Park, would swing to the right, out of the driver’s way. I was very disappointed to learn that they no longer have that car. They traded it in on an Oldsmobile Toronado! Giles and I had lost touch when our families both moved away, and didn’t reconnect until last year.

That night at the drive-in, we didn’t need a mosquito coil. It had started raining, and it somehow morphed into this big electrical storm that persisted. Giles and I both asked if we couldn’t go home, but our mothers, being the thrifty sort, hated to leave the movie after having paid for it. When it got so bad that the only way to watch the movie was with the windshield wipers, they decided it was time to cut their losses and head home.

During the drive home, the lightning strikes were frequent and close. Very close. In one simultaneous instant, the outside of the car was bright as daylight, and the loudest, crackling boom deafened us. Giles’ mother, who had rested her left arm on the windowsill, felt it get hot. We had been struck by lightning. Of course, we were fine, Giles’ mother continued driving home. The car was even fine. But I had an irrational fear of lightning for most of my childhood.

The takeaway is this: If lightening looms, the best place for you to be is inside a 1963 Ford Thunderbird hardtop. If one isn’t handy, any other steel-roofed car will suffice. Giles and I are living proof.

Front shot of a 1963 Thunderbird
1963 Ford Thunderbird. (Hot Rod magazine.)
A Van de Graaff generator "zaps" an occupied cage to demonstrate the safety of an enclosed steel struucture.
The cage beneath the Van de Graaff generator at Boston’s Museum of Science demonstrates how a steel structure carries electrical energy around its occupants, and how safe it is to be in an enclosed steel automible during a lightening strike.