Dear America: Hear My Sorrow

by Deborah Hopkinson

  Sarah says we should feel proud that we’ve come this far. And there will be changes in some of the small shops, like ours. But will these changes last?

  I think that’s the saddest part for me. Even after so many workers and their families sacrificed so much, we couldn’t make the large factories change. Big factories like Triangle have stayed open the whole time with scabs. The Bijou Waist Company even brought in cot beds for the scab workers, so they could sleep there and not have to cross the picket lines.

  The Triangle owners will still make the girls work long hours, and will not give a half day on Saturday. And they won’t recognize the union.

  I wonder, what will it take to really change things?

  Thursday, January 6, 1910

  Something unexpected has happened: Our shop has settled after all! Now I can go back to work tomorrow and I won’t have to cross the picket lines to work at the Triangle factory. My old shop is closer to home, so I’m glad. Besides, I wouldn’t like to work so high up, on the eighth and ninth floors of the Asch Building, where the Triangle factory is.

  As soon as I heard the news, I ran home right away to tell Mama. Poor Mama, she’s been suffering in our cold apartment for weeks. She’s had to wrap herself in two shawls. Most of the time, she goes to Zi’ Maria’s kitchen to work on artificial flowers with her, because it’s warmer there.

  Maybe now we’ll have enough money to buy an extra bushel of coal for the stove. Not only that, we can buy more food and Teresa will stop wheezing so much.

  It’s only the middle of January, but I feel light somehow, as if it’s already spring and I can sit out on my fire escape and write in this book.

  Friday, January 14, 1910

  Back at work! I didn’t even mind seeing Mr. Klein today. I’m so glad to be helping my family again. Luisa is speaking to me, but I can tell she’s still angry about the strike.

  Mr. Klein doesn’t seem much friendlier. But at least he let us leave on time tonight, even though he grumbled about it.

  Monday, January 24, 1910

  Most girls are back at work, so I think the strike will probably draw to a close any day now.

  More than three hundred employers have signed the union contract, agreeing to a fifty-two-hour work week and a raise. Night work will be limited to two hours a day, and not more than two times a week. I’m glad about that! And during slack season, the work will be divided among workers, and not just given to a few girls. That means more girls can depend on their jobs. Oh, and here’s another thing I’m glad about: We won’t have to pay for our own needles anymore.

  Sarah says she’s pleased because more girls have joined the union. “Before the strike, Local 25 had less than a thousand members. Now there are more than twenty thousand,” she said today at lunch. “Some of them will eventually drop out, but at least now we can really start to build for the future. No one thought women and girls could strike. But we proved that we can.”

  Sarah and I weren’t the only ones talking about the strike at lunch. And we didn’t even whisper. Before, if the bosses knew you belonged to the union, you could get fired. Well, those days are gone!

  No matter what, I guess we have accomplished something: The union is here to stay.

  Tuesday, February 15, 1910

  Sarah showed me her copy of The Call. The headline read: “SHIRTWAIST STRIKE WON!” I’m so proud that I was part of the largest strike ever by women, the strike everyone calls the “Uprising of the Twenty Thousand.”

  Of course, Sarah’s not totally satisfied. Even though more than three hundred shops have agreed to the strikers’ demands, she’s grumbling about the thirteen firms that did not agree to everything the union wanted. She thinks this means that our gains won’t last long.

  “If only we could have forced the big companies like Triangle to agree to our demands,” she said over and over.

  I tried to lift her spirits. I said we should be pleased that the strike was more of a success than people had expected. Mostly, though, I’m just glad to be able to bring Mama my pay envelope again.

  Monday, February 21, 1910

  Vito came home today with a bag of candy for Teresa. He bought it himself with his shoeshine money.

  “I found a factory where I could get broken candy for ten cents a pound,” he boasted.

  Teresa smiled when she saw the candy, but she only ate one piece.

  We have more food now, but Teresa doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Sometimes at night I wake up four or five times listening to her gasping for air beside me. I can’t wait for this long winter to be over. I just know things will be better when spring comes. Maybe I’ll even start saving for a spring hat myself.

  Saturday, February 26, 1910

  A half day today! I like that. But I do not like this weather. When the temperature changes, it seems to bring even more coughs and fever. Teresa caught a cold and didn’t go to school all week. And when I helped Mama cook a meal of eggs and potatoes, Teresa barely touched the food on her plate.

  Sunday, March 6, 1910

  Now I’ve caught a cold, too. My throat hurts and I ache all over. I hate how my head throbs whenever I move. Even though I had a blanket wrapped around me, I shivered all day.

  Mama hovers, and even Zi’ Maria, who always seems so nosy and disapproving, clucked over me like a mother hen and fed me spoonfuls of her special soup. I think they are especially anxious because, just last week, in a building on the next block, the Bentavigna baby died. I heard Babbo tell Mama that the father, Gandolfo, a fish peddler, is beside himself with grief at the loss of his son. Mama does not call it pneumonia, though. She says, ’amonia.

  Later, tired from coughing, I tried to sit up to work at our small table and help with making flowers, but I felt so weak Mama sent me back to the folding bed and said I could write in my little book.

  Teresa has a cough, but today she’s the one who nursed me. She brought me water and washed my forehead with a cool cloth.

  “Are you better, Angela?” she asked softly. “I don’t like that you are sick, but I’m glad to have you home with me.”

  “Tomorrow I have to go back to work no matter how I feel,” I told her.

  “Maybe we will work in the same factory someday, Angela. At least that way we can be together more.”

  I shook my head. “No! If you keep going to school, someday you can become a shopgirl or a secretary. That would be better than a shirtwaist worker.”

  Teresa just shrugged her small shoulders. She doesn’t seem to care that much about school. She likes being home with Mama best.

  Monday, March 7, 1910

  I went to work today, even though I felt weak and tired.

  I’m tired of my job. At least during the strike, things were exciting. My English got better, too. But now it’s the same thing again, sewing on the machine day after day.

  And even though Sarah is my good friend, sometimes I miss Luisa and Rosa. Still, I’m not ready to leave this job to work at the Triangle factory.

  Luisa’s heart is still hardened against me. Last night in bed I tried to share my worries about Teresa with her. I whispered, “Luisa, did Teresa’s breathing always sound so rough? Even the tea Mama makes and the cod-liver oil she gives her don’t seem to help much.”

  Luisa didn’t answer. Perhaps she was already asleep. These days she comes home just as tired as ever. But maybe she just pretended not to hear me. I know she thinks it’s my fault that Teresa’s breathing has gotten so bad this winter. Luisa believes if I’d only gone back to work earlier, Teresa would be strong and well now.

  Luckily, it’s already March. Spring isn’t far off, and Teresa always feels better in the warm sunshine. And soon I’ll be able to sit on the fire escape, watch for my sparrow, and write in my book. I can hardly believe how many pages I’ve filled.

  Saturday, March 12, 1910

  I haven’t had much time to write all week. When I got home from work on Tuesday, Teresa seemed to have caught a bad cold. When she brea
thes, I can hear a gurgling sound in her chest. And her cough sounds deep and harsh.

  Yesterday Mama sent Vito to fetch the doctor. The doctor thinks it’s not a cold at all, but bronchitis or pneumonia. I think pneumonia might be worse for Teresa, because she sometimes wheezes and breathes hard even when she doesn’t have a cold. Still, Teresa is young. The doctor has given us medicine and recommends hot compresses. He thinks she can fight it off.

  Thursday, March 17, 1910

  I’m so worried about Teresa, I’ve been rushing home from work every day, and can hardly concentrate on my sewing when I’m at my machine.

  Teresa is holding her own, though. Mama hardly leaves her bedside. She has even moved Teresa into her bed, with its pretty flounce, the turnialettu, which hides the storage space under the bed. Babbo is sleeping in the kitchen with Vito. At least Vito has moved from sleeping across chairs to a folding bed on the floor. That was the first thing he persuaded Mama to buy with his shoeshine money.

  I hope the picture of St. Francis over the bed protects Teresa. Zi’ Maria says she is praying every night.

  Still, when I listen to Teresa’s breathing, I feel scared. Sometimes there’s a long pause in between each breath. When that happens, I squeeze her hand and cry, “Teresa!” It’s as though I have to remind her to take the next breath.

  Tuesday, March 22, 1910

  We have lost her. I can hardly bear to write the words.

  Over the last few days, she suddenly got worse. And then, last night, I went to bed as usual, but sleep never came. Perhaps, somehow, I knew. I kept getting up and tiptoeing into the room, stepping over Vito and Babbo curled up uneasily on the folding bed in the kitchen.

  Just before dawn, I peeked in once more. Mama was on a chair next to the bed. Poor Mama, she was so tired that she’d put her head down on the blanket and dozed off.

  Teresa’s breath came in ragged tugs, and then, in just moments, everything changed. Her chest, which had risen and fallen with effort, grew still. Her face became peaceful. Her breath whispered away, and she was gone.

  I am writing this on the roof. It is nearly dark. Somehow we got through this first day. There was much that Mama needed me to do. But now I’m alone, and my throat hurts from crying.

  It’s not fair! She was only a little girl, and she fought so hard. I don’t understand … I don’t….

  Saturday, March 26, 1910

  It’s hard to write. We’ve had a lot to do, and the apartment has been full of paesani. Everyone brings food, but it seems the only one who can eat is Vito.

  Still, it’s a comfort to have people near. Especially for Mama. Without our paesani she would surely go out of her mind with grief. I think half of Elizabeth Street — and certainly everyone on our block — has been here.

  Zi’ Maria has barely left our apartment, arriving first thing in the morning to make coffee and cooking supper at night. Whenever I go by her, she reaches out and grabs me and presses me to her chest. That only makes me cry. She tries to make me eat, but I can only swallow a few bites.

  Babbo sits at the kitchen table, his head buried in his hands. He asks for coffee, but then forgets to drink it. Other times he goes off with Zi’ Vincenzo. Once, he came home late, and I guessed he had been at the café.

  Like Zi’ Maria, Luisa hasn’t left Mama’s side. She cries on Mama’s shoulder, but at night in our bed she turns her back to me. I feel her anger in the dark.

  There is truly something bad between us now. It’s as if she’s turned against me. In her heart she blames me for what happened. Maybe she’s right.

  Later

  It’s getting dark. This is the worst time for me. I’ve slept next to Teresa since she was a baby. She used to curl up against me to get warm in the winter. When she couldn’t sleep, I whispered stories and songs into her ear.

  Now there is only emptiness. It scares me. I don’t understand how such a terrible thing can happen.

  Saturday, April 2, 1910

  Today I ruined two shirtwaists. Sometimes my tears come over me like a shower.

  Now it is the afternoon and I am home. I can’t write anymore. Mama needs me to go to the market for her.

  At the bakery, Arturo gave me my bread, then reached out and took my hand to say how sorry he was about my sister. I could only nod. I ran out before I started to cry in front of him.

  Friday, April 8, 1910

  Last night I dreamed of Teresa. We were sitting at the table making artificial flowers. It was just the two of us. Teresa said, “Angela, look how quickly I can make daisies!”

  And when I looked, her fingers had turned to butterflies.

  I reached over to touch them, but at that moment, I woke up. It was still dark. I was sweating, and my cheeks were wet with tears.

  Teresa seemed so real. Mama believes she is in heaven now. I must believe that, too.

  Saturday, April 16, 1910

  Every night I sit with Mama so she won’t be alone. The days are hard for her without Teresa. At least after school Pietro and Alfio usually come to our apartment. Or they play outside on the street below, with Zi’ Maria and Mama shouting out to them every so often.

  This helps Rosa and Zi’ Vincenzo, too, who is working long hours now that the construction season is busy. And it seems to makes Mama feel less lonely. Alfio loves to be with Mama and cries when it is time to leave. I think he still misses his own mother.

  Today I took Alfio with me to get bread at the bakery. Arturo smiled me. He asked how my family was doing.

  I answered as best I could. But just seeing Arturo’s warm smile made me think of that day, long ago, when Teresa teased me about his being my boyfriend.

  Alfio wanted to run off ahead of me on the way home. But I kept his small hand in mine and made him stay close. “After all, I am your ‘little mother’ today, Alfio,” I told him, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

  Monday, May 9, 1910

  The days go by, but I don’t seem to have the energy to write in my book. What does it matter if I fill it up? Miss Kelly probably doesn’t even remember me now.

  Our apartment seems so empty now without Teresa. When I trudge up the grimy stairs and open the door, I keep thinking I will see her sitting at the little kitchen table with Mama, making flowers with her small butterfly fingers.

  I spend all my time with Mama. Luisa barely talks to me. Vito is gone most of the time, putting in long hours as a shoeshine boy. I know he gives Mama money every week, but I suspect he’s keeping some back for himself, too.

  It’s spring now. The air is warm and the sun shines brightly. Soon the pushcarts will be bursting with wonderful fruits and spring greens. Today I even saw my sparrow on the fire escape. He hopped about as usual. He doesn’t realize how everything has changed.

  This year spring came too late.

  Saturday, May 14, 1910

  I think Sarah feels sorry for me. We haven’t talked much lately at work. Sometimes I just go outside for a few minutes to be alone. Most of the girls in the shop can only talk about the new spring hats they want to buy.

  Of course, Sarah’s not like that. Still, as I told her, after all that has happened, it’s hard to talk or care about ordinary things. Today, though, she asked me to walk to Washington Square after work. She thought it would be nice to meet Clara at five o’clock, and I could meet Luisa and Rosa, and walk in the park. But I told her no. I don’t think my sister really cares about seeing me.

  Then, on my way home, something odd happened. I saw an American man with a large camera on Elizabeth Street. He was taking photographs of people shopping in the market. I watched him for the longest time. I wonder if I’ll be in a photograph myself.

  It is strange to think about photographs. I wish we had one of Teresa. Zi’ Maria has a portrait of her husband and herself, proudly displayed on a lace cloth on a shelf in her kitchen. It was taken just a year before her husband died in a construction accident. But when you look at his smile, it seems as if he could step out of the picture and s
ay, “Buon giorno.”

  I wonder why this American man was taking photographs of the crowded streets of our neighborhood. He didn’t ask for anyone’s name. What will happen to these pictures?

  I’d like to see myself in a photograph. Would I blend into the crowd, I wonder? Or would I stand out somehow as me, a real girl who lives on Elizabeth Street, a girl who is sad these days, and sometimes lonely. A girl who works hard and wonders what the future will hold.

  Well, if I ever did see that photograph, I would grab a pencil and write “Angela Denoto” right over my head so people would know my name.

  Saturday, May 21, 1910

  Again today Sarah asked me to go with her after work to meet Clara. This time I went.

  The Triangle factory doesn’t get out as early as we do on Saturday afternoons, because it’s not a union shop. So we stood outside the building and waited for Clara, Rosa, and Luisa. All I could think of was how much Teresa would have liked this warm spring day.

  Luisa looked surprised to see me. Rosa smiled right away and linked my arm in hers. The three of us walked together in the park.

  We didn’t speak much. Perhaps all our thoughts were the same.

  Saturday, June 11, 1910

  This afternoon Sarah and I went to the park at Washington Square again to wait for Luisa, Clara, and Rosa.