“They didn’t have the right brand of caviar for his lunch today,” Rose whispered to me.
“The new designs won’t be ready as soon as he expected and you girls have worked so well that the orders are up to date. So there’s nothing much to do until we start work on the new line—maybe next week, who knows. Until then it’s half time for everybody. Come in at seven, home at noon. He’ll pay you two dollars a week, which is very generous when there’s not enough work.”
“Very generous!” one of the girl blurted out. “Does he pay us extra when there’s too much work and you keep rushing us to get it finished?”
“You can’t put everyone on half time,” Rose said. “These girls have families who rely on their wages.”
“Like I said, Rose Levy, you could volunteer,” Katz said, giving her his sneering grin. “Half the girls could volunteer to stay home until the new work comes, and then the other half would get full wages. It’s up to you how you handle it.”
“I tell you how we handle it,” Rose said, sticking out her chin and putting her hands on her hips as she faced him. “We don’t accept his measly offer. We walk out. We shut down this crummy sweatshop and we keep it shut until Mr. Lowenstein listens to us and treats us like human beings. Come on, everyone. Get your things. We’re leaving now.”
It was fantastic. Every girl followed Rose to the door.
“If you go, don’t think you’ll be coming back,” Katz screamed. “We’ll get new girls to replace you.”
Rose turned and looked back at him. “Even if you can get them to cross our picket line, do you think you can train them in time for the new line and the rush job? We’re going to show you who has power around here. In the end you’re going to wish you were nicer to us.”
Then she turned again and ran up the flight of steps, out to the street. We all followed her.
“Come on, everyone, let’s go to Samuel’s to plan,” she said.
We crossed the street to the deli.
“I thought we weren’t going to walk out until he got the new designs,” Golda said. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”
“I know it’s taking a big gamble,” Rose said, “but he was going to put us all on half time anyway. Lowenstein won’t want to pay any scabs to work this week because there is no work and our picket line is going to keep new girls away. We must all show up tomorrow prepared to stand our ground around the shop and not let anyone inside.”
“How can we do that?” a small, frail-looking girl asked. “Look at us. If Katz tried to knock us out of his way, he could.”
“Then we need reinforcements,” Rose said. “Let’s go to the United Hebrew Trades and see if they can get us some male volunteers to help our cause.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I’m sure that Jacob will want to help.”
“Jacob?” she asked. “You mean Mr. Singer?”
I blushed. “Yes, Mr. Singer,” I said.
She looked at me curiously. “And how come you’re on first-name terms with Mr. Singer when you only met him last week?”
“He’s a friend of my friends,” I said and hoped she wouldn’t push me further.
Someone was sent to Jacob’s house, and soon the word got around so that the Hebrew Trades headquarters on Essex Street was jam-packed when we met there later that day.
“They did it. The girls walked out of Lowenstein’s.” The word went around quickly. Jacob arrived, so did some of the other men I had met the previous Wednesday night.
“Where is Miss Blankenship? She’d want to be here,” someone suggested.
“Should someone take a cab to fetch her?” I asked.
Heads turned in my direction.
“Take a cab? Listen to Miss Rockerfeller here,” the girl beside me said, rolling her eyes. “And where should you find the money for a cab? Not in this week’s pay packet.”
“I only meant because it’s so important and she’d want to be here,” I said quickly. “And she has money to pay for cabs, doesn’t she?”
“She has a telephone at her house,” Jacob said. “The University Settlement a couple of blocks away has a telephone that they let us use. Do you know how to use a phone, Molly?”
“No, but I expect they’ll show me.”
He took out a matchbook and scribbled on the back. “Here is her number. You turn the handle and when the operator comes on the line, you ask for the number. Got it?”
“I think so.” I shoved the matchbook into my pocket.
“And I usually give them a dime for the privilege,” Jacob said, fishing in his pocket and handing me a coin.