By midday we had had a visit from various reporters, plus some society ladies who were part of the Ladies’ League, working for justice and equality for women. They brought hot buns and cocoa with them and promised to approach the big department stores on our behalf, pressuring them into not buying Lowenstein’s garments if he didn’t settle the strike favorably. This was a big boost to morale and the girls sang as they stood in line—“She’s Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage,” “Mighty Like a Rose”—all the latest popular songs as well as plaintive Yiddish, soulful Russian ditties, and sprightly Italian ones. The rest of us clapped and stamped our feet. A crowd gathered and cheered us on.
Toward evening the mood of the crowd changed. A group of unsavory-looking men with battered derbys or caps pulled down over their eyes, oversize jackets, and big boots started jeering and hurling insults at us. They pushed past the onlookers and came right up to where they thought the line was weakest, towering over the smallest girls.
“Well, lookee here. Ain’t they sweet? Poor little orphan girls out on the street—hey, honey, why are you wasting your time standing in this line for a few measly dollars when you could be making yourself big money if you come to work for me?”
“Work for you?” one of the girls asked. “Do you run a garment shop?”
“Yeah, only my girls take their garments off,” the man guffawed. “Ain’t that right, Flossie?”
A hard, brazen-looking woman, wearing tight tawdry clothing that proclaimed her to be a streetwalker stepped out of the crowd and stood in front of the girls. “You get paid for lying flat on your back, girls. Make money in your sleep. What could be easier?”
Another flashy woman had joined her, this one in a red velvet gown with an outrageous ostrich feather in a hat which was tilted rakishly down over her face. “Not this one, Floss,” she said. “She ain’t got what the gentlemen likes. She’s flat as a pancake.” She moved down the line, standing in front of Sophia, a plump little Italian. “Now you could do very well for yourself, dearie. Nice round little derriere—something for the gentleman to get his hands around.”
“And a good pair of water wings in front too, right Floss?” The other woman cackled.
“I’m a good girl. Don’t say things like that.” Sophia pulled her shawl around her and looked as if she was about to cry.
“If you stand out here on the street, the police are going to think you’re one of us,” the streetwalker continued, reaching out to tug at Sophia’s long hair.
Jacob had started to move toward the confrontation. “Leave these girls alone. They are respectable and don’t want anything to do with the likes of you,” he said.
“With the likes of us?” the man demanded. “Who are you insulting?”
“I’m telling you to hop it, or I’ll call the police.”
“Call the police—that’s a good one!” The man laughed and looked around. I noticed several policeman standing on the corner watching us.
“Officers, these people are upsetting our girls and trying to intimidate them,” I called to constables who stood, arms folded, and grinning.
I saw the louts move in my direction. There was something about one of them lurking at the back of the pack that caught my attention. I had seen him before—one of the Eastmans maybe. Then I had no time for idle contemplation as the biggest and most brutish looking of the bunch swaggered right up to me.
“It’s the other way around, girlie,” he growled. “Youse is blocking dis sidewalk so that honest folk like ourselves can’t get by without stepping in the nasty dirty street. My poor Flossie doesn’t want to get mud all over her nice clean shoes, do you Floss?” He turned back to grin at the brazen hussy behind him. “Now move out of the way, or else!”
I remembered now why the men and their actions seemed familiar to me. If I wasn’t mistaken, these same bullyboys had been accosting passersby outside the polling booth on election day. They were gangland enforcers and since the Eastmans ruled this part of the city, Eastmans they obviously were. The brute coming toward me was one I hadn’t seen before. I faced him, confident that he wouldn’t try anything with all these people looking on.
“We’re not moving,” I said. “We have every right to stand here. Cross over if you want to get past.”
“Step aside, or I’m just going to have to push past you.” The lout was leering down at me. I could smell his stinking breath, laced with alcohol.
I glared up at him. “Get away from me, you great brute! You don’t frighten me.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He was still grinning inanely.
“Try to push past me and you’ll be sorry!” I said.
“Molly!” Jacob shouted. “Just ignore them.”
But he was too late. The brute came at me with his shoulder, like a rugby charge. I stuck my foot out and he went sprawling forward, grabbing onto a lamppost to prevent himself from falling.
“Did you see what she did? She attacked me!” he yelled, righting himself against a street lamp and turning on me. “Youse going to get what’s coming to you now, girlie!”
He swung at me. I dodged aside but too late. His fist glanced off my face and I staggered backward. He was still grinning at me, looking like a great brutish ape.
“Holy Mother of God!” I exclaimed, putting my hand up to my stinging face. “Now you’re the one who’s going to be sorry.”