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By Root 5055 0

properly fed, she would be warm, and she would get a taste of a normal home life. But he couldn’t bear to part from her. The thought gave him forebodings. He went down to the relief committee, a storefront not far from the mill, and talked to one of the women there. She assured him they had more good working-class families who had volunteered to board a child than they knew what to do with. Jewish? Tateh said. You name it we got it, the woman said. But he couldn’t bring himself to sign the papers. Every family is investigated, the woman told him. Could we be careless about such things? I’ve been a socialist all my life, Tateh assured her. Of course, the woman said. A doctor will listen to her chest. For that alone it’s worthwhile. She’ll eat hot meals and know her father has friends in the world. But no one’s pushing you. Look, look at the line behind you, plenty of customers.

Tateh thought Here I am in the middle of brotherhood in action and I’m thinking like some bourgeois from the shtetl. He signed the permission papers.

One week later he took the girl down to the railroad station. She was in a contingent of two hundred going to Philadelphia. She was wearing a new cloak and a hat that kept her ears warm. He kept stealing glances at her. She was beautiful. She had a naturally regal posture. She was enjoying her new clothes. He was casual with her and tried not to be hurt. She had accepted the idea of leaving him without one word of protest. Of course, this was good for all concerned. But if she found it so easy, what would the future bring? She had reserves of character he did not elicit from her. She attracted people. Many of the mothers stared. Tateh was proud, but frightened too. They stood in the waiting room, a pandemonium of mothers and children. Someone called Here it comes! and the crowd surged to the doors as the train slid in chuffing and hissing great clouds of steam.

A car reserved for the children was attached to the end of the train. This was the Boston and Maine line. The engine was a Baldwin 4-6-0. Everyone moved down the platform, the registered nurses from the Philadelphia Women’s Committee at the head of the procession. Don’t forget your manners, Tateh said as they followed along. When people ask you a question answer them. Speak up so they can hear you. Once past the corner of the station he noticed out on the street a line of militia with their blocked hats. They held their rifles across their chests. They were facing away from the platform. The procession stopped and backed up on itself. There was some sort of commotion at the front of the line. Then he heard a scream, police appeared everywhere, and suddenly the crowd was in a terrible turmoil. While amazed passengers looked out from the windows of the train the police started to separate the mothers from their children. They were dragging the mothers kicking and screaming to trucks at the end of the platform. The trucks were army Reo’s with pagoda hoods and chain wheel drive. Children were being stepped on. They scattered in all directions. A woman ran by with blood coming from her mouth. Steam drifted back from the engine like patches of fog. The bell quietly rang. A woman appeared in front of Tateh. She tried to say something. She was holding her stomach. She fell. Tateh lifted his daughter bodily and swung her up on the platform of the nearest car, out of harm’s way. Then he turned his attention to the fallen woman. He picked her up under the shoulders and dragged her through the crowd to a bench. As he was sitting her down he came to the attention of one of the policemen. The policeman cracked him on the shoulders and the head with his stick. What are you doing, Tateh cried. He didn’t know what the maniac wanted of him. He moved back into the crowd. He was followed and beaten. He stumbled away from the crowd and was still beaten. Finally he fell.

The authority for this police action was an order issued by the city marshal prohibiting all children from leaving Lawrence, Massachusetts. It was for their own good. They were on their knees, holding