And I am glad that our women are not forced to undertake such work, and hope they never may be, for I have seen the black side of this work, which already has led to strikes and labour troubles in Europe—and when the war is over, will lead to greater trouble—for the Captains of Industry in Europe tell me that women run machines better than men—they devote themselves to the machine—never try to improve it—to make changes in it—only to keep it going and in good order, while the man is always trying to improve it, to make it do more, so that he can do less. “Stick matches in it,” one manager said—while the women just run the machines as they are shown how.
But making shells is more interesting than washing dishes, or waving flags and marching in parades—and more exciting—but there will be an end to that some day; and the lathes—which have been turned to war work—will be turned back to peace work—and the question is, will the women go back to their dishes?—and if they do not there will be more trouble. I have seen a women’s strike—or a little of it—for with the manager who was showing me around, I left at once. It was not an orderly, peaceful, or womanly strike. That shop was no place for me. Those women were not lady-like.
But just as the greatest human energy has been given to war work, given to make things to explode, to kill, to destroy; so the greatest machines have been turned to do this work with the greatest skill and accuracy and the greatest speed—the workers are but a necessary detail—and it is the working of the great machinery in the great mills which I find so inspiring—so impressive—for the mills are shrines of war. The mills are the modern temples and in them do the people worship. And if only the engines turned out were engines of peace—how much better would the world be—but everything made in a war factory is made to destroy and to be destroyed. But one must not think of that, for if one did the war would stop, and not every one wants it to stop—or it would stop to-day—a universal demand for peace would make peace,—really would have prevented war. But war work in America is the most wonderful work in the world and that is the reason why I have drawn some of the work I have seen—seen in these endless looms of time—where history is being woven. The attitude of the workman toward the artist is curious; in France he understands, in England he looks down on you as a poor thing who has to work—in America you are regarded as a fellow workman, as an artist is!
I want to thank the Secretaries of the Navy and of War, Messrs. Daniels and Baker, Mr. Creel and the other members of the Board and staff of the Committee on Public Information, and the various heads of the various sub-departments of the Army and Navy, who stood my pestering and querying and obtained for me permission to visit every industrial establishment I wanted. In every plant, camp, yard, works, field, which I wanted to work in—I was taken to, and treated with courtesy. I should like to thank and mention by name the various officials, government and civilian, who gave me every facility to see and to draw everything I wished in the War Works they directed—but we are at war—and I am not permitted to say where these drawings were made, and if I mentioned the names of some of the directors of these works the places in which I made the drawings would be known. As it is, I imagine many of them are pretty well known already.
Finally I wish to thank my life-long friend, Dr. F. P. Keppel—who suggested, directed, arranged, calmed down and cheered up all those with whom I was brought in most interesting contact. He knows what he did and I know—and I shall not forget.
Philadelphia, Thanksgiving Day, 1917 Joseph Pennell