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say　that　life　has　no　meaning；　that　men　are　the　playthings　of　blind　forces　that　crush　them；　and　there　is　no　answer　to　the　riddle。　This　is　nonsense。　I　admit　that　we　are　in　the　grip　of　blind　forces。　But　we　are　not　blind。　We　can　not　change　those　forces。　If　we　fight　against　them　they　will　crush　us。　But　by　going　with　them；　guiding　our　careers　along　their　courses；　they　will　bear　us　to　the　port　we're　steering　for。

The　mob　spirit　in　man　is　one　of　those　blind　forces　that　so　often　lead　to　shipwreck。　The　mob…mind　differs　from　the　mind　of　reason。　To　tell　them　apart　is　like　distinguishing　mushrooms　from　toadstools。　They　look　alike；　but　one　means　health　and　the　other　is　poison。　Life　has　taught　me　the　difference　between　a　movement　and　a　mob。　A　movement　is　guided　by　logic；　law　and　personal　responsibility。　A　mob　is　guided　by　passion　and　denies　responsibility。

I　have　seen　meetings　turned　into　mobs　and　mobs　dissolved　again　into　meetings。　Swept　by　passion　we　willed　a　strike。　That　strike　would　have　been　just；　and；　yet；　it　would　have　ruined　us。　We　were　like　a　mob　in　which　every　man　forgets　his　own　responsibility；　The　mob　mind　would　have　rushed　us　to　our　own　ruin。　My　speech　called　for　individuals　to　stand　up。　That　set　each　individual　thinking：　〃If　I　stand　up；　that　crazy　guy　will　smash　me。〃　Each　man　became　responsible　again。　The　mob　was　gone；　and　all　we　had　was　individual　men；　each　thinking　for　himself。　That　thinking　then　went　on　and　each　man　reached　a　verdict　based　on　logic；　sense　and　duty。　The　meeting　could　no　longer　speak　with　one　voice。　It　couldn't　talk　at　all。　It　stammered。　The　action　showed　that　each　mind　stood　apart；　alone。　And　yet　the　vote　revealed　that　they　were　all　together。

I　have　watched　the　long　struggle　of　unionism　in　America　and　I　know　the　law　that　has　governed　all　its　ups　and　downs。　Wherever　it　was　still　a　movement　it　has　thrived；　wherever　it　became　a　mob　it　fell。　The　one　Big　Union　was　a　mob。　No　movement　based　on　passion　finally　wins；　no　movement　based　on　reason　finally　fails。　Why　then　say　life　is　a　riddle　and　man　helpless？

When　I　became　Secretary　of　Labor；　one　of　the　first　letters　I　received　was　from　Mrs。　Eli　Baldwin　whose　coal　oil　I　burned　shamelessly；　studying　far　into　the　night。　Mrs。　Eli　Baldwin　wrote　from　Atlanta；　Indiana；　where　she　now　lives：


〃When　your　roommates　complained　because　your　light　kept　them　awake；　I　knew　what　you　were　doing。　I　knew　that　you　were　studying　their　problems　for　them；　getting　yourself　an　education　so　you　would　know　how　to　get　them　better　wages　and　better　working　conditions。〃


This　letter　pleased　me　more　than　I　can　tell。　This　kind　old　lady；　now　eighty…two；　had　faith　in　me　and　feels　that　her　faith　was　justified。　Now；　then；　can　I　believe　that　life　is　meaningless；that　there　is　no　plan；　and　that　all　man's　efforts　are　foredoomed　to　failure？



CHAPTER　XXXIII

I　MEET　THE　INDUSTRIAL　CAPTAINS


Elwood；　Indiana；　was　a　small　village　that　had　been　called　Duck　Creek　Post…Office　until　the　tin　mill　and　other　industries　began　making　it　into　a　city。　In　my　capacity　as　president　of　the　local　union　and　head　of　the　wage　mill　committee；　I　was　put　in　personal　contact　with　the　heads　of　these　great　industrial　enterprises。　This　was　my　first　introduction　to　men　of　large　affairs。

I　approached　them　with　the　inborn　thought　that　they　must　be　some　sort　of　human　monsters。　The　communist　books　that　Comrade　Bannerman　had　given　me　taught　me　to　believe　that　capitalists　had　no　human　feelings　like　ordinary　mortals。　I　therefore　expected　to　find　the　mill…boss　as　cunning　as　the　fox　and　ape　combined。　I　supposed　that　his　word　would　be　worthless　as　a　pledge　and　would　be　given　only　for　the　purpose　of　tricking　me。　His　manners　I　expected　to　be　rude；　he　would　shout　at　me　and　threaten　me；　hoping　to　take　away　my　courage　and　send　me　back　to　my　fellows　beaten。

What　I　found；　of　course；　was　a　self…possessed　man；　the　model　of　courtesy　and　exactness。　He　differed　from　us　men　in　one　respect。　His　mind　was　complex　instead　of　simplex。　That　is；　he　could　think　on　two　sides　of　a　question　at　the　same　time。　He　had　so　trained　his　mind　by　much　use　of　it　that　it　was　as　nimble　as　the　hands　of　a　juggler　who　can　keep　several　objects　tossing　in　the　air　at　the　same　time。　We　men　were　clumsy　thinkers；　and　one　thing　at　a　time　was　all　we　could　handle　without　fumbling　it。

The　great　manufacturer　never　showed　any　emotion。　He　was　never　angry；　domineering；　sneering　or　insulting。　He　kept　these　emotions　under　control　because　they　could　do　him　no　good；　and　because　they　would　give　pain　to　others。　We　fellows　never　hesitated　to　show　how　we　felt。　We　would　jibe　one　another；　laugh　at　a　fellow　to　his　chagrin；　and　when　we　were　angry　bawl　each　other　out　unmercifully。　For　a　fellow　to　smile　when　he　was　angry　and　not　let　the　other　fellow　know　it；　was　a　trick　we　had　not　learned。　That　a　bloodthirsty；　cruel　capitalist　should　be　such　a　graceful　fellow　was　a　shock　to　me。　I　saw　from　the　start　that　the　communist　picture　of　a　capitalist　as　a　bristling；　snorting　hog　was　the　farthest　thing　from　the　truth。　The　picture　was　drawn　by　malice　and　not　from　a　desire　to　tell　the　truth。

I　learned　that　when　Mr。　Reid　and　his　fellows　gave　their　word　they　never　broke　it。　It　was　hard　to　get　a　promise　from　them；　but　once　they　made　a　promise　they　always　fulfilled　it。　If　they　said　they　would　meet　us　at　a　certain　hour；　they　were　always　there　on　the　minute。　They　were　patient；　firm　and　reasonable；　and　they　always　treated　us　as　their　equals。

They　always　gave　us　the　reasons　for　the　stand　they　took。　At　first　I　doubted　their　sincerity；　but　in　the　end　I　learned　that　the　reasons　they　cited　were　the　true　reasons。　At　first　they　thought　that　they　would　have　to　guard　themselves　against　roguery　and　doubledealing　on　the　part　of　the　tin　workers。　This　showed　that　they　had　had　unpleasant　experiences。　For；　men　who　knew　their　business　as　well　as　they　did　must　surely　have　had　some　cause　for　their　suspicion。　Baseless　suspicion　is　a　trait　of　ignorant　men；　and　these　men　were　not　ignorant。　A　burnt　child　dreads　the　fire。

I　decided　to　take　them　as　my　models；　to　learn　all　their　virtues　and　let　them　know　that　I　was　as　square　in　my　dealings　with　them　as　they　were　with　me。　I　studied　their　business　as　thoroughly　as　I　studied　the　case　of　the　men。　I　soon　got　from　them　all　the　concessions　we　had　demanded　when　we　called　the　strike。　It　was　fortunate　for　us　that　the　strike　was　cancelled；　for　we　kept　our　jobs　and　in　due　course　got　all　the　things　that　we　were　going　to　strike　for。

In　fact；　I　got　so　many　concessions　by　dickering　with　those　bosses　that　I　made　life　a　burden　for　them　at　times。　I　knew　the　cost　of　every　different　kind　of　plate　the　mill　put　out；　and　so　I　could　demand　a　high　rate　of　wages　and　support　my　demands　with　logic。　My　midnight　studies　had　not　been　in　vain。　It　all　came　back　in　cash　to　the　working　man；　and　yet　it　was　my　own　pals　who　had　rebuked　me　for　being　too　bookish。　This　did　not　make　me　sour。　I　loved　the　fellows　just　the　same；　and　when　they　showed　their　faith　in　me；　it　more　than　paid　me　back。

But　I　had　learned　this　general　rule：　The　average　working　man　thinks　mostly　of　the　present。　He　leaves　to　students　and　to　capitalists　the　safeguarding　of　his　future。



CHAPTER　XXXIV

SHIRTS　FOR　TIN　ROLLERS


In　summer　the　temperature　in　the　tin　mills　is　very　high。　It　is　as　hot　as　the　Fourth　of　July　in　Abyssinia。　One　day　a　philosophical　fellow　was　talking　religion　to　me。　He　said；　〃I　don't　believe　in　hell　as　a　place　where　we　boil　forever　in　a　lake　of　brimstone。　It　can't　be　as　hot　as　that。　My　constitution　never　could　stand　it。〃　His　constitution　stood　up　under　the　heat　in　the　tin　mill。　So　it　is　plain　that　the　tin…mill　temperature　was　somewhat　less　than　the　temperature　of　the　Pit。

Outsiders　began　coming　into　the　mills　and　giving　us　workers　a　chill　by　telling　us　that　the　heat　was　killing　us。　The　men　used　to　cool　themselves　down　with　a　glass　of　beer　at　the　close　of　the　day。　The　social　investigators　told　us　that　alcohol　taken　into　the　system　at　such　a　time　would　cause　sunstroke。　If　beer　was　fatal；　most　of　us　figured　that　we　had　been　dead　for　years　and　didn't　know　it。　The　effect　of　constant　complaints　was　to　demoralize　us　and　make　our　work　harder。　I　thought　at　first　that　these　investigators　were　our　friends　and　I　gave　them　all　the　help　I　could。　But　instead　of　helping　us；　they　only　hurt　us；　and　then　I　soured　on　their　misapplied　zeal。　They　were　a　species　new　to　me　that　seemed　to　have　sprung　up　in　the　hard　times；　just　as　cooties　spring　up　in　time　of　war。　And　like　cooties；　they　attached　themselves　to　us　closer　than　a　brother　and　yet　they　were　no　brothers　of　ours。　The　social　investigators　nibbled　away　at　the　men　and　kept　them　restless　in　their　hours　of　ease。　They　sat　at　our　boarding　table　and　complained　of　the　food。　Corned　beef　and　cabbage　was　one　of　our　regular　dishes。　Mr。　Investigator　turned　up　his　nose　and　said：　〃I　never　touch　corned　beef。　If　you　knew　as　much　about　it　as　I　do；　you　would　insist　on　steaks　or　roast　beef　instead。　You　know　what　corned　beef　is；　don't　you？〃

The　men　got　mad　and　one　fellow　said：　〃Yes；　it　is　dead　cow。　All　meat　is　dead　animals。　Now　give　us　a　rest。〃

〃Yes；　it's　all　dead；　but　some　of　it　is　a　whole　lot　deader　than　you　imagine。　I've　been　investigating　the　packing　business；　and　I'll　tell　you　all　about