DEATH OF A SHOP
Arthur Pense
M
ANY OF THE OPERATORS
and pressers had worked for the
Pretifit Company for twenty years. Young when they came:
Jewish artisans and talmudists from Lithau, Ukrainian peasants
from Volhynia, Italians from the suburbs of Naples and Sicilian
tenant farmers. Some of the girls had run from czarist oppres–
sion, some came to the United States seeking their fortunes.
They labored devotedly and they built the Pretifit Company,
Incorporated, Clothing Contractors.
The company started on Mangin Street, under the con–
stant thunder of the Williamsburgh Bridge. It was a dim loft
on the sixth floor where cobwebs festooned the corners of the
sheet metal ceilings. The rusty. dripping faucets whistled dis–
mally. The toilet bowls were cracked. But rent was cheap.
The "hands" climbed six flights of wooden stairs to the shop.
Every day a truckload of bundles . came and the driver's
sharp and repeated yell, "Pretifit
I"
rose from the curb. Bund–
les
I
The operators and pressers were thrilled. Their pulses
quickened. Around Christmas, when the season usually slacked,
another truckload brought cheerful glances and spirited exhorta–
tions
"Reib arein, reib arein, Bntderke."
The hum of a melan–
choly song was drowned in the roar of the sewing machines. This
was in the days of foot-power and heavy press irons. Under
the spell of arriving bundles the operators swung their legs
faster and the pressers hit harder with their irons.
"Hey, Max, Nathan, Karpov, Tony, all of you, downstairs
for the bundles." The boss woke them from their mellow rev–
ery. The young men rushed down the six flights and returned
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