The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [439]
“The Reds are making a lot of noise today. They call this an anti-war demonstration.”
Long-haired preachers come out every night,
Try to tell you what’s wrong and what’s right ...
“This is a disgrace and it shouldn’t be permitted. The city shouldn’t allow these dirty Reds to be out here agitating and disrupting the way they are,” Lonigan said with a rising, self-righteous anger, aware of the scuffle of passing feet as he spoke.
“Most of them are just poor people. That’s the reason a lot of them are in the parade. It’s being out of work and having no money that makes Communists out of many of them,” Jim said.
“But look, Doyle,” Lonigan said with a perplexed stare, “they’re inciting the poor people around here to revolution.
1 saw a poor family down a few blocks being put out on the street, and if these people get to a poor man like that, they might make him desperate. Why, there was nearly a riot as I passed. And look up there,” Lonigan pointed at the second story of a grimy brick building across the street. Jim and Lonigan watched a stout woman, with a dirty rag about her head, energetically wave a red blanket and receive cheers and salutes from the marchers.
“Comrades, join our ranks.”
“I know. And I’m not a Red, and never will be one, because they’re against the church and the home.”
For we’ll hang Herby Hoover to a sour apple tree ...
“But I know most of these people are out here because they’re poor and want something to eat and a job. Times are hard, and people are beginning to feel it. A lot of other cops, I know, club and beat hell out of them whenever they can. We’ve got one big mick down at the station named Gavin who always brags about how he can call the spot where he’ll land on a Red’s head. But some guys are like that. I don’t like to hit anybody with a club unless I’ve got to.”
“They ought to be clubbed until they get some sense knocked into their heads. This is America, not Russia, and the sooner we teach them so, the better.”
“Comrades, join our ranks.”
Lonigan thought that he had a bigger squawk than these people, because he was losing more. And still he wasn’t a Red, was he? The marching feet shuffled and scraped, and he watched uneven columns pass, noticing the shifting faces, the different types and sizes, the clothing of the demonstrators. A pimply young man along the side of the parade thrust a handbill into his hand. Embarrassed, he looked at the boldfaced type.
FORWARD FOR A WORKERS’ WORLD
Only a Workers’ America can give peace and justice
He crumpled the paper, threw it down.
“How is Studs? I haven’t seen him for a year or so?” Jim asked, noticing a wistful look come into Lonigan’s face.
“Bill’s got pneumonia.”
“Why, I didn’t know that. I’m awfully sorry to hear it. He always was a fine fellow, and so healthy. I’m sure he’ll pull through.”
“He’s pretty sick, and naturally we’re worried. But we’re hoping that he’ll pull through.”
“Gee, Mr. Lonigan, that’s too bad. I’m very sorry to hear that.”
No Work No Rent
“In cases like Bill’s, we got to let Nature take its course. It’s all in the hands of God, and we’re hoping for the best.”
Jim shook his head sadly, and both of them turned back toward the parade, with nothing more to say to one another.
Remember Sacco and Vanzetti
Lonigan watched like a man in a trance. His few words with Jim Doyle had brought his mind back to his son. He shook his head in impotent sadness, compressed his lips. All these troubles coming down on his head at this late date in his life.
And still they were passing. Suddenly, like a man making an intellectual discovery, Lonigan realized that these people were happy. He could see them laugh. He could see how, between their yells and cries, they grinned, and their faces seemed alive. That stiff-legged fellow with the gray mustache, hobbling. He seemed happy. That frail little woman in blue. They were happy. And they didn’t look like dangerous