A Humorist’s Daughter.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 7, 14 August 1912, Page 47

A Humorist’s Daughter.

By

BRUNO LESSING.

Lmitfli sun! tile world laugh* with you. Weep and you weep atone. .For the sad old earth must borrow its ndrl.lv - Il has trouble eiiongli of its own. W 1 A AVE you ever, in .philosophic mood, speculated upon the sad I I fact that all the really Iveauti- / ful things of life have become commonplace? A flower, a song, a picture. a thought— be it great and beautiful enough to win the admiration of the mass of mankind —how quickly our jaded taste turns up its nose in contempt! Imagine, in ordinary eonversa-i lion, a person dwelling upon the glory 'of sunshine, the perfume of the rose, or even the sentiment expressed in the lines above, and how quickly you would be bored. For the beautiful things of life are as old as the hills, and—perhaps you are right—they are commonplace. So let us turn from them—it .was merely a recollection that suggested' this train of thought, a recollection that arose through reading of a strike of garment-workers on the East Side. There was such a strike many years ago—as there probably will be many years from now—and it started, -in Nathan Levy’s sweat-shop. It was here that Sophie Ramunsky worked, —sharp-eyed weazened little Sophie, Ramunsky, whom all the older generation of the ghetto still remember. .They remember her. not because of what a am about to relate or, in fact, for anything that she ever did herself; but her Jatlier, in his day, was known to all of, them iis Aleph, one of. the great humorous writers of Yiddish literature. Under his nom-de-plume of Aleph he wrote for nearly all the weekly and monthly periodicals that were published in Russia and Poland in the Yiddish jargon. lie stopped writing, suddenly and came to this country, where he never wrote, and. in the course 'of time it became bruited about that be was paralyzed and that his daughter had to. work in a sweat-, shop to keep him alive. ‘ So, you see, they knew Sophie Ramunsky, even though they had never seen her. for there was enough glamour to the name, of' Ramunsky to east a tiny ray or light upon his daughter. In the little garment factory in which she worked it needed no knowledge of Sophie's ancestry to establish the fact that one of the'rarest gifts of the gods — the blessed sense of humour —had been bestowed upon her. From early momuntil lat ( . at night, when the mood was upon her.-she could keep the whole roomful of men and women laughing while they worked. Slaves of the whirring machines, stitching, cutting, ironing, carrying loads and sorting them out from the break of -day until- long after the sun had set. the god of mirth 'himself must have .inspired her to make that roomful laugh. She would, tell stories and anecdotes, recite humorous poems. Illiut her father had written or that, she bad read somewhere, and make quaint remarks about the thousand and one incidents that made up .the day’s work. And they would laugh and give answer, and the ball of merriment wouid bo thrown about all 'the livelong day. Levy, the sweater, encouraged her: for. in addition to the enjoyment he derived from her incessant bandinage. he would laughingly assert that she was worth twive her wages because the others worked so much harder and more cheerfully on account of her presence. One day a new man came into the room and took hi* place at a -machine. Gordin was his mime. Morris Gordin, a big. broad-shouldered. Iblue-eyod -son of Israel, exceedingly quiet in manner, but seeminglly full of reserve force. Upon that, day Sophie was in her best mood, and twitted him upon accepting an oar in the same galley with the re.st of 'them—she was quite a learned little thing insisting that if she were a man a« big as he she would surely be a master instead of a slave. He took it Bood-naluredly and when the day's work done, even thanked her for having

made hi* task, easier. Sophie looked at him with those .sharp Bittle eyes of hers, and a wonderful expression came into them. You know the expression, do you m>t>, xvhetr a mother gazes upon .her child? iKrom that day Sophie changed. The change was a gradual one. Her cheerful spirit* never for one moment seemed abated; but-it. began to happen quite frequently that she. would sit quietly, never uttering a word, although the gaiety that she had inspired 'continued to cheer the others. (hie day when ail wore jesting over what they would each do ii •they hdd a million dollars—it was Sophie, as usual, who had started the •discussion — one t<f dihe r.mm <said (to Gordin: “Your little sweetheart there would •spend it all on books. She’s always reading.” 'Sophie became quite pale. ‘’l’m not his sweetheart,” she exvla.imed impulsively and the next moment, laughed aloud to conceal her embarrassment. When the day’s work was done Gordin asked her, with a. twinkle in his eyes, “Why were you so annoyed when Markowitz called you my sweetheart?” “Am 1 your sweetheart?” she asked calmly, though with reddened cheeks. “Why, no. , Not seriously,” replied Gordin slowly. ‘’He was only jesting.” “Then please don’t—oh, pshaw? ■ ( must he in a bad temper to-day to get so peevish civer nothing. Don’t imind anything | I said. lake Rose/.Levine—she’d make an ideal sweet heart for you if you must have one.” “Who is Rose Levine? Sophid laughed. “Who is Rose Levine? And you working in the same shop with her for over a week, never even noticed her? She’s the pretty girl with brown eyes and soft wavy* hair who sits near the window at the doubit*, machine.” “I never oven noticed her.” said Gordin. “If she were dressed in pretty clothes you’d ( notice, her quickly enough,” said Sophie, and (here was a slight trace of bitterness in her voice. Had you dressed Sophie Ramunsky in the most beautiful’ clothes in the world they would; hardly have made her plain features pretty. The next day Gordin took notice of Rose Levine. Sophie* eyes were upon his face while he was . studying the delicately moulded features of the pale girl who seemed too tiny sitting there at that enormous machine. “I knew you would think she is pretty She is. A'cry pretty. You must speak to her. She's very nice.” Gordin found no opportunity before the day was done to speak with Rose, and when, later. Sophie asked him what he thought, of her. lie made a slight grimace. “Shell never, .sei the world afire." Gue night Gordin asked Sop*hie to go to the theatre with him. The evening passed in that delightful camaraderie that can exist only between - a clever woman and a man who is interesting to her. All the following day Sophie was happy, wonderfully happy, and, as usual, all her follow workers caught the infection of her spirits. It was just as they wore preparing to leave the shop for the day that she heard Gordin ask Rose Levine to go to the theatre with him the Following .week. • The light died in her exes. and she seemed to wilt. There was discontent among the workmen. It had been fermenting for some time, though vaguely and without expression, and, strangely enough, it was Sophie Ramunsky who first saw and analyzed and gave it concrete form. Strangely enough—and yet. most naturally. It is a curious fact that a sense of humour should be the invariable complement. not only of intelligence but of a keen perception and an insight into thl‘ heart of a Hair*. 1 know of no more fitting haud-maidcii to Wisdom than [Tumour. Clive me a true humorist and I will show you a real philosopher. No wonder, then, that it was a humorist's daughter who first saw clearly the con* dilions that existed in Levy’* shop, amt saw, likewise, the remedy; though it in doubtful if she foresaw the terrible con* sequences that an attempt to apply the remedy would entail.

“Please walk home with me.’’ Sophie Maid to Gordin as they were all preparing to leave the shop. ‘*l want to talk xvith you.” “Listen to me,” she said, as they were walking homeward. “I’m sure this is a good time to organize a union of all the people in our line of work. ’There are only twelve shops, ami it takes so long to learn the work that they couldn’t get people to takes our places. If you go and talk to two or three men in every shop you’ll find them all willing io join a union. It costs so much to live, rent is so high, and we get so little that I’m sure it will he very easy for us all to get bigger wages and le-s hours if we have a. union behind us.” Gordin* looked at her with sparkling eye*. “I think you’re wonderful’.” hr exclaimed.. “You’re perfectly right. Why didn't I think of that myself? Only to-day i was thinking how easy it would l»e for the boss to give, us all a little money and let u.s work an hour a day less. God knows he makes enough out of us. Rut it never, occurred to met.» get up a union. Thank you. Sophie. You’ll never h.* sorry you gave me that idea.” The union was organized. It would har'dly be interesting to recount the slow' process-by which it came into full being. The secret encounters in out-of-the-way places, after a long day’s work had. burn done, the- whispered conferences, the pleasant arguments that had to be cautiously advanced to enlist the reluctant, the collection of money from scanty hoards to defray the expenses of a headquarters—they were rather more pathetic than interesting. Hut the time finally came when Gordin, from a written document in his hand, read to the sweater the ultimatum of the workers — a demand for twenty cents a day more wages and a reduct ion of an hour in the day’s work. At the same time tips proclamation was read by a workman in each of the other shops. It was Sophie who had written the proclamation and given it to Gordin. Idle sweaters were prompt to refuse: the concessions demanded, and every single workman left the shops. Strikes have become so common that it would be wearisome to go into the details of tjjis one. There is but this di If ereme-between a .strike of garment-workers on the Hast, Side and a strike of the average American labourer: among the former the conditions that exist when work is aplenty are so deplorable that the slightest change for the worse instantly makes them distressing. The strikers organized headquarters where Gordin presided as leader of the strike, and Sophie, as secretary, was ever at his side with suggest ions and help. ’There, are. two sides to ax strike. One you set* at the public meetings that strikers always hold, where speakers thunder at capital, dwell upon the outrages they have sufl’ered, and cheer their bearers xvith glow ing accounts of the progress of the strike, the panic of the employers, and the imminence of victory. The other side you rarely see. It is found only at the headquarters of the strikers, where pale-faced workingmen come to inquire how’ much longer they arc expected l to sutler, and where women come, often with babies in their arms, to ask if there would be any harm in their man going to work, if only for one diay, because there is no money in the house and hungry mouths are clamoring for food. It was with such callers that Sophie Ramunsky laboured. She would answer and argue and plead. And through all that she said there xvould flush, ever and anon, just, that ray of humour that would make life, for the. moment, brighter for each complainant and lighten the burden. It was Gordin who always presided at the meeting* and made, the principal spe.ecli. but nona of his hearers knew that it xvas Sophie who. under pretence: of discussing his speech with him befoiehand, bud suggested most of the ideas that gave it force. And then, frequently. Sophie herself would speak, and always in humorous vein, (him humor, it is true, but at least a variation of the deadly monotony of thought that was oppressing them all. “Fellow corpses,’’ she xvould say, “for that is what xve are, let us all imagine ourselves dead and buried ami then think how much more pleasant it is to be here and only hungry. I saw my old bos> to-day. lie xxas pale and kioked sick. The money that he has lost is making him so miserable that I’m going Io bed htqijtry to night with, a smile* oq my lips.” 'There was actually no understanding hei*. I nhappy a* th*y all they ha<l to smile with heR IV e newspapers—-

♦ lie big dailies of the city that belonged to the outside world- began to give space to the strike, Gordin was hailed aa the “King of the Garment Workers.’ His portrait was published, and an in terview with him was printed nearly every day. Sophie ceased to speak in public from the moment the meeting-, were chronicled in the newspapers, bill redoubled her endeavours among the wavering individuals. Gradually public opinion was aroused public opinion b • fore W'lioip the gods of right and wrong must humbly bow and the sweaters surrendered. They held a meeting and sent a messenger to the headquarters of Ihe strikers to ask Gordin to come be fore, them. There was no one at he ld quarters but Sophie, and when the sig itificance of the message dawned upon her she almost swooned with joy. ‘■'roll them,” she said, “that Mr. Goldin will be there ver\ shortly. I will tind him and send him as quivklv as po.> >ihle.” It took logger than die had thought to tind him. lie was not at his home nor at any of the customary gathering places of the strikers. By meie chance she met one of the women who winked in her shop and who. in reply Io her question, told her that she had seen Gordin enter one of the coffee houses on East Broadway. And there Sophie foun t h innAs she entered it seemed to her, al first, that the [dace was deserted. An instant- later, she saw Gordin. He was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, farthest from the door with Bose Levine; at his side, and at that very moment when Sophie espied him was in the art of raising Rose’s baud to his lips with that indescribably tender gesture and that look in bis eyes thad can be inspired by only one emotion. J’or an instant it seemed to Sophie that her heart had stopped beating and all the blood in her body ’had rushed to her head. Then, when she saw that thc> were aware of her presence, her heart began to beat again, very quickly and with a sharp pain, and s‘he siood per fectly still, because she felt weak and was afraid that her legs would fail her. But- she smiled at their confusion. “You poor little turtle doves!” she exclaimed, in a faltering voice. “It really is a crime do disturb you. Rut we’ve won the strike, and the poor bosses are wailing for you, Mr. Gordin. Ymi’d better go right away and and” even a twinkle came into her eye§—“l’d go with him if 1 were you. Rose, lie’ll be a (husband all his life, but he’ll be a. liero for only about live minutes today.” You -re die was a humorist’- daug’i •ter. “ ‘ p . The strike was won. and t’hc very next day Levy's shop looked exactly as ■it had always looked before. ( The workers earned a few pennies more and toiled an hour a day less, but this grew so quickly into the accustomed order o’ things that they ceased to derive any happiness from, it whatever. In the course of time Gordin and Bose were married, and Gordin became foreman in the shop. The machines became m> more tuneful .they clanked and whir red as they had always done, ami the atmosphere of the place was depressing. Sophie Bamunsky, whose father had been a great ’humorist in bis day, fre quenily lightened the workers’ 1,-d by her cheering pleasantries and her droll philosophy. But often, unobserved, sh - would gaze out tihe window at the blue sky that God has given to master and slave alike, and the tears would come into her eyes.