Change Comes to the East Side
I
LITERATURE has dwelt almost exclusively on the ugly side of our section of New York and scarcely alluded even to the superb bridges. From a point near the Henry Street Settlement can be seen three of these spans and their towers, as magnificent if not as storied as the bridges of London and Paris. And there are other spots of beauty which vie with any that can be found in the city. Crossing the street from the Settlement and looking to the west, one gazes upon the lofty Woolworth tower, the roofs and masses of the Municipal Buildings, and when the sun is setting the glory of the Lord seems to rest over them. At least that is what a little girl of the neighborhood felt when she said in an awed voice, clasping the hand of a beloved resident, ‘Miss Knight, does God live there?’
Veering around, one sees to the east a picturesque old church that has stood for more than a hundred years at the corner of Scammel, and that still attracts visitors, to look not only at the last slave gallery left in New York City, but also at the scratches on ‘Boss’ Tweed’s old pew, which the guide exhibits with almost equal pride. Between the church and the skyscrapers are the problems of society, recording few mutations. But, now as always, it is fatal to dwell upon the outer symbols of life and poverty, lest one forget the humanity that lives and dies beneath the roofs. And there have been great changes.
There is much that has been obvious improvement in the last two decades. The tragic poems of the Yiddish writer Morris Rosenfeld were true in fact as well as in spirit when they were written. But the little girl he described in one of them, who never saw the sunlight because she went to work before dawn and toiled till after dark, has gone with as much finality as the East Side boys whom Loring Brace found living in barrels and hidden under stoops of the tenements.
But one must not forget the picture of the East Side at the turn of the century. Its story has been told many times, with the accounts of reforms of real social significance that have developed out of compassion for the condition of the people, particularly the little children. But in the old days, as now, the East Side gave prominent leaders to the dominant political party. Among them all, ex-Governor Alfred E. Smith is the most dramatic figure, outstanding for the clarity and integrity of his mind and character, his unbroken touch with everyday life and people, his genius as an administrator. When I listen to Irving Berlin’s haunting music I remember that he lived in the block next us; George Gershwin says he cannot recall in which of the houses in our neighborhood he lived, he moved so often; and when generous Sophie Braslau gives her beautiful voice and art for our entertainments, I remember the doctor, her father, our good neighbor and ally. The Street knew Edward MacDowell in his young boyhood, when the Quakers and their kin possessed the pleasant homes. The little boy who sketched his grandmother’s cat so well and whose teacher brought him to us is now recognized in the world of art; frequent on musical and dramatic programmes are the names of girls and boys whom we have known in our clubs and classes, and not a few are listed in the ranks of the literary. Some have been elected to public office, others drafted into the public service because of special knowledge or ability.
None of the boys we have known has been front-page news because of his gunmanship. And indeed there is no more pitiful reflection than the fact that it takes so little to help the young to grow up with right standards of conduct, so little to prevent the juvenile delinquency which is often the apprenticeship for adult crime.
II
The condition of the East Side streets has greatly improved, and the grown-ups and children along the sidewalks look spruced up, wholesome, and well cared for as compared with those we used to see. Evidence of changes in economic status, statistics of the conditions of wage earners, of education, of child health, of delinquency and crime, are accessible to students elsewhere; this is not a compilation of statistics, but a record of human experience. The Russian Revolution has its most startling consequence in the emergence of great numbers of people, of ‘the masses,’ who were spurred to claim rights for themselves. These higher demands have been felt by families as well as by individuals throughout our entire neighborhood. The people whom we know have come to share with multitudes in every land the growing consciousness that they are not ‘the disinherited,’ and that they have a right to participate in new standards of comfort and of dignity.
When we went to live on the East Side, one observation that was not difficult to make was that the conventions of our neighbors of foreign birth and of children of the foreign-born differed considerably from American customs. The first mothers’ club at the Settlement was made up of eight or nine women of the neighborhood with whom we had become acquainted through the nursing service. When they first met, there was no indication of any experience with social usages, for they came with untidy clothes, safety pins holding together their overflowing blouses; and the talk, interspersed with anecdotes to make instruction palatable, was what might have been given to little children — tales of trick dogs and of hairbreadth escapes from fire, flood, or jungle beast. Last year, the thirty-fifth anniversary of the club produced a gathering of about a hundred women, among them all but one of the original group. This dinner, however, was a meeting of sophisticates, though the fact of bobbed hair and occasional use of the ‘beautician’s’ help did not in the least lessen the emotional warmth, the long reminiscences of what had been and of what they felt they had gained through their association with one another and with the Settlement.
Perhaps I should mention as a highly significant sign of the emancipation of our neighbors from binding tradition the disappearance of the sheitel. This was the wig that orthodox Jewish wives had to don, completely hiding their own hair. To go on the street without it was legal cause, long ago, for divorce. To-day the young wives in our neighborhood no longer disfigure themselves with the sheitel when they appear in public, nor has it been worn by the Jewish immigrants of recent years.
It seems worth while to note here why we place real importance on the elimination of those superficial qualities which are often more divisive than deeper and more fundamental characteristics. Habits consistent with the conventions of other countries, though varying from our own, often mark as ‘alien’ and ‘queer’ people who might otherwise prove to be sympathetic, and sometimes limit the possibilities of real companionship. Granted that manners may be, and often are, insincere and a low standard of valuation, it remains that genuine good manners spring from a true sense of courtesy, based on consideration for the needs and feelings of others. To make the point clear, and to show that we were not criticizing the ways of another country or group but merely stressing the importance of courtesy, I reminded our first boys’ club that ‘good manners are minor morals,’ and found as many illustrations as my ingenuity provided. The words have been repeated in the House again and again through the years. Someone has told me it is written that Saint Francis of Assisi used the phrase, but I think neither he nor I plagiarized.
In the beginning of our East Side life, when we went to Albany to press for housing reform or for child protection, we always called those most interested — the mothers — into our council, to ask their views on what evils in their surroundings they would most like to see corrected, and what they felt the remedy should be. Though they were shy, they expressed clearly their abhorrence of dirty tenements, cluttered air shafts and fire escapes, crowded schools, corner saloons, the streets as playgrounds for their children. Now representatives of the women themselves go to Albany, where they most admirably formulate and state their convictions as to needed changes in law or administration. During all this time, while eager to help make a better future for their children, these women, like other groups of the kind, have had a part in social matters beyond their personal interests.
When the Lawrence textile strike stirred the compassionate few who sought the truth and went to Lawrence to get it, these women of their own accord invited the children of the strikers to stay with them, though the hospitality they had to offer was meagre. They sent money for the defense of Sacco and Vanzetti and of Mooney. A most unexpected gift was their contribution to a memorial to Canon Barnett in appreciation of his part in founding the first settlement house, Toynbee Hall, in Whitechapel, London. From their limited treasury they have supported local agencies, particularly the nursing service, of which they tremendously approve, and they have felt a growing responsibility to give voice to their opinions on the issues of the day.
III
From the dawn of time, children have touched the compassion, the imagination, the protective sense of people, but it is only recently that educators have recognized that adults too have a claim to further development. It is frequently argued that they should not be suffered to remain in a rut, that they should keep pace, at least to some extent, with their often arrogant youngsters. And also there is recognition among all people whose minds are not scaled that with the shortened days and weeks of work the use of increased unemployed time is most important. It is surprisingly easy for men and women who work hard, and who think that with marriage and parenthood their part in life has been played, to be stirred to consciousness of their value as citizens and as individuals. Settlements have always tried to bring the generations together, as they have tried to bring races and nationalities together, and it has at times required no little manœuvring to awaken the children to pride in their ’un-American’ parents and to recognition of the gifts they have bestowed. This problem has been much discussed, and it now gains greater significance from the physical fact that there are more older people in the world than there were, that the expectation of life has increased ten years since 1900, and that with greater leisure there is possible a vital contribution on the part of the increased adult population.
On the Feast of Tabernacles in our Jewish neighborhood we set up on our roof a sukkah or booth, according to the ritual prescribed in Leviticus for this festival of the ‘ingathering.’ The proudest participant in the service is an old man from a neighborhood tenement who chants the religious songs inspired for the occasion hundreds — perhaps thousands — of years ago. The admiration felt for him filters down to the smart young people of the clubs who are invited to the roof; and, after our demonstration of respect for old customs, the neighborhood takes part, bringing fruits and cakes and homemade wine, according to tradition. There is no sense of intrusion, but rather of hospitality, when guests who happen to be at the Settlement and know little of Jewish customs join in the celebration and are moved by the beauty of this ceremony transferred from the Orient to New York’s East Side.
Changes in this observance symbolize the changes in the economic condition of the neighborhood. When I first came to the East Side, I would see the pitiful, newly arrived immigrants bargaining with the pushcart dealers for lulab (sprays of willow or myrtle) and esrog (lemons), the greens and fruit traditionally associated with the festival. Having no place to build the ceremonial booth, as their forbears did, they would lay branches over the roof of the outdoor toilet, which bore a remote suggestion of the traditional sukkah. None of to-day’s children know of this sorry makeshift, and their reintroduction to the old customs of the festival comes from people who see the spiritual message and who love to have the beautiful preserved as an inheritance.
When the settlements give exhibitions of ancient and modern art they draw upon their neighbors for beautiful old bits. Lace, embroidery, pottery, carvings, jewelry, are treasured as reminders of the old home. The young people are only now beginning to appreciate these heirlooms. ‘Hundred per cent Americanism ’ had led to a contemptuous feeling even toward these. Some of the treasures given to me long ago by immigrants I have now passed over to their grandchildren. In truth, I cannot say that they always value them as I did.
Hospitality is a tradition in our neighborhood. One of the most prized invitations at Henry Street is that which bids us welcome to a Passover service. Despite the influences of liberalism within the faith, and scorn on the part of some of those who have broken with old traditions, it remains an impressive and a lovely ceremonial. So generous are the people, even those with the fewest dollars, that homemade wine, an essential part of the Passover observance, is pressed upon acquaintances who are not of the faith, and sometimes unwisely. Our colored janitor once came to my door obviously under the influence of liquor. When I ventured to reprove him he said, speaking in the accents of one who has drunk too deeply, ‘Don’ you worry — ish all ri’ — ish holy Jewish wine.’
Our neighbors share their old-country customs and skills not only with the Settlement but with one another. At a woman’s club composed of different nationalities, an Italian housewife brought to the meeting a fragrant dish of spaghetti to show how the popular dish of her homeland should be cooked and eaten. This inspired a Russian Jewess to bring her gefüllter Fisch, most difficult to prepare and highly esteemed by true believers.
IV
Needless to say, we are always sympathetic to the cause of the workers. Their arguments are sound, and only a blind spot could make one fail to realize how wise and how statesmanlike it is to help forward the organization of the workers as a direct road toward making relief unnecessary, and toward enabling them to learn to take the responsibility for their work conditions and their family needs.
The quick response of at least one person to whom this philosophy was presented is a good illustration of the validity of the point of view. In many ways Jacob H. Schiff was one of the clearest-minded as well as the most generous of American citizens, and the Settlement owes an unpayable debt to him and to his family. In one of our frequent conferences on social conditions and wise relief, I told him the story of some needleworkers in our neighborhood and their impending strike. I explained that because the busy season for the trade was beginning they would have to make terms quickly or accept a poor bargain for their labor. This sympathetic man used the same method in dealing with social questions that he did in his business organization. He marked the statement that the men could not support themselves and their families on the wages paid them, and immediately expressed a desire to participate in some steps for resolving the situation. A conference at the Settlement was suggested, to which I promised to bring representatives of the workers and the middlemen if he would bring spokesmen for the employers.
During the meeting one of the latter group said: ‘This meeting will take us nowhere. The whole problem comes down to a question of supply and demand. I may be forced to pay so little for the work out of one pocket that I shall have to help with relief from my charity pocket.’
Mr. Schiff, shocked by this statement before the poverty-stricken and earnest workers, left the conference. He asked for direction as to what practical help he could give. He did not turn money over to the union, but he authorized my greatly prized fellow worker, Lavinia Dock, and me to give such help as was needed. Every morning we went to strike headquarters to learn the urgent needs of the families involved. At the end of the day we sent a statement to our friend, itemizing the rent paid, the food provided, the coal supplied, and he promptly met the bills. When the issue was settled to the advantage of the workers, no one was more gratified than this good man, who said, with the workers, ‘We won that strike.’
The unspeakable tenement sweatshops of which many, like myself, have written have disappeared, and we no longer encounter such horrors as the delivery of a baby just before the coming of the workers and the setting of the machines for the day’s toil. These conditions would not be tolerated to-day by the people themselves; enlightened leaders among the workers have taken the responsibility of arousing this consciousness of the elementary rights of men and women.
In my earlier days on the East Side, labor unions were feared as Socialists were later and as Communists are today. I remember telling at a dinner of comfortable people — bankers, industrialists, a lawyer or two — about one of these heroic labor leaders. Every knife and fork stopped when I mentioned casually that I knew and respected a ‘walking delegate.’ I went on to speak of a man who had organized the cloak makers in one of their early protests against the lot of the sweated workers. I still remember that faces sobered as I told about this leader and his struggle. Of course, it was important for him to make a good appearance when he met employers. He was a tall, fine-looking man, and quite impressive, but his own straits were pitiful. His wife washed and starched and ironed his shirt — his only shirt — each night so that he might look well the next day. It was a joy to me to have any part in helping him. But these friends of mine — ‘capitalists,’ as he and his comrades would have lumped them — were not at all sympathetic when I told the story. They said I had ‘gone over to the other side.’ Such lack of understanding and interest would not be encountered to-day in any group that could lay claim to intelligence.
At the time of the Lawrence strike, when feeling ran high on both sides, a meeting at the House heard first-hand reports of the situation. At once there was criticism. The Settlement was being used for propaganda! What had support of a struggle for wages and factory conditions to do with social work? To-day concern with industrial conditions in a social programme is taken as a matter of course. Indeed, unconsciousness of the relationship between seasonal irregularity in industry, laxity in the labor law or its enforcement, wage levels, hours of work, and the family situation of industrial workers would be considered evidence of almost unbelievable shortsightedness. And in the programme of the National Conference of Social Work, the large place given to industrial conditions and their significance testifies to the awareness on the part of social workers of the influence of business and industry on the whole range of their responsibilities, including unemployment relief, child welfare, character building, public health, juvenile delinquency, and so on — almost without end.
V
A social geologist would find in the Henry Street neighborhood the strata of many civilizations, and of late there has been added a group of colored people. Over five years ago we were interested in an increase in the number of Negroes in our streets, and soon found a colony living in wretched homes — many unfit for anyone to live in — a few blocks from the Settlement. The story ran that the owner of these houses discovered that a laundress uptown was a leader among her people, and he made it advantageous to her to bring tenants to his lower East Side properties.
Though the differences among these three hundred people are not obvious, they represent many backgrounds. There are families from Jamaica, from the Virgin Islands, ‘Gullahs’ from the coast of South Carolina, field hands and house servants from Virginia, Georgia, and Alabama, Liberians — it is said there are fifteen different origins.
At Henry Street it is a long time since we had any fear of embarrassment over the typically American ‘race problem,’ because distinguished colored people are so often our guests — poets, writers of fiction, musicians, some engaged in efforts for the betterment of their race. Guests of other races who come to us accept our social point of view. Residents have something to say about additions to the family, but only one registered a negative vote against accepting a young Negro woman, a graduate of Oberlin doing postgraduate work at Bryn Mawr, who wanted to study during vacation the new group of colored people in our neighborhood. Though she might easily have ‘passed,’ she had no desire to do so. When the subject was discussed she said, ‘I do not blame my people who “pass”; they suffer so much because of their race. But I would not do it, for I should lose more than I should gain.’
That, I find, is not an uncommon conviction on the part of the highly educated, sensitive men and women of the race. And they enjoy, as we enjoy, the humors of the primitives. The coming of the Negro colony to our neighborhood has often given us very rare delights.
The colored man who took care of our furnace for many years, and who was truly religious, called on us at frequent intervals for coöperation in organizing a congregation. We were never unwilling helpers, contributing the loan of folding chairs and tables, giving at one time two dollars to buy an organ from the Salvation Army, and often turning over the gymnasium for ‘affairs’ to raise money for the impecunious parish. The arrival of the ‘visiting clergy’ who came to preach at Frederick’s church from time to time was always an event. When one, a bricklayer by day, was asked if he had a church, he answered promptly, ‘No, ma’am, I’se ecclesiastical an’ loose.’
Frederick’s congregation first met in a little old store, with dingy paper hanging in strips from the walls. After the place had been cleaned, in preparation for the first service, Frederick arranged for a loan of Henry Street sheets to drape the tattered walls. His opening remarks at that first service have never been forgotten: —
‘Bretheren an’ Sisters, dis am jus’ a simple church meetinghouse, but we never would a had this if it had n’t a been for the Settlement, which is our bes’ frien’. But it’s ours, an’ I’se glad to see you-all here. I did n’t ask the President of the United States to come, fer he would n’t a come. I did n’t ask the Governor of New York to come, fer he would n’t a come. I did n’t ask the Mayor [Jimmy Walker] to come, fer he’s busy wid udder t’ings. But I did ask Jesus to come, an’ He’s here.’
Frederick once preached a sermon that had a practical as well as a spiritual application: —
‘Bretheren an’ Sisters, we is joined together to help each other. That’s what we oughta do an’ that’s what we’re goin’ to do, but we must do it in de right way. When I lived in Harlem, me an’ two other deacons felt de call to help an errin’ sister. We wrote to her an’ we said, “Come back to us an’ we will help you lead a good life. Take care o’ your husban’ an’ leave dat other woman’s husban’ alone.” Two days later I got a paper. It was a subpœna, an’ I was sued for seventyfive thousand dollars fer deflation o’ character. I wen’ to co’t an’ there sat the judge, an’ he says to me, “How so come you call yo’self Reverend? hat college you graduate frum?” An’ I say, “Oh, yo’ honor, I graduate frum de Knee College.” An’ he says, “Never hear o’ dat college.” So I git right down dere in co’t an’ I showed him what de Knee College was. An’ I prayed to de Lawd to help de President an’ de judge an’ all de white people an’ all de black people, an’ help me help dem. De judge he turn to Susan an’ her friends an’ he say, “Looky here, I don’ think he means defile you.” An’ he says to me, “That’s right, Frederick; do everything what you kin to help yo’ people, but don’ you nevermo’ write it."‘
One Christmas night I stopped at the parish house of All Saints Church on Henry Street to leave a message of the season for the rector. I was directed to the church, next door, and found him conducting the Mass. As I sat in a pew I could not help pondering on the fact that behind me, under the roof, was the slave gallery left from the days when Henry Street was ‘stylish’ and its houses the homes of the rich, and that the slaves in that black hole could not have been comfortable physically while they received the word of the spirit from the pulpit far below. But, while I could not have seen the slave gallery without turning my head, I could see among the congregation many West Indians who by their genuflections and their familiarity with the service not only showed their acquaintance with High Church Episcopal ritual, but demonstrated that they were entirely at home in the pews. The choir was made up of both black and white members, nearly all trained in the Settlement music school.
VI
Years ago a topical singer on the roof of Clinton Hall (a building erected through the Settlement to afford a proper meeting place for the tradeunions and for weddings) recorded the saga of a workingman who had prospered and reached the high estate of a cigar and a piano in the house. There are many pianos now in the houses. The music schools of the various settlements give evidence of the extraordinarily high standards that are set. The pupils pay for instruction when they are able, and overburdened mothers can and do join classes in music appreciation because they want to understand what their children are learning. The chamber music programmes in our Little Theatre by such organizations as the Musical Art, the Gordon, and the Stradivarius Quartettes, and other equally distinguished artists, draw understanding audiences, and always the performers have expressed their gratification because of the obvious appreciation with which their best was greeted.
The radio has been an ally in bringing good music to multitudes. A cobbler recently explained his tardiness in coming from his little back room to the front shop by saying that he had been listening to the Damrosch programme; he had not wanted to miss it, as he had heard them all, ‘and they are beautiful.’
The gayety, the humor, and the happy home life frequently found under hard conditions have not changed with the many changes in our neighborhood. In a shabby, tumbling wooden house near us live a deserted wife and her three boys. The father has established another household, and his earnings are divided between the two families. Despite the danger of the roof falling in, the rooms are always scrupulously clean, and some treasures from Bohemia that the mother has preserved give color and atmosphere. The eldest son, now twelve years old, takes the responsibility of protector, tender with his mother, careful of his two brothers. The sweetness of that home and the fineness of the lives lived there can scarcely be exaggerated.
Years ago the appearance of a carriage in our block was exciting to the children, and we would be met long before we reached our door by eager youngsters clamoring to know, ‘Who’s got a wedding by you?’ Such luxury was unheard of except at a wedding or a funeral. To-day taxis are easily accessible. On reunion nights the privately owned cars are numerous, and not even the least experienced in a worldly sense is astonished at any visitor, for it is taken for granted that, with to-day’s transportation facilities, strangers will find their way from other parts of the city to our quarter. Indeed, with the broad, well-paved, new streets that have followed the use of the automobile, bankers, lawyers, and other busy people pass daily from their uptown homes to their downtown offices and banks. This has the important effect of unifying the extremes of the city, and the lower East Side is no longer an unknown and foreign land to these citizens.
The newsboys’ lodging house, once a serious problem, has long since disappeared from our immediate vicinity. The mothers themselves objected to this ‘hang-out’ as one which provided an easy excuse for staying away from home, and helped bring about its removal, as they have helped put an end to street selling by the tiny children who used to be sent out as news vendors because their still babyish charm and appeal often moved people to buy their papers and give them odd pennies.
Another great change is the value placed on country holidays. The children themselves, at departure for their two weeks of ‘Fresh Air,’present an entirely different picture from the companies of earlier days. No longer do newspapers hold the vacation wardrobe. It is hardly necessary for us to furnish the tidy canvas clothes bags we long ago devised. I marveled one day when I went to the lobby where the children were assembled to see the neat suitcases and the efficient tagging of each piece of luggage. Who would have dreamed of this in the days when we carried the clumsy newspaper bundles, praying fervently that the break would not come at any rate till we were seated in the train!
Some of our Settlement athletics have developed conspicuous stars, and there have been times when we could boast of a pugilist or two. It is clearly understood that we are not all highbrow or arty, not always politically conscious or striving for a Ph.D.
VII
Though our neighborhood has felt the heaviest burden of the depression, we also had our part in the ’boom.’ In that period, which now seems so remote, we witnessed in our neighborhood an epidemic of gambling reminding one of the South Sea Bubble stories. Even the pushcart peddlers and the scrubwomen caught the getrich-quick fever that burned so high in Wall Street, and speculated in small fractions of shares of stock. One would hear a boast of the ‘rise’ in Blue Cat oil, in which the speaker held two tenths of a share, and the details of the ‘deal’ in which another had secured a twelfth of a share of Universal Radio. But, if the operations were minute, the losses when the bubble burst were easier to bear philosophically than those of some New Yorkers who ’lost everything’ because they had had the means to play for bigger stakes.
The tragedy of unemployment has hit us hard. Pitiful indeed is the fact that many of our neighbors are not inclined to tell us of their desperate plight and their need of work. But they are sympathetic to each other; they try to find jobs for one another and show the same old compassion of the needy for the needy that is so naturally comprehended and accepted because with it comes the leveling thought, ‘I’ve been through it, too.’ We have seldom used the word ‘poor.’ To us it is a ‘weasel word,’ conveying a sense of failure most humiliating to the people who suffer from poverty.
In spite of the hard times, there are many ‘empties’ in our neighborhood, because, as standards of living have been lifted, the uncrushable desire for a bathroom has increased, and the people have moved away in quest of modern conveniences, some driven out by rats! But they have come back to keep alive their friendships and for old sake’s sake, and there are most happy reunions on Henry Street. I hardly think that alumni of any college, even a college where ‘old grads’ dress up most elaborately to proclaim their class affiliations, exhibit more pleasure or more enthusiasm than do the homecomers to the Settlement.
I am sorry to say that the least improvement I can chronicle is that in housing, though inside the homes things are ever so much better than they used to be. That the people themselves are refusing to submit to unwholesomeness and inconvenience was shown in a recent survey by the East Side Chamber of Commerce, which revealed that four out of five vacant apartments have no central heat, three out of five have no baths and have water closets in the hall to be shared by several families. Such facts prove how far behind modern standards is the housing condition of the small wage earner.
More than thirty years ago we felt the urgent need to instill in the people themselves a desire for better homes. I went to Europe one summer holding an option at a bargain price on a most desirable property that faced the river. In urging capitalists to help provide decent housing on a paying basis (‘Christianity at 5 per cent’ it was called), we tried to impress upon them the value to the people themselves of adequate, dignified homes for growing children, and the great advantage to the workingman of being able to walk to work. Good housing in our neighborhood, we argued, would save the small wage earner the cost of transportation, relieve to some extent the congested cars, and allow for recreation and for family life the two and sometimes three hours required for wearisome travel. This water-front project never materialized, but we do have one shining example of what housing in our neighborhood might be, and some day must be, in the beautiful structure that now covers the site for a hundred years occupied by the Hoe Manufacturing Company.
The old factory was long an ugly landmark in the community. From its windows some years since the uncouth workers threw stones and insults on the solemn procession of marching men who followed afoot the coffin of a chief rabbi. The only reason for the atrocious behavior probably was that the funeral without carriages, and the dark men, many of them bearded, seemed to these American factory workers ‘foreign’ and ‘queer.’ Now, taking the place of the old factory are beautiful dwellings, none more convenient or better planned on Park Avenue, built because of the social conviction of Governor Herbert Lehman and Aaron Rabinowitz, a member of the State Housing Board, who generously attribute their impulse to their settlement contacts. The apartments are cooperative in ownership. They are under the wise management of the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America, of which Sidney Hillman is the head and the guiding force. And, though the generosity of those responsible for the undertaking is great, it is a pleasure to know that, whereas landlords generally have suffered throughout the city in recent years, the backers of this model housing project were satisfied with the returns on their investment even in the terrible winter of 1932—1933.
In the planning of these dwellings, beauty and health were both recognized, and no small part of the capital was invested in developing the plantation within the courts, in the purchase of soil and the skilled gardening, that grass and shrubbery and flowers might grow worthily. Every room fronts either on this green oasis or on the street. There are no rooms shut off from sunlight and air. Consciousness of what would serve to simplify the lives of the tenants, particularly the mothers, is shown in a thousand details, none, perhaps, more ingenious than the ‘ baby-carriage garage,’ which is reached by a short ramp from the courtyard, where these necessary vehicles may be safely and conveniently kept without encroaching on apartments, halls, or elevators. The artisans showed their interest in the purpose of the building by contributing lovely bits, a fountain on the roof, special ornamental tiling, and so on.
VIII
To-day the thoughts of many people have been turned toward the advantages of good housing on a large scale, stirred not only by consciousness of the social values involved, but also by the possibility of starting the wheels of industry. Here is a great opportunity, but one that calls for wisdom and insight. In New York City, Chrystie and Forsyth Streets are monuments to the futility of omitting business sense and social experience not only from a housing scheme but from any plan for public betterment. Here the city spent $5,000,000 for a site for a model housing development which presents almost insuperable obstacles to such use. A narrow strip, lying between two main traffic arteries, it is suitable for a parkway, but not for desirable dwellings. It was taken over, needless to say, without adequate consultation with social workers or housing experts.
To-day the notorious ’lung block,’ the area that acquired its name from the high incidence of tuberculosis developed there, has been abolished to give place to a very desirable housing unit made possible through a Reconstruction Finance Corporation loan to a commercial builder, who has already transformed the extreme eastern parts of hitherto undesirable property in the Forties.
But only large investment can clear the section, for not even a new house can be attractive unless its environment is good. Such projects as the Amalgamated Coöperatives and the new scheme for the ’lung block,’ valuable as they are, do not meet the needs of the people of the lowest economic resources. The tenements they now live in are unfit for human habitation, despite the good housekeeping of many a mother. It is not likely that provision for them would ever pay interest on the investment, and, unless something more self-respecting is developed, ‘charity’ would have to issue the invitation to live in the new house.
Whether with changing concepts of social responsibility we shall come to subsidized houses or to government-owned and noncommercial houses is a conjecture. Numerous groups are giving their best thought to the problem, the most urgent change needed on the East Side as in so many similar areas of our American cities, and there is reason to hope that we may live to see the day when we shall not be shamed by the ‘homes’ where so many of the men and women of to-morrow are spending their childhood and youth.