The Workers: An Experiment in Reality. The WestWyckoff, Walter A. (Walter Augustus)
History
The Workers: An Experiment in Reality. The West
Wyckoff, Walter A. (Walter Augustus)
Unemployed -- United States; Working class -- United States
Scarcely a soul is in the street. It is a residence quarter of much
wealth, and like all else that I have seen so far, of strangest
incongruities. Houses of lavish cost and shabbiest economy of taste, so
gorgeous that you can scarcely believe them private homes, give way, at
times, to lines of brown fronts precisely like those which in unvarying
uniformity of basement and “stoop” and four-storied façade, flank miles
of dreary side-streets in New York. These yield in turn to churches
and apartment-houses and hotels and clubs--all creating an atmosphere
of wealth and of social refinement, while almost interspersed with
them are homes of apparent poverty and certainly of gentility on the
ravelled edge of things. And bursting now through all this medley
is the clanging, rumbling rush of railway traffic. I can scarcely
believe my eyes at first, but under the frowning walls of a towering
armory I am held up by the downward sweep of the gates of a railway
crossing, on the dead level of the avenue, and am kept there until a
freight-train has crawled past its creaking length.
It all seems a meaningless chaos at the first, but soon I feel the
pulse of the life within it, a young life of glorious vigor and of
indomitable resolve to attain what it so strongly feels though vaguely
knows. And here and there I can see the promise of its fair fruition
in lines of strength and power and beauty, where the hand of some true
master has wrought a home for the abiding of good taste.
Soon there is an abrupt end of buildings on my right, and the land
fades away into an open plain, and from out the sleet-swept darkness
beyond comes faintly the sound of “crisping ripples on the beach.” I
know that I am at my journey’s end, for I have begun to catch glimpses
of Ossa-piled-on-Pelion structures which rise in graceless lines
into the black night. I come up all standing before one of these, a
veritable Palazzo Vecchio, huge, impenetrable, vast, bringing into this
New-World city something of the sense of time and density of the Piazza
della Signoria.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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