“First, we get a baby coming. Now we got a wedding wit de Catholic organ music and all de candles flickering—what a time!! Okay, boys—don’t stand around, wash, and tidy for supper. Tonight we make a toast for coming wedding bells.”
Settled into their parlor chairs, they sipped the fiery liquid that Johann had contributed to toast Rudy’s good fortune.
“Well, I will not be bought,” declared Stan to no one in particular.
“Now what’s wrong?” asked Fritz, his tone impatient.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Rules. More damn rules than you can shake a stick at—that’s what’s wrong!”
Zoltan put down his glass. “Yes, you better watch out, Fritz! I heard the Boss wants no more rooming houses nor boardinghouses run by Ford wives. Thinks that when their husbands are away at work, having other men in the house will be too much of a temptation for them to resist—and poof! There go the profit-sharing benefits!”
“Sin and profit sharing, they don’t mix!” Jimmy chanted.
“Yeah, so tell Hannah not to creep into my bed no more!” chuckled Rudy.
Fritz glared at him. “No joking! This is a serious matter.”
“It’s just a rumor, Fritz. It’ll never happen,” placated Carl.
“Well, the Sociological Department is sure in full swing!” said Peter.
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Henry’s own words.”
Jane looked at Jimmy, not sure if he was joking or serious.
“Is that really what this new department is all about?” Johann asked John.
“I told you, all I know is that the Boss wants to make sure that any worker eligible for profit sharing deserves it.”
“And that is going to depend on how clean his wife and kids are?”
“Come on, Johann. These people are raw immigrants. Mostly farm laborers, they have no knowledge how to live a decent city life, make use of their newfound prosperity.”
“And you, John? Were you never a raw immigrant maybe?” Fritz’s voice held censure.
“Sure, but I had a trade—I was schooled. And, I was single. I only had myself to look after.” The room fell silent. John lit a cheroot. “It’s not just that. You know as well as I do, you can tell a good, trustworthy worker by the way he lives, feeds and houses his family. A drunk or a gambler has nothing to show for his wages but debts and squalor. That’s what the Ford inspectors are there for—to find out—try and set them on the right path. They won’t come to check on us, you know.”
Zoltan coughed, “I wonder. This time, John, you might just be wrong.”
“Tell me honestly, John, you think it right that before you can receive what you have earned, your wife is inspected?” Carl challenged.
“Not my wife—not Fritz’s, none of ours. The company knows us …”
“Yeah,” Rudy interrupted. “Henry Ford’s inspectors won’t dare to touch us.”
“Well, I hope you’re right, John. I hope you’re right, but allow me my opinion that with this, you may not be!” Zoltan said very quietly.
“Yes, I agree.” Carl sounded troubled. “I don’t like it! I don’t like it at all. Something wrong there. And, who will these inspectors be? What kind of men will they choose for the job? Make them so important, so they can go into where man and his family live—with the Ford given right to inspect and judge him?”
“And what he writes down in his report to the Boss that can decide a man’s pay,” added Rudy.
“I bet you they’ll be offered bribes and some will take them,” said Johann.
“And I’ll bet they’ll take more than money if the wife is pretty!”
“Stan, that’s enough. There is a lady present,” Fritz reprimanded.
Stan, unrepentant, replied, “Well, then she better have her eyes opened to what is about to happen in the latest of Henry Ford’s crusades to own his workers.”
“Why is it, Stan, that you always insist on seeing the wrong side of such a giant of a man?” asked John.
“Why? Because ever since the success of the Highland Park scheme—his revolutionary assembly, his Five-Dollar-Day—to the people, Henry Ford has become a sort of God and I think he is beginning to believe it himself. This may not scare you, my friend, but it sure scares the hell out of me!”
“Well, I don’t know about this God stuff,” Carl packed his pipe. “But yes, the place has gotten too big. Everything! Jesus! Three shifts working full out and still they want to increase the speed of the lines! And they will—and if that doesn’t kill the men, the constant pressure will!”
John stretched out in his chair.
“Tell me, Stan. Are you a union man?”
The question so often speculated on but never voiced had finally been asked. The room fell silent. Everyone wondered what Stan’s answer would be but it was Rudy who spoke. “Why don’t you ask me, John?”
Zoltan, knowing where this type of talk could lead, opened his paper to hide behind.
“We don’t need any unions to protect us. We are Ford men. Our Boss takes care of us,” proclaimed Peter as though no further discussions on this subject were permissible.
Zoltan giggled behind his paper. “Anyone see this latest cartoon about us? It’s hilarious!”
“Is it the one where the man in a fur coat, silk top hat, spats and cane, wearing his Ford badge says to his liveried chauffeur, ‘James, be so good my man and pick up my wages’?” said Jimmy, laughing.
“Yes,” answered Zoltan, disappointed. He had anticipated telling the joke himself and certainly in a far more humorous way.
Frowning, Rudy looked over at Johann. “Maybe I shouldn’t get married?”
“To be eligible for the new benefits, you have to be.”
“Or get your parents to come,” John advised.
“You mean that works, too?” Zoltan asked intrigued.
“Yes, as long as you can prove you are the sole breadwinner of your family—you are eligible.”
“So, to make Henry Ford happy we all now have to lumber ourselves with mouths to feed!” Stan grumbled.
“I’m not going to get into another argument with you over that.” John flicked the ashes off his cheroot.
“Well, Frederika has accepted me, so it’s too late now anyway. Besides, my mother would never leave Austria.”
“Listen, Rudy.” Johann put away his paper. “I heard of a house that may be for sale. After work tomorrow, come with me. We’ll have a look. If it turns out to be too small for what I need, it might be just right for you and your bride.”
The evening that had started on such a happy note ended when it was finally recaptured.