The life of John Worth Kern

by Claude G. Bowers

It was at this juncture that Senator Kern entered the debate with a warm commendation of the work and purposes of the commission.

As the fight developed—it consumed the greater part of the day—all those senators particularly interested in a program of social justice took part in the debate against the committee amendment, basing their arguments on the ground that society is entitled to all possible light on industrial conditions to the end that ameliatory legislation may reach the vicious features. The amendment was defeated with a decisive vote of 46 to 18, but would probably have gone through but for the fact that Kern and Borah led an aggressive fight against it.

Thus the commission was saved.

This position in regard to the commission is a fair indication of Kern’s attitude toward the problems, the wrongs and rights, of the men, women and children who earn their bread by the labor of their hands. And this attitude was consistently maintained, not only throughout his senatorial career, but throughout his life. This feeling grew stronger as he grew older instead of moderating with the chilling of the fire of youth, and he was never more radical along these lines than on the day he left the senate.

II

After his services to the miners of West Virginia Senator Kern’s most distinguished service to the toilers was in the part he played in securing the enactment of the Seamen’s bill, which was signed by President Wilson in the spring of 1915. The story of that measure reads like a romance. One of the unaccountable neglects of a humane civilization had been its utter indifference to the insufferable wrongs of the men who “go out upon the sea in ships.” The toilers of the land had been lifted from the degradation once associated with labor, but the toilers of the sea were left in servitude, not only with the knowledge but with the active connivance of governments. Underpaid, improperly fed, they were so much the slaves of the masters of the ships that a member of a crew deciding in port to sever his connection with the vessel was treated as the fugitive slaves before the war—hunted down by police officers and returned as escaped criminals to their masters. This impossible life gradually drove the more competent seamen from the waters and the traveling public paid the penalty in increased disasters. From 1860 until 1914 every succeeding record of lives lost at sea was lengthened, notwithstanding the better equipment of the boats. The rule that the wage fixed should be the wage paid at the port of employment led the ship owners to the manning of their vessels in ports where the scale of living was lowest, and the result was that the poorest seamen were entrusted with the lives of travelers. The ship owners only concerned themselves with profits. One of the reasons for the decline of our merchant marine was the refusal of Americans to take service on ships at the meager wage paid, and we entered into a treaty to arrest, detain and return deserters from ships in American ports. Thus we deliberately entered into a conspiracy against ourselves; for if the men employed in low-wage ports deserted in an American port and the master of the ship was forced to man his vessel here he would have to pay the higher wage and thus the equalization of wages for seamen on a higher plane would result. We helped to keep the scale of wages down below the American standard and thereby deliberately forced American sailors from the sea. Before President Wilson signed the Seamen’s bill of 1917 the sailors of the world were slaves.

The battle to right this wrong was waged for years through the patience and perseverance of one of the most remarkable lobbyists that ever haunted the capitol at Washington. Only a Victor Hugo could adequately tell the tale of Andrew Furseth.

Born in Norway, the Viking blood in his veins, he went to sea at the age of sixteen. He loved the sea. It was a hereditary passion. Standing on the shore and looking out to where the sky and waters met he thought he saw in the life of the sea the free life—and he had a passion for freedom. He soon discovered the tragic truth—he was the slave of the master of the ship.

“I saw men abused, beaten into insensibility,” he said. “I saw sailors try to escape from brutal masters and from unseaworthy vessels upon which they had been lured to serve. I saw them hunted down and thrown into the ship’s hold in chains. I know the bitterness of it all from experience.”

And he had seen over-insured and under-manned ships go down at sea because greedy owners would not furnish skilled seamen or provide lifeboats. He had lived to see white labor driven out by the shipping trust to make way for oriental slaves, and the sea power moving unmistakably to the orient as a result.