The Iron Puddler: My Life in the Rolling Mills and What Came of It — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Iron Puddler: My Life in the Rolling Mills and What Came of It
John Stuart Mill · en
With this money and the last wages of the dead man, the widow paid for
the funeral and sometimes bought a ticket to the home of some relative
who would give her her “keep” in return for her labor in the house.
Other relatives might each take one of the children “to raise,” who,
thus scattered, seldom if ever got together again. When I became an iron
worker there were several fellows in our union who didn't know whether
they had a relative on earth. One of them, Bill Williams, said to me:
“Jim, no wonder you're always happy. You've got so many brothers that
there's always two of you together, whether it's playing in the band,
on the ball nine or working at the furnace. If I had a brother around I
wouldn't get the blues the way I do. I've got some brothers somewhere in
this world, but I'll probably never know where they are.”
Then he told how his father had died when he was three years old. There
were several children, and they were taken by relatives. He was sent to
his grandmother, whose name was Williams. That was not his name. Before
he was seven both his grandparents died and he was taken by a farmer who
called him Bill. The farmer did not send him to school and he grew up
barely able to write his name, Will Williams, which was not his real
name. He didn't even know what his real name was.
“Probably my brothers are alive,” he said, “but what chance have I got
of ever finding them when I don't know what the family name is. Maybe
they've all got new names now like I have. Maybe I've met my own
brothers and we never knew it. I'd give everything in the world, if I
had it, to look into a man's face and know that he was my brother. It
must be a wonderful feeling.”
These things are the tragedies of the poor. And although such a
misfortune never happened to me, this problem stared me in the face when
I began carrying those fatal telegrams. I tackled the problem with a
boyish mind. I soon resolved it into these propositions:
When a laborer dies his little children are scattered to the winds.
Brothers and sisters may never see one another again.
When a man with property dies, his children are kept together. Their
future is made safe by the property.
Labor provides for to-day. Property provides for to-morrow.
That truth was driven into my mind when I saw one family after another
scattered by the death of a laborer. A merchant in Sharon died, and his
children, after the funeral, kept right on going to school. There was no
doubting the truth of my rule: Labor makes the present day safe--but the
present day only. Capital safeguards the future.
From that day on, I argued that we should buy a home and save a little
every day for capital. It was our duty thus to protect ourselves, should
our father die, against being scattered among strangers.
CHAPTER X. MELODRAMA BECOMES COMEDY