Death at Pullman

by Frances McNamara

  My head throbbed with the noise, and I wanted to yell, “What do you want them to do, shoot innocent people? Like Mr. Mooney?” Did they think that would somehow improve things? Mooney wasn’t even a striker, nor was he part of the railroads. He was just trying to find the children to keep them safe. I couldn’t eat the food and pushed the plate away. But I dreaded going to Kensington. There were no stores left at the relief station and I didn’t know when any would come. Much as I disliked it, I had to find Mr. Jennings to ask for the use of his telephone.

  “Certainly, Miss Cabot, come to the office.” He led me to the room where we had talked when I was with Detective Whitbread.

  “Mr. Jennings, did you hear about the shooting yesterday? It was Mr. Stark, that Pinkerton man who was working for you. He shot Mr. Mooney. He just shot him without provocation, right in front of everyone.”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Cabot, I hardly think it was without provocation. From what I heard, there was a huge crowd blocking the line. Stark was surrounded and outnumbered and he shot in self-defense.”

  “I was there, Mr. Jennings. Mr. Mooney was not threatening anyone. He was just standing there. Mr. Stark shot him for no reason. The Mr. Stark who you let go after he tried to plant a bomb in your factory. The very same man.”

  “You should not have gone to that area yesterday, Miss Cabot. Perhaps this will show you how very dangerous it is. In any case, Mr. Stark is no longer in our employ. He has been deputized by the sheriff. With all of these troubles, they’ve had to add men to help get the lines opened up. He was working for the sheriff, not the Pullman Company.”

  “What have we come to, Mr. Jennings, when we have criminals in charge of our law enforcement?”

  “You must ask your detective friend, Miss Cabot. But if Debs and his union had not provoked the situation, none of this would have happened. Here is the telephone, you can connect to the exchange.” With that advice, he stomped out of the office.

  I managed to get through to the pharmacy near Hull House and they got Miss Giles to come to the line.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily, but Miss Addams is in Milwaukee. She’s trying to reach her sister, who is very ill, but with the train stoppages she has been unable to get there. We are all very worried about her.”

  “Oh, I see. I am so sorry to hear that. But, Miss Giles, we have run out of supplies down here and the people are in a very bad state. They have had nothing from us for three days now and there is no other source of supply.”

  “Yes, well, with all of the disturbances people are afraid to go out into the streets, although I must say we have not seen any actual trouble here on the West Side. Nonetheless, some of our most dependable volunteers have had to stay at home due to concerns about travel. I am afraid there is no one to solicit donations. In any case, many people are not in favor of the strike now, due to the unrest that’s been the result. I am not at all sure how successful any solicitation would be right now.”

  “But, you don’t understand. The people are really on the verge of starvation. There is no food down here.” I thought of the full breakfast plate I had pushed away. How cruel that the managers in the hotel had full plates while the children went to bed with empty bellies. It was an impossible situation. It made no sense at all. “I’d hoped something might be managed. I hoped a wagon might be on the way. I don’t know what to tell people.”

  “I’m very sorry, Emily. I’ll call a meeting of anyone who is here today, but I cannot promise anything. You might think of returning yourself, to try to organize something. I will do my best, but we’ll have to see.”

  I had to be content with that, but I still dreaded returning to the relief station where I knew there would be people waiting in hopes that we would get in some more supplies. I had nothing to tell them.

  It was a beautiful day. The trees were lushly green and the flowerbeds around the little artificial lake were brimming with colors. It was a day for a picnic. I stifled a sob as I thought of the picnic baskets Gracie brought from town just the day before. On such a gentle, warm summer day the people of Pullman were suffering from hunger gnawing at their stomachs and grief clawing at their minds. It was quite cruel to see the contrast.

  When I reached the offices above the S & H Grocery, there was quiet. I expected angry wailing at the uncalled for death of Mooney. But then I realized that he was not a striker. He wasn’t even a Pullman resident. This was not his fight, and his death had made no impression on the people locked in this battle. Except for Gracie. I went up to the relief station and gave the bad news to the half a dozen workers waiting for me. I looked over our wonderfully systematic arrangement for carefully distributing supplies, now useless with empty shelves. There was nothing to distribute. I found a few small caches of flour and coffee and distributed all that I had to the volunteers, then I sent them home. I went to lock the door, but what was there to steal? I shook my head as I locked it up anyhow.

  As I descended, I heard voices coming from the clinic. Recognizing the doctor first, I realized the other voice was Detective Whitbread. Suddenly resolute, I flew down the remaining steps and through the clinic door.

  “Detective Whitbread, how could you do that? How could you allow that man to escape? He shot Mr. Mooney!” I cringed as I looked at the sheet-covered body on the stretcher in the middle of the room. I was glad Gracie was not there to hear my outburst, but I could not restrain myself. I had thought so highly of Whitbread that I could not believe he had helped Stark escape the crowd the day before.

  “Miss Cabot. What would you have me do, allow the mob to tear him limb from limb? Because that is what would have happened. The death of Mr. Mooney was a tragedy, but there was no need to compound it by another killing. In any case, you should not have been there. If you and Mrs. Foley had only avoided such a dangerous scene, this would not have happened.”

  “We were only there to find the children and bring them away. Gracie had a picnic . . . ” I suppressed a sob.

  “It’s true, Whitbread. Mrs. Foley asked Miss Cabot to accompany her to find the O’Malley children.”

  “In any case, Mr. Mooney did nothing to deserve to die. Stark just aimed his gun at him and shot him in the head. Have you arrested him, at least? You haven’t let him go, have you?”

  I saw Whitbread exchange a look with the doctor. “It is not as simple as you think, Emily,” Dr. Chapman told me. “He was an authorized deputy sheriff when it happened.”

  “Authorized? Authorized for what? Authorized to shoot an innocent man who was just standing there?”

  “According to him and the other deputies, there was a large crowd,” Whitbread told me. “He was outnumbered and surrounded. The crowd surged towards him and he fired in self-defense. The fact that he hit Mooney was a tragic accident.”

  “They lie. I was there. Didn’t you talk to anyone besides the deputies? I saw the whole thing. He just aimed at Mooney and shot him. It was murder, out-and-out murder. Surely you won’t let him get away with that?”

  “Miss Cabot, the man is currently employed and vouched for by the sheriff. Unfortunately, the sheriff has recruited a force of somewhat questionable, unsavory characters. But in the face of the roaming mobs and general unrest, there is no way to control the actions of such an authority. The incident with Stark yesterday was by no means the only occurrence of questionable legality, I assure you. In ordinary circumstances a full investigation would be pending, but at the moment the police are stretched to their limit just responding to the many calls that are coming in.”

  “You let him go! You saved him from the crowd and then you let him go on the word of the other men who were with him. He murdered Mooney, and you are letting him get away with it.”

  “Emily,” Dr. Chapman interrupted me, “Whitbread is only doing what he can. He has no authority to override the sheriff. And when the situation is this unstable, innocent people get hurt. What did you think would happen in a strike? Did you think it would all be rallies and speeches? This is what happens.
This is your strike that you so whole-heartedly support. No matter who wins this struggle, there are many who will only be hurt by it. Whitbread is doing his job. He has come to allow me to release Mooney’s body to Mrs. Foley so she can bury him.” He waved some papers in his hand. “He has a cart to move the body. What are you doing? Where are the supplies for the relief station? Every day I see more and more people weakened by lack of food. They are getting sicker and sicker. Instead of telling the police what they should be doing, why don’t you attend to your duties? And where is Miss MacGregor? Isn’t she helping you with relief? She is a very young, inexperienced girl. Couldn’t you use your influence to help her?”

  I fell back from his accusations as from blows. The issue of Fiona MacGregor was completely unexpected. What did he want me to do?

  “There are no supplies to be had. I talked to Miss Giles this morning, but Miss Addams is on her way to see her dying sister and there is no one to find the money needed. As for Miss MacGregor, she is on my committee, but with nothing to distribute I have had to send them away. In any case, as you yourself remarked, since the arrival of Mr. LeClerc she has chosen to spend her time assisting him rather than handing out supplies with me or helping you in the clinic. If I see her, I will be sure to let her know you were asking.”

  TWENTY

  I turned on my heel, quickly leaving the clinic. I left the doctor and the detective to each other. I was sick of them, sick of the strike, sick of the violence, and furious at my helplessness. As I hurried down the stairs I was frustrated yet again. A crowd of men was flooding out of the meeting room on the floor below, blocking the stairway. As I waited for the crowd to thin, I saw Fiona MacGregor lingering in the meeting room. I was about to continue on my way when I saw that Raoul LeClerc was there as well, tidying up after the meeting. He saw me and his face lit up with a smile as he came towards me.

  “Miss Cabot, you are here. Have more supplies come?”

  My face started to burn with embarrassment. No, there was no food. If there was food I would be upstairs handing it out. I restrained myself from snapping at him. “No, unfortunately. I have had to turn people away again.” I noticed Fiona move up until she was between me and LeClerc. “I’m glad to have found you, though, Fiona. Dr. Chapman was just asking for you. He sorely misses your help in the clinic.”

  She frowned. LeClerc put a hand on her arm as she turned to face him, staring up into his large brown eyes. “Go,” he said, and nodded towards the stairs. “Go to help the doctor. It’s all right. Go.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed him to turn her towards the door, where he gave her a little push. Passing me, she hesitated. “Go.” He waved a hand at her. “Shoo, go.” When she clambered up the stairs he smiled at me, putting a hand on my arm. Then he looked to see if there was anyone else around. Before I realized what he was doing, he had pulled me into the room, out of sight of the doorway, and pushed me against the wall. I felt his breath on my face, then his lips on mine. I felt the pressure of his kiss for a long moment before I pushed him away with both hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  His hand caressed my cheek. “Don’t be alarmed. I couldn’t resist. You were so beautiful, standing there, in the doorway.”

  I slid away from him until I was in the hallway once more, then I turned to him. “You mustn’t do that. Have you heard what happened? Have you heard that the Pinkerton man, Stark, shot and killed Mr. Mooney? And they let him go. They didn’t even arrest him.” My face was burning with embarrassment. I should not have let him kiss me, I should have protested more, but for all of that my anger at the death of Mooney was more compelling. I thought at least Raoul LeClerc would understand. I hoped he would, because no one else did.

  His large brown eyes seemed to have tears in them as he shook his head. “I know, it is tragic. Very tragic.” He reached out to touch my arm as if to calm me. “Listen, Emily, don’t you see what it means? They are desperate. They will do anything. It means they are at the end of their rope. They will shoot a mere passerby, they will try to starve the people, they will ride the engines aiming their shotguns at the crowd. But it won’t work. They cannot run the trains without the workingmen, the union men. Can’t you see how close we are to winning? Mooney’s death is tragic, but he is a martyr. And there are others. But we are so close. If only the people can hang on and stay together a little while longer. We will win. The ARU will win, and it will be a new day for all working men and women in this country.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I believe it. That is what we are doing here.” He took me by the shoulders. “I promise you, Emily Cabot, when this is over, and Eugene Debs and the ARU are in charge, men like Stark will not be tolerated. But we must win this struggle and to do that we must find a way to feed the people. You know they are desperate. Can’t you help? Can’t your friends at Hull House help us to hold out just a little longer?”

  I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth in exasperation. When I opened them, I was looking directly into his warm brown eyes. He reached up to caress my cheek. I brushed his hand away, confused by the feelings he had stirred in me, and distracted by the more pressing situation. “All right. I’ll go myself. There is no one at Hull House who can help. Miss Addams is not there. Others are staying away out of fear that they might meet mobs in the streets. I’ll have to go up there myself and hound them all until they give me supplies, just to make me go away. I can do that. I will do that.”

  He smiled and stole another kiss before he put an arm around my shoulders, hurrying me along the hall and down the stairs. “Come, I trust you to find someone to help you get a cart for the supplies you’ll bring back. You can do this. We will be waiting for you to return.” When we reached the street Ian MacGregor was standing there holding a clipboard. Raoul pointed to him, giving me a slight push in that direction, and then headed back inside.

  I marched over to Mr. MacGregor and demanded his help. As it turned out, it was easy for him to recruit two men to take me to the city in a wagon, in the hopes of returning with supplies. But when I reached Hull House I learned that Jane Addams was still stuck in Milwaukee, completely taken up with the imminent death of her beloved sister. Florence Kelley was managing the settlement house’s affairs in her absence. She told me that the people in the city viewed the strike very differently. People were afraid to go out now, fearful of meeting marauding bands of strikers.

  I thought of the sturdy men at the ARU meeting I had attended and could not believe they would suddenly turn into a rowdy, destructive crowd. The crowd I had seen at the crossing where Mooney was killed had not been striking railroad men or strikers from Pullman. I was sure they were not. More likely, they were people already out of work or unable to get to work due to the strike. From the Hull House residents themselves I learned that people were beginning to believe the newspaper claims that Eugene Debs was out to force industry and government to do as he dictated. There was a tangible fear of rioting and the general managers were calling for the federal government to intervene.

  “But it is a labor action, it is a dispute between the workers and the railroads. Why don’t they make Pullman return from his country house and just talk to his working men and women? Why is that too much to ask? How can the government get involved?”

  Mrs. Kelley grimaced at my naïveté. “The local government does not want to intervene. The mayor is on the side of the strikers, as you very well know, but the police are wary. Governor Altgeld refuses to intervene although there have been calls for the National Guard to be brought in. It’s the general managers. They are trying to say the United States mails are being interfered with.”

  “But I heard that the strikers are not interfering with mail trains.”

  “Who is to say? There are powerful men who own the railroads and they are determined to break the strike. Debs has been more successful than he may have wanted. The strike has spread, especially out west. The railroad men will do anything they
can think of to force the government to act. They want to force a crisis. The governor is afraid of what the attorney general might do.”

  “You mean in Washington?”

  “Oh, yes. The general managers are in constant contact with the president and Olney, the attorney general. They are taking the battle to the courts, to get injunctions against Debs and the ARU.”

  “They cannot interfere. Surely they cannot interfere.”

  “We shall see.”

  Frustration drove me to action. We scoured Hull House for supplies to take back to the starving town. The previous winter, the settlement house itself had been a relief station during the terrible smallpox epidemic. We turned out the closets and pantries for stores left from that time. We solicited from visitors, but it was little enough in the end. With Miss Addams gone there was no one to go to the parlors of Prairie Avenue asking for money, so I did it myself. I begged and bullied and made a pest of myself. I approached Mrs. Louise Bowen, who had saved us on Christmas Eve, when the turkeys we were to distribute were destroyed. I timed my arrival to coincide with her likely preparations for dinner guests and demanded an audience. She heard me out with a grim expression. She wrote me a check but advised me that her acquaintances were no longer sympathetic to the strikers, or even to the Pullman families. The tide had turned. People wanted an end to the violence being reported in the papers and a return to normalcy. This was not the way to recruit sympathy. There was nothing more that she could do. And she pointed out the injustice of Miss Addams’s inability to reach her dying sister, due to the effects of the strike on the railroad lines. I realized I had received as much aid as I was likely to get.

  I arranged for my purchases and returned to Hull House, eager to pack up the wagon and make my way back to Pullman. But when I entered the front door I heard angry voices coming from the library. Miss Giles was attempting to ignore the noise while she led the kindergarten in ring-around-the-rosy. She looked worried as she came to greet me.