Prisoners of Poverty: Women Wage-Workers, Their Trades and Their LivesCampbell, Helen
History
Prisoners of Poverty: Women Wage-Workers, Their Trades and Their Lives
Campbell, Helen
Women -- Employment; Women -- Employment -- United States
"There's nothing that's steady, so far as I can find out, but want and
misery. Just now overalls are up; the Lord only knows why, for you never
can tell what'll be up and what down. They're up, and we're making a
dollar a dozen on these. I have done a dozen a day, but it's generally
ten. There's the long seams, and the two pockets, and the buckle strap
and the waistband and three buttonholes, and the stays and the
finishing. They're heavy machines too, and take the backbone right out
of you before night comes. But you sleep like the dead, that's one
comfort. It would be more if you didn't have to wake more than they do.
When the overall rush is over, it'll be back to pants again. That's my
trade. I learned it regular after I was married, when I saw Tim wasn't
going to be any dependence. There were the children then, and I thought
I'd send 'em to school and keep things decent maybe. I know all about
pants, the best and the worst, but it's mostly worse these days. First
the German women piled in ready to do your work for half your rates, and
when they'd got well started, in comes the Italians and cuts under, till
it's a wonder anybody keeps soul and body together."
"We don't," one of the women said, turning suddenly. "I got rid o' my
soul long ago, such as 'twas. Who's got time to think about souls,
grinding away here fourteen hours a day to turn out contract goods?
'Tain't souls that count. It's bodies that can be driven, an' half
starved an' driven still, till they drop in their tracks. I'm driving
now to pay a doctor's bill for my three that went with the fever. Before
that I was driving to put food into their mouths. I never owed a cent to
no man. I've been honest and paid as I went and done a good turn when I
could. If I'd chosen the other thing while I'd a pretty face of my own
I'd a had ease and comfort and a quick death. Such life as this isn't
living."
The machine whirled on as she ended, to make up the time lost in her
outburst. The finisher shook her head as she looked at her, then poured
a cup of tea and put it silently on the edge of the table where it could
be reached.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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