“And mine.” Stan strode into the hall to hang up his coat and cap, the others talking amongst themselves followed him. Hannah heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well—dat’s over! Tank de heavens no big trouble—only big excitement … so we get going mit de supper—boys will tell us more later. Vifey, you please start mit de potatoes mashing. I do de gravy.” Banging pots and pans, she muttered, “Gott im Himmel! What a day! Every day someting new getting everybody topsy-turvy!”
Monday, January 12, in the darkness of a bitter winter dawn, an icy wind swirling snow, the thermometer registering two above zero, some four thousand Ford employees wearing their identity badges, returned to work. Arriving at the plant, six thousand job seekers, having waited throughout the freezing night for the hiring to begin, surged towards them hoping to gain admittance, get inside the plant behind them. Police in place ever since the first announcement of the Five-Dollar-Day, and Ford security guards who had been circulated undercover amongst the crowd, now sprang into action using any means at hand to beat back the tidal wave of desperate men. Hemmed in, surrounded, the Ford workers, determined to hold on to their jobs, clock in on time for their morning shift, began fighting their way towards the only entrance that had been opened for them. The angered mob pushed forward, blocking their advance and a full riot was underway. The fire brigade, called out, rushed to the Ford plant. As men began scaling the tall factory gates shut against them, the order was given to train the fire hoses on them, douse them with water, force them down. In that bitter cold, as the water hit, it froze. Like human icicles men hung, where they had been hit and on the streets below, the mob went wild! Stampeded, rushed the hoses, overturned, trampled the lunch and tobacco stands that serviced Ford employees, hurled bricks, smashed windows, attacked anything that stood in their way. By the time the Ford men were able to gain the safety of the plant, many were bloodied, their clothing ripped, their badges lost.
The news that a riot had occurred at the plant traveled like wildfire along the grapevine of the Ford wives. When Missus-Schneider-eight-blocks-over ran with the news, Hannah’s first reaction was typical. She offered her a nice cup of coffee, accompanied by a baked-this-morning doughnut, listened calmly as the frightened woman gulped out what she had heard. Giving no indication of her own fear, Hannah reassured her that as her Bruno was one of Fritz’s men, she should take heart—all her worries were groundless, for her Fritz always took care of his men, then gently shoved the distraught lady out.
“Dat woman—fluster, fluster, fluster! Good midwife. When pulling out de babies, she’s fine—but all udder times? Too nervous making!” Seeing Jane’s worried face, she motioned her to sit. “Come, Vifey, fearing inside not good for your baby. We have coffee, a little nosh of someting sweet, keep busy, wait for boys. Time enough to hear trouble den.”
The men came home in silence. Without comment, John handed Jane his torn coat. Taking it, she wondered how she could possibly repair it in time for him to wear it to work the next day. Their voices strangely hushed, Rudy and Stan asked if she would have a look at theirs, see what could be done. Peter touched the bandage above his eye, as though he couldn’t remember why it was there. Carl kept looking at the blood down the sleeve of his overcoat, wondered aloud if it would wash out. As though in passing, Zoltan mentioned his scarf was lost. Jimmy, that his derby had been trampled. Their voices low, as though not wanting to disturb someone asleep, they had about them a lethargic calm like that of shock.
Without acknowledging the two women, they climbed the stairs and disappeared into their rooms. Worried, Jane started to follow, Hannah stopped her. “No, child. Not now. Dis looks like man alone time. When someting very wrong in de soul, dey always creep away. Like de animals do, to lick de wounds. Women talk out big troubles—but men, dey brood. Tonight for sure is my chicken soup!”
By the time they had settled into their parlor chairs, the men were back. This evening Hannah for once ignoring her kitchen, stayed in the room by Fritz. Lighting his pipe, Carl complimented her on the soup.
“Hit the spot, Hannah. Just right, just what we all needed.”
For a while there was silence. Then Stan took the bull by the horns.
“Okay! Anybody here know what idiot called out the fire brigade?”
“Who knows?” Rudy sounded relieved that what was troubling them had been brought out into the open.
“I heard that long before hiring began, there were Ford agents milling amongst the crowds during the night, secretly handing out employment slips to those they decided qualified. Anyone else hear that?” Johann asked.
“If that is true, no wonder those poor bastards were angry. They had every right to be!”
“But not go on a rampage like that, Stan!”
“Why not? You travel hundreds of miles, probably hidden in some stinking boxcar, no food, maybe not even water, finally get yourself to Highland Park and—what do you find? You find there are thousands just like you already there before you! So now you stand for endless hours in zero weather, no overcoat, not even a blanket, nearly freeze to death so you can hold your place in line—THEN, some son of a bitch hires a guy a mile behind you because he likes his looks?! Jeez!”
“More likely because he found one who spoke English!” Rudy added.
“Who said ‘Desperate men resort to desperate action’?” Jimmy lit his pipe.
“Don’t know, but it was sure true today!” Fritz sighed.
“I thought I was going to be trampled along with my poor derby!”
“Me, too.”
“I was scared,” said Peter, like a small boy.
The men nodded. Zoltan looked about the room.
“Today was a disgrace—should not have happened!”
“Who already had the police there?” Johann wanted to know.
“They’ve been there every day since the announcement,” Rudy answered him. “And why was only one entrance open? We couldn’t move our men inside fast enough!”
Carl looked at Fritz. “Where, in God’s name, was Couzens? He could have talked some sense into them!”
“He must have been there.”
“And where the hell was the Boss?”
“He’s still in New York City for the auto show.”
“No. He came back this morning.” John ground out his cigarette.
Zoltan got up from his chair. “You watch—the papers will leave nothing out. They’ll describe every lurid detail, state it was a disgrace! And Henry Ford himself will be held accountable for the way his company handled the whole shocking situation. I’ve had enough! I’m off to bed.” And he left.
The others got ready to follow. Peter looked at John, and said, “Tomorrow—I got no badge.”