Then it all came out, the reason for their little celebration. They had that morning been notified by the government that their grandson had been cited for bravery. Yes, he had been wounded in battle.
Then there was a short silence and I guessed the thought, the fear, that crossed their minds. It was not for long; they pushed it aside. It was for his country, America.
While sipping their grape-juice and dividing my seed-cake with the black-and-tan dog, the excuse for my visit, I learned bit by bit that this grandson was all they had. Ever since the accident through which the old man lost the sight of one eye this young man had been practically their sole support.
On my suggesting that they must miss his wages, both husband and wife quickly dissented. No, they had the government’s allotment. Besides,—the old woman glanced at the alcove in which I saw a narrow bed piled high with feather mattresses and pillows,—she kept a boarder. Yes, it was her grandson’s room, and the boarder was her grandson’s friend—a good young man, though not strong and handsome like the soldier who had been cited for bravery.
Unwillingly they admitted that there had been a time, just at first, when Uncle Sam was not so prompt as they had hoped he would be. Their allotment was late. Yes, it was more than a month, but what could you expect with so many soldiers on the pay-roll! The old grandmother had applied to the Red Cross. Since then they had had no trouble.
That was the key to the situation in the tenements during the war—the Red Cross. But for the Red Cross millions might have suffered, and perhaps thousands actually starved. While Uncle Sam was occupied with getting his fighting machine ready for action, the Red Cross stepped into the breach and saw to it that the families of his fighting men did not suffer.
A dozen times a day, during the war and after peace was declared, I entered homes that had been kept together by the Red Cross. It is the one philanthropic organization against which I heard no complaint, not one.
Strange as it may seem, the one human being against whom I never heard a word of censure was President Wilson. In spite of the abuse heaped on him by the newspapers, and the continued faultfinding of their richer fellow citizens, I never heard a tenement woman mention President Wilson’s name, or refer to him, except in praise and gratitude. His pictures in the tenements were almost as numerous as those of the Virgin Mary.
To the tenement woman President Wilson was the man who won the war, brought their sons back home, and stood for a continuation of Democratic conditions as existing during the war. Hundreds of tenement women gave me three reasons why they wished Mr. McAdoo in the White House.
The first was always because he was the President’s son-in-law—as Mr. Wilson couldn’t have a third term they thought “they” ought to send his daughter’s husband. Their two other reasons were: he had started the raise in wages, and had been the means of lowering the price of coal.