by Maria Riva
Jane had the feeling Hannah knew exactly what they were up to, but needed the game they were playing too much to want to put an end to it.
By early spring, the Ford Company’s Sociological Department was a functioning reality, no longer to be taken lightly, casually dismissed as just another reformist’s overzealous crusade. This pet project of Henry Ford’s was now a well-run machine, consisting of precise components geared to doing its job efficiently, its charter duty the betterment of men and, consequently, the nation. Ford’s determination to lead his immigrant workers to a better life, give only unto those truly deserving a share of his company’s profits, strict adherence to the rules of hygiene, living habits and morality as set down by his Sociological Department, were tantamount to employment. To gather such information, the department employed inspectors who, with absolute autonomy granted them by the company, were free to question, interrogate, inspect, evaluate, make decisions concerning the household and its inhabitants of any Ford worker chosen for investigation.
As a worker’s qualification for the profit-sharing plan, in some cases his very employment, depended on what an inspector wrote in his report, all questions had to be answered without evasion.
Ford investigators visited workers at odd hours to measure their home life against the American standards approved of by their Boss. Marital status was questioned, a written proof of it could be demanded, a man’s religion, his home, was he in debt and to whom, had he money saved, where was it kept, his health, his doctor, his form of recreation, his wife, his children—all was scrutinized. Nothing, no one was exempt. Each answer was duly noted, written onto special forms. The inspector’s trained eyes searched for telltale signs of bad habits, unsavory home conditions as well as neighborhoods. On the basis of these inspections, Ford workers were classified into groups: Fully Qualified, those approved of; Excluded, those not conforming to the rules of age, length of service, etc.; Disqualified, those with bad personal habits; and, finally, those Debarred because of unsatisfactory home conditions coupled with improper habits—such as excessive use of liquor, gambling, as well as “any malicious practice derogatory to good physical manhood or moral character.”
So that there could be no misunderstandings, investigators carried pamphlets extolling the virtues of soap and water and damning such habits that could constitute a fall from grace.
Most men and their women were given another chance to “Cast Out Devil Dirt, Repent, Mend Their Ways,” become the upright, God-fearing, sober, hygienic immigrants that America, with the benevolent help of Henry Ford, could be proud to welcome to its citizenry.
Those newly emigrated from ancient cultures, where women were chattel, their rights not even at issue, the memory of Ellis Island still raw, were far too intimidated to offer resistance to anyone in authority. Even those women already assimilated, by being denied the right to vote knew their assigned place in society was wholly dependent on the station achieved by the men they belonged to. In order to function within this confinement, they knew their place learned in childhood, that to struggle against it was a useless expenditure of will. Some not so readily subdued, strained against convention, but however women chose to loosen the yolk that held them, they did so cautiously.
Oppression and secrecy have a symbiotic relationship. During this time of the Sociological Department’s power and the autonomy given its inspectors, the Ford women’s primary fear was their utter helplessness. Not only did their men’s loyalty belong to the company, their livelihood depended on them making a good impression.
Automobiles still a rare sight on community streets, the arrival of a Ford inspector’s shiny new Model T could not be missed. With the help of Missus-Schneider-eight-blocks-over, and Missus Nussbaum, who lived not far from Jane, Hannah, fully recovered now her mothering skills were once again needed, organized some of the older women into a link-chain of “Watchers.” With the help of Missus Sullivan to the east, Missus Kowalski to the north, Missus Martinelli taking over the perimeter, as leaders, their patrol covered an area of more than forty blocks. Every street in Highland Park had at least two watchers who, on spying an inspector’s T, was instructed to stop whatever she was doing; if she still had young children, shoo them over to the next-door neighbor, put on her hat and shawl and, not to be seen running, arrive at the house of the inspector’s choice as though just “a friendly neighbor paying a call.” They had all kinds of ruses to gain admittance without causing suspicion of why they had come.
Jane discovered three daffodils making their way up into the light of spring when the Sociological Department came to inspect her. A man of smallish stature, dressed as though about to attend an internment, potbellied and jowled, his fleshiness far more curvaceous than hers, finding she spoke English, told his interpreter to wait outside in the car until he was through. Politely, Jane ushered him into her parlor wondering if it would be correct to offer him coffee or if that might be construed as an enticing gesture.
“Store bought?” Sensitive to his tone of censure, Jane hesitated. “How much?”
“The drapes? I made them myself.”
“Really? They don’t look homemade.”
“Well, I made them—so they are.”
Mouth set, he checked his notebook. “One child, a boy, born June of last year. Correct?” Jane nodded. “Any more on the way?” Jane shook her head. “Going to be?”
“I don’t know, ask my husband!” The moment the retort left her lips, Jane regretted it.
The heavyset face before her, flushed, anger glinted in the eyes. The man licked the tip of his pencil, noted something in his book.
“How many bedrooms?”
“Two.”
“Let’s go see them, shall we?” The inspector started for the stairs.
Jane followed. “The boy is asleep.”
“Good. Two o’clock we suggest is the correct time of the day for a child that age to nap.” The inspector mounted the stairs, running an inquisitive hand up the banister, checking for grime.
“Walls this color when you moved in?”
“No. My husband painted them.”
“Peculiar choice. One could even say a radical one. Husband’s a radical?”
“I don’t know what that means. He is a toolmaker, he designs them.”
“That, I know, lady.” His eyes roamed the immaculate bedroom.
“Clean as a whistle. You sure you’re Italian? Usually you people don’t know what a decent home is. Live like animals and seem to enjoy it … Okay, I’ve seen enough up here!”
Hand shaking, Jane closed the bedroom door behind him. Flipping pages, the inspector descended the stairs.
“Religion?”
“Catholic.” Jane said the first thing that came to mind.
“Drink?”
“Excuse me?”
“Inebriating spirits! How many bottles have you got in the house?”
“None.”
“Oh, come on. You people swill the juice of the grape like hogs do slop.”
“My husband doesn’t!”
“Okay. Let’s just have a look, shall we? Let’s see what’s in your kitchen cupboards.”
Jane was so relieved to be far from the bedroom, she led the inquisitor into the kitchen without a moment’s hesitation. His search was swift and thorough. Seeming resentful that he had not been able to unearth the proof of expected Italian debauchery, remarking that even the usual stench of garlic was missing from her house, he tipped his hat and left.
Trembling, Jane leaned against the closed door gulping for air, not quite sure if she was doing so out of relief or fury. There was a knock on the door.
Fearful the inspector had returned, Jane opened it. A distraught Missus Nussbaum stood on the threshold.
“Dear Lord in Heaven, please forgive—I have come too late—my Elsa—she swallowed a button just when I see the automobile so I
had to hold her upside down and shake her till the button dropped out before I can run over. You alright? He not try anything with you?” Pushing her way in, she held Jane’s shoulders, searching her face.
“I’m alright.” Missus Nussbaum, not convinced, held her. “Really, I’m alright … my knees just feel funny, that’s all.”
“Come, we go sit and I make you some coffee. What a watcher I am! Couldn’t even get here on time! And I ran, which I’m not supposed to. Don’t know what Hannah will say when she hears!”
“We don’t have to tell her, Missus Nussbaum. I won’t.”
“Thank you, dear, that’s real nice of you. But guilty I am. Just think of it—if something had happened … my goodness gracious me! I would never have forgiven myself!” She fussed, made a pot of strong coffee, they drank and talked.
When finally convinced that everything was really alright, Missus Nussbaum hurried home to see what else her Elsa might have found to swallow in her absence.
Of course, Hannah found out. First, without upsetting her, she switched Missus Nussbaum’s post to cover further down the street, reassigning Missus Zovanovitch to watch the upper portion of Louise Street that included Jane’s house, saying that as Ukrainians came from far deserted plains of endless vistas, their eyes were keener. Besides, now her children were grown, they wouldn’t swallow things anymore.
“Ninnie, God was looking down on you for sure. Here, have some,” Hannah cut her a piece of strudel.
Jane shrugged, “I was just lucky.”
“What? You tink it was just a lucky ting dat exact morning you washed all de windows, scrubbed all de floors even?”
“Well …”
“‘Well’ nutting! You were being protected, you silly girl! One day you will learn dat God look out for you, even when you never tink He does. When dat day come, I want to be around to see your face!” She poured more coffee. “What I still wonder, can’t get out of my head, is why dey come to John! He’s a long time big shot. De Boss knows his name and everyting!”
“Maybe because we’re Italian—or, maybe they made a mistake?”
“Dose kind of snoopers don’t make mistakes … but maybe you got someting dere wit de Italian idea. I hear dey always examine dem first. Den it’s de Low Irish, de Russian Jews, de Hungarians and everyone else like dat before dey get around to de Germans like us and all de others who keep clean.”
Wanting to help, Jane decided to join the Watchers—in a roving capacity. On specified days, she deposited Michael at Johann’s house into Henrietta’s care, then made her way to the Italian sections clustered near the Ford plant, walked the streets looking for the signs of a parked T, its driver waiting.
With Frederika, who was so bored she welcomed any distraction as long as it was ladylike, and some of the other wives, Jane also began a sewing circle, stitching samplers that after Fritz framed them, were handed out to families at risk to be hung in strategic places to catch a Ford inspector’s eye. Cleanliness Is Next to Godliness was, of course, the one they did mostly. But there were others. Duty Before Pleasure, Err Today—Repent Tomorrow, Gambling Is Father of Despair and Son of Avarice. Serafina, who sometimes found time to help, once blocked out one that read, Lie Down with Dogs and You Get Up with Fleas, but Henrietta stopped her just in time. Like schoolgirls attending an embroidery class, they often laughed together while thinking of proverbs they would prefer to be stitching for the suspicious eyes of Ford inspectors. Smiling, Missus Fillapelli looked up from her embroidery frame. “How about Mention the Devil and in He Walks!”
Henrietta rethreaded her needle. “I’ve got one—Search Others for Their Virtues, Yourself for Your Vices.”
“Seek Not What You Should Not,” volunteered young Missus Kretchmer.
“The Road to Hell Is Paved with Good Intentions,” murmured Missus Sullivan, to which, Missus Zweig added, “What Can’t Be Cured Must Be Endured.”
After that, the women stitched in silence. As her husband continued in his blinded adulations of his God, Henry Ford, Jane began to see him in another light less sanctified.
Before Easter, Jane’s flower border at the end of the yard rewarded her care by producing six tulips. Erect as soldiers, egg yolk yellow, she tended them like newborn chicks. Hannah had suggested she cultivate a vegetable patch, but now she was glad she had splurged—planted flowers instead of sensible green. Carl’s Rosie gave birth to twins, turning him into a boasting Papa. On hearing the news, Serafina was terribly upset, wringing her hands, wailing that as her clairvoyant power had forsaken her, all was lost she would fling herself off the highest cliff as soon as she found one. But when Stan explained that all she had gotten wrong was who had twins, not their actual arrival, she calmed sufficiently to accept their birth, even bringing each a twig of thyme, suspended from a silver ribbon, assuring the new mother that if hung above their beds, henceforth her offspring would be protected from all infections of the eye. Frederika, who was now with child, was heard to whisper to Rudy that she hoped Rosie’s fate was not due them—for if she had two, at one time, she was sure she’d die; to which Serafina, hearing her, prophesied that as she would produce only one, her death, though a tragic one, would not occur for some years yet, Frederika had nothing to worry about. Dora, who had wished for children during her first marriage to the baker, still had not conceived in her second to Peter, began staying close to Rosie, hoping her aura of proven fertility might benefit her.
Everyone, even Zoltan, came to see Carl’s new family, complimented the proud parents on the beauty of their two little girls, asked what names had been chosen for them. When Carl replied that because his daughters resembled delicate flowers, one was to be Violet, the other Rose, after her mother, Jane was reminded of her first American friends, wondered how they were, if they were still flowers residing with their generous aunt in that pretty house in the City of New York.
Rumpelstiltskin returned, didn’t even stop to say hello, rushed into the Geiger parlor, flung open the piano, spun up the stool, flecked his fingers, pounded out a lilting rendition of “When You Wore a Tulip,” singing the lyric in an amazingly rich tenor for so tiny a man. Finished, he justified his explosive entrance by explaining to a startled Hannah that, having just been taught this salute to the Easter Season, he needed to set it in his mind and fingers before it eluded him. He had also learned the latest hit “Shine on Harvest Moon,” but that he knew and would perform it after supper. Hannah hugged her Ebbely before allowing him to escape to unpack, take a nice hot bath in her Pride and Joy.
Everyone was asked to attend the naming of Carl and Rosie’s twins. A Catholic christening in itself impressive, an Irish-Polish one in a cathedral during Holy Easter made it that much more of an occasion no one wanted to miss.
Having seen an illustration depicting Mrs. Rockefeller attending the races, Jane copied her ensemble, using genuine imported chambray in the shade of ecru.
Stan at the wheel of his Touring, Serafina beside him in Easter finery of deep purple trimmed with jet, came to pick up Johann and his family. He in a new suit of light gray and matching derby, Henrietta and the girls in identical dresses of white batiste with china blue sashes.
Rumpelstiltskin, resplendent in a vest of cobalt blue embroidered in tiny fleur-de-lys, having only room enough for one passenger in his Runabout, drove Hannah in her summer white to the church.
Frederika, not yet showing sufficiently to cause embarrassment, wearing her favorite shade of palest green with new bonnet to match, walked on Rudy’s arm to catch the Inter-Urban trolley, with John and his family, accompanied by Fritz, following behind.
Having been asked to be the godparents, Peter and Dora greeted them at the entrance to the church. They waited for Zoltan’s arrival which, when he finally appeared, slightly out of breath, was spectacular! In a moment of uncharacteristic abandon, Zoltan had bought himself a complete morning suit, striped pants, tailcoat and all and, in
order to do its splendor justice, had added pearl-gray spats and matching top hat. People entering the church thought he must be the groom of a wedding no one had heard was scheduled to take place.
“Zoltan! If Jimmy could only see you now!” exclaimed Rudy. “You look like you’ve been invited to take tea with the king of England!”
“Too much? You think this is too much? Maybe … the spats?”
“Don’t let dem kid you.” Hannah looked him up and down. “Smart! Like a real millionaire, so handsome you look. Vhy you not married—still living wit dat grouchy Mama, I don’t understand. Girls crazy for a nice-looking man like you! … Come, everybody we go in … or all de front places vill be full vit strangers.”
It was such a special occasion, everyone so festive, at their best—even Violet and Rose accepting water splashed onto their little heads without complaining—that Jane never once felt the urge to escape, get away from the cloying dominance of consecrated ground. Afterwards, they all met up at Carl’s home for Easter treats and wine. While the babies slept, Johann’s girls munched hard-boiled eggs making sure Michael didn’t eat the brightly colored shells he found so pretty, the women admired each other’s clothes, the men crowded into the small parlor, drank wine and talked.
Johann lifted his glass. “Here’s to your girls, Carl!” The others joined in the toast. “John, I heard you may be one of the men going to San Francisco to help set up the company’s exhibit?”
Peter took out his pipe. “What exhibit?”
“Remember last year, when the Boss wanted to show off the moving assembly line at the Michigan State Fair?”