DEATH OF A SHOP
air meeting. They were certain the other workers would join
them and form a picket line in front of the shop.
The bosses sensed trouble and ordered the machines
brought back from the truck. They called the workers into the
office individually. Most of the men agreed to piece work. The
others consented to a cut in pay. It was understood that every–
one would refuse to work with the members of the rank and file
committee.
"If
they quit," the bosses said, "there will be more
work for the rest of you."
~ihen
the picket committee came back to the shop, the
workers were celebrating the settlement with bootleg whiskey,
dripping schmaltz herring, a formidable loaf of glossy pumper–
nickel, wurst, pickles, and sponge cake.
Tony Maspero whispered to Nathan, "Whiskey they give,
pickles they give,-but wages? No. The bastards."
The girls also had the whiskey and cake. The operators
drank toasts to them, "get married next year so you won't need
the miserable shop ." A hilarious worker slapped the girls on
their behinds. The shape-sewer, aristocrat of the trade, pinched
a girl on the breast. She screamed and struck him gently.
"Put them out," some voices barked at the picket commit–
tee. But others implored, "Why give us more trouble than we
already have? 'rVe took the wage cut because we wtre forced
to take it. Come back to work and let's forget, or do you insist
on starting the revolution in just this shop? \Vell, what do you
say, Brother Silverberg?"
"I take no reduction," l'v[ax answered. "Don't anyone
dare to touch my pay envelope."
"Alleh right, alleh right," Tony said. "You no take no
redugashun, de sam as meself. Zhust reib arein an fineesh!
What you can do?"
That afternoon the machines grunted like hungry pigs.
The hum of a melancholy song drowned in the dismal chorus.
Once the factory settled to piece work the Toporovs dis–
covered that the operators were "big botchers." This was new
41
