I Can Get It for You Wholesale Read online

  The manager had told me there were six hundred seats in the place. But there were more than six hundred shipping clerks there already and the door kept opening and closing as new ones arrived. They were doubling up on the chairs, and plenty of them were standing. I tried to count them, but it was too much of a job. I made a rough estimate. Close to a thousand. Not bad.

  The air was heavy with smoke and there was a steady hum of low voices. But there was no shouting or pushing or laughing. And it wasn’t only that they were quiet because they seemed to be afraid of something. It was just that they’d never before been brought together in a mob where they could take a good look at themselves. Alone, in their shipping rooms, wearing their fancy clothes, they knew they were heels, but they could still feel superior. But here, jammed up together in a crowd, they could look at themselves multiplied by a thousand. It was a little too much shipping clerk. Even for me. I felt slightly embarrassed myself.

  Suddenly Tootsie stood up and rapped on the table with a ruler. The noise stopped immediately, as though it had been coming from another room and a heavy door had been closed suddenly to shut it out.

  “Fellows,” he said, looking around the room with a quiet smile, “before we go into the serious business of the evening, I want to congratulate you on your showing. I don’t mind admitting that we didn’t expect such a big turnout. If we had, we would have arranged for a larger place.” The hell we would! “But we’ll come to the point without wasting time and settle our business quickly. So please bear with us.”

  He was better than I expected. There was something about his fat face and long hair and serious-sounding voice that made him look the part. I couldn’t have done better myself.

  “I guess it’s no secret to you,” he said, “why we’ve assembled here to-night. Every one of you has, at some time during the last week, read one of the circulars that we have been distributing. Or, if you haven’t read it, you’ve been told about it. And what we have said on those circulars has interested you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

  One of the pots that sat at the table on the platform was writing away with a pencil, her head bent down over her work. The other one was just sitting there, listening. That was a good idea of Tootsie’s, having the dames along. It made the thing seem real. I’d noticed that a long time ago. A secretary adds importance to whatever you’re doing, no matter how stupid it may be.

  “I don’t think I’m overstating the case,” Tootsie said, “when I say that the shipping clerks of Seventh Avenue are probably the hardest-worked and poorest-paid class of workers in the country. I know, because I was a shipping clerk myself once.” Oh yes, he was! “And when the season rushes come along, I’d say they were the poorest-paid workers in the whole world. Now, there’s no reason for that. There’s nothing about the dress business that makes it impossible for shipping clerks to make a decent living wage. The operators and finishers and pressers have succeeded in getting minimum-wage and maximum-hour concessions from the employers’ groups. When that five-o’clock bell rings, those factory workers are on their way home. And when their envelopes come around on Wednesday, there’s something more in it than just plain cigarette money. But when the five-o’clock bell rings, where are the shipping clerks? They’re still chasing all over the damn city with bundles, or sweating blood wrapping packages, or doing the thousand and one jobs the shipping clerk is called on to do. And what does he get for it? I’ll bet if I called for a show of hands of all those here who were making over fifteen dollars a week, there wouldn’t be an even dozen. But I’ll bet, too, that if I called for all those who averaged more than sixty or seventy hours a week, there isn’t a man here who wouldn’t put up his hand.”

  From the quiet way they sat and took it in, you’d think they were listening to a choice bawling out from the boss. It was a good speech. I’ve never written a bad one yet.

  “Why should there be such a great difference between a shipping clerk and an operator? Why should the shipping clerks be the step-children of the garment industry?” He paused. “There’s only one answer.” He leaned far across the table and pointed at the middle of the crowd. “Because the shipping clerks aren’t organized!”

  He stopped and straightened up. The crowd began to move restlessly.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” Tootsie said, holding up his hand like a traffic cop. “The minute I use the word organize, you right away begin to think of unions. And the minute you think of unions, you think of a bunch of dumb greasers, like finishers and operators and pressers. You guys are all Americans! You don’t want to have anything to do with unions! Why, that stuff is only for grease balls!” He leaned across the little table and leered at them. And when a guy with a squash like Tootsie Maltz’s leers at you, it’s something to see. I’d like to have some statistics on how many of those dopes woke up for months afterward from dreams of that puss. “Well, clever boys, those grease balls have thirty-five-and forty-hour weeks, and they’ve got minimum-wage scales that make your maximums look sick.”

  He straightened up and slapped the table. He was even getting the gestures right. And I’d only rehearsed him a couple of times. Maybe I could forget about being an actor as well as about being a doctor. It looked like I had a good future as a director.

  “But don’t worry. I’m not here to talk you guys into a union or anything like that. I’m here for just one purpose. The bosses have you guys where they want you.” He shot out his arm and grabbed a fistful of air. “They’ve got a strangle hold on you. And I’m here to show you guys how to break it.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  Louis the wise guy. There’s one in every crowd. But they’re nothing to worry about. You just have to provide for them in advance. And I had.

  “Listen, and I’ll tell you,” Tootsie said. “Most of you are so groggy from working seventy hours a week and more, that you don’t even realize how important a part of garment industry you are. The bosses themselves don’t know how important you are. They’re so used to having you around at fifteen bucks a week that they take you for granted. But if all of a sudden the whole bunch of you were to disappear, they’d realize quick enough how important you are. You guys are the lifeblood of Seventh Avenue. You’re the main artery. You’re the grease that keeps the works from squeaking, the gasoline that keeps the motor running, or whatever the hell you want to call yourselves. Just take that away for a while, and see what happens. I know what you’re going to say. They can hire shipping clerks overnight. They can replace the whole bunch of you in twenty-four hours. Sure they can! But if something was to prevent them, if after you guys all disappeared they couldn’t replace you, then they’d realize how important you were, wouldn’t they?”

  Even the wise guy was quiet now. They were all listening. Tootsie leered at them again. I should have warned him against overdoing it. We powers behind the throne have to think of everything!

  “If the whole bunch of you walked out some day, and they couldn’t get anybody to replace you, they’d listen to reason then, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t be so snotty about putting a few more dollars into those pay envelopes and cutting down those seventy-hour weeks, would they?”

  He stood back and grinned at them for a moment. Then, quickly, his face became serious again.

  “And you want to know how?” he said quietly.

  No answer.

  I was a little surprised myself at how quiet they were. Shipping clerks are pretty well used to listening. But I didn’t expect such close attention. They didn’t move. They just sat there, under that haze of smoke, staring up at him.

  “Did—you—guys—ever—hear—the—word—strike?” he said, spacing the words out slowly, the way I’d taught him, like he was driving nails. “Strike!”

  That broke the spell. The chairs began to creak as they moved about in their seats and the hum of voices began to rise. He bent down and went into a huddle with the two dames. The rest of them buzzed away, talking excitedly to each other, lighting cig
arettes, arguing. I’d told him to let them have two or three minutes of this. When the time was up he rapped for order.

  “Remember,” he said in loud, clear tones, “I’m not talking union to you guys. Later on, if you want a union, you can have one. It’s none of my business. Right now, the only thing that interests us is that one word—strike! Nothing else matters. The future can take care of itself. All we’re organizing now is something that’ll knock their eyes out with a single blow. We’re going to paralyze them, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s the only way. They’re not expecting it. The fall season is coming on. We’ll catch them with their pants down.”

  I don’t think Tootsie realized himself the importance of convincing them that we weren’t trying to unionize them. But I had impressed on him that he had to make that point clear. That was all I cared about. A fat lot I was going to worry about whether he understood what he was doing or not.

  “What do you say? Are you willing to fight for a little of what’s yours by right? It won’t take long. A week at the most. They won’t be able to stand it for longer. All it means is a week’s pay. That’s not much to give up, is it? All you lose is a week’s pay. And think of what you get! A decent salary! Hours like a white man, not a nigger. What do you say? Is it a strike?”

  The excitement in his voice was getting them. They moved about restlessly. I watched the faces near me. They weren’t just staring at him blankly any more. They began to look alive. Their eyes were blinking. Their lips were working. They were beginning to smile.

  A single voice rose above the rest. “How are we—” was all I could make out before it was drowned out.

  Tootsie rapped heavily on the table.

  “Somebody back there have a question?” he asked.

  “Yeah!”

  A big guy without a chin and with a mouthful of teeth stood up. I knew what he was going to ask even before he opened his mouth. So did Tootsie. I had told him.

  “What is it?”

  “What’s gonna stop them from hiring new shipping clerks when we go on strike?” the guy with the teeth asked.

  They quieted down immediately. All heads turned to Tootsie. But I just sat back and smiled to myself. It was almost like looking at a newsreel for the second time. You know just which horse is going to win the race and what Senator Whozis is going to say about the child labor amendment.

  Tootsie leaned forward and grinned like a wise guy. I shut my eyes. That much fake even I can’t stand.

  “What are you gonna do with those muscles you developed from schlepping bundles and pushing trucks all these years?” Tootsie said. “Leave them behind in the shipping room when you walk out?”

  The crowd broke into a laugh that must’ve been heard in Brooklyn. The guy with the teeth sat down.

  “Any more questions?” Tootsie cried.

  Just then the door in the back opened and a Western Union boy came down the aisle, headed for the platform. The laughter began to die down as the boy made his way through the room. When he handed the telegram to Tootsie, the room was quiet. Tootsie ripped the envelope open and read the telegram to himself. Then he turned to the crowd with a smile.

  “Listen to this, fellows,” he said, waving the yellow sheet. He began to read: “Have just learned of your planned militant protest against unbearable conditions in garment industry. Stop. High time steps were taken. Stop. As soon as feasible will call out elevator operators’ union and truck drivers’ union in garment center in sympathy strike. Stop. Wish you luck and speedy success. Stop. Assure you that American Federation of Labor is behind your strike one hundred per cent. Signed, William Green, President.” He paused and looked up from the telegram. “What do you say, fellows, do we strike?”

  The cheer that went up almost split my eardrums. For a few minutes I watched them yelling and screaming and pounding each other’s backs. Then I took a look at Tootsie, standing on the platform, holding the telegram and smiling down at them like he’d just done something big. For the first time since I knew him, he seemed to be happy. He’d been carried along by his own enthusiasm to the point where he was no longer acting. He couldn’t have made a slip now if he wanted to.

  I stood up and made for the door. I held it open for a few moments, watching. I waited just long enough to see Tootsie quiet them down a little and begin the election. As soon as he was elected chairman of the Strike Committee, with one of the pots as secretary, I closed the door behind me. No sense in killing any more time. I’d give Mama a break and come home early for a change. The other offices were only dummies and could be filled from the ranks. Tootsie had his orders.

  Out in the street, I took a deep breath of air and gave myself a final pat on the back. I could have made it a straight telegram. But what would I have gained? A night letter costs half the price and you can say twice as much. And anyway, when it’s read aloud from a platform, who knows the difference?

  3

  AS LONG AS HE was eating, he was all right. But the minute he opened his mouth, and there was no food to shove into it, he started to talk. So I’d figured out a little system. I kept my eye on his plate, and as soon as I saw he was getting close to bottom, I called the waiter.

  “Nathan!”

  He came across the small room on the run. On the run? Well, sure, like a prisoner on his way to be executed. The service you get in some of these dumps is a joke. But just the same there’s one big advantage in coming back to the same place over and over again. You get so you can call the waiter by his first name. For myself I don’t care. Make the food good and let there be plenty of it and it doesn’t make any difference to me if the waiters walk on their hands. But when you’re with people, especially people who don’t know their way around so well, being able to call the waiter by his first name means something. It makes an impression. Add up all the impressions and they’ll spell anything, from dough to pussy.

  “You want something?”

  “Yeah,” I said, pointing to Tootsie’s plate. “Get the gentleman another plate of blintzes.”

  “Aah, no!” Tootsie said quickly. “I had enough.”

  “What? Three plates of blintzes, and you say it’s enough? You call that a lunch? What are you, sick or something?” I turned to the pot with the big can. “Can you imagine that? All he had was three portions, and he’s through!”

  She laughed and gave my hand a shove.

  “Go on, quit kidding him,” she said. “He’s had enough. If he eats any more he won’t be able to even talk this afternoon.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He won’t be able to talk! I got a picture of Tootsie Maltz not being able to talk!”

  She laughed again. Say, she wasn’t so bad! The only thing wrong with her was her can. And she was sitting on that. Everything you could see of her, the part that was above the table, was all right. And on second thought, what’s wrong with a big can?

  “I don’t think they’re so good for his stomach, anyway,” she said. “I mean, to eat so much of that stuff, I don’t think it’s so—”

  “Do me a favor,” I said. “Don’t watch his stomach. One person on that job is plenty. He’s doing all right for himself as is. No, Tootsie?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I don’t see you eating so many of them,” she said.

  Look, she was beginning to notice things!

  “I know,” I said. “But I can’t help it. I only like them the way my mother makes them.” I rolled my eyes. “Boy, could I go a plate of them now!”

  She began to giggle. I looked at her in astonishment.

  “Did I say something clever?” I said.

  She almost doubled up, giggling harder.

  “You—you,” she began, but she was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. I just looked at her and smiled pleasantly. One thing was sure, there were no medals on her when it came to brains. But what’s the sense of complaining? Just as she was, she was right up my alley.

  “Listen, Harry. For the last time.” It was Tootsie. He�
��d finally gotten his mouth empty. “Will you be a little reasonable?”

  “And for the last time,” I said, imitating his voice, “will you stop making a pyoick out of yourself?”

  “Kidding aside, Harry. This is no joke.”

  “Did I say it was a joke?” I turned to the pot. “Did you hear me say it was a joke? Did I laugh or something? Look at me. Look how serious I am. And he tells me it’s no joke!”

  She giggled and shoved my hand again. This was going to be a pushover.

  Tootsie slapped the table and pointed to the clock on the wall.

  “Look at the time,” he said. “It’s two o’clock already and I gotta be there at three and you keep on—”

  “Maybe you better scram, then,” I said. “You don’t want to be late for the meeting of the one and only Associated Dress Manufacturers of New York, Inc., and don’t forget that I. N. C.”

  “But Harry—”

  Okay, pal, you asked for it.

  “But my ear,” I said, talking tough. “Three-quarters of an hour ago it looked like this was going to be a pretty pleasant lunch. The food’s good, the company’s all right, and we had plenty of time. But you’ve been working like a nigger to spoil it. Every second that your mouth’s been free from food, you’ve been yapping away like you were getting a dime a word for it. I don’t know about Regina, here”—I nodded my head toward the dame—“but I’m getting pretty sick of it.”

  He pulled in his lips and half closed his eyes and began to shake his head.

  “I can’t help it, Harry,” he said. “You don’t understand these things.” This was pretty good. I didn’t understand these things, but Tootsie Maltz did! “The way things stand now, it looks too raw, Harry. What I’m gonna tell them there this afternoon, why, they’ll just laugh at me. Who ever heard of a shipping clerk getting twenty-five dollars a week? For a forty-hour week yet, too! And you gotta throw in a two-weeks’ vacation on top of it! They’ll just laugh at me. You gotta be reasonable, Harry. Let’s not make it so steep. Let’s say we want an eighteen-dollar minimum, or maybe a twenty. But something reasonable. Not twenty-five dollars! And yeah, you want time and a half for overtime, too! For God’s sakes, Harry, at least let’s give them a break on the hours. Those shipping clerks are working seventy now, so if we demand a minimum of fifty they ought to be satisfied. And it’ll look better, too, when I put it before them this afternoon. Like this, the way we got it now, they’ll just laugh at me. They’ll say I’m crazy. If we come down a little in our demands, it won’t look so bad. After all, everybody knows you can’t expect to grab everything at once. Let’s make it a little reasonable, so they’ll at least listen to me. Like this they won’t even do that. They’ll just laugh at me. I’m telling you, Harry, if I put it before them the way we got it now, it’ll look too raw. They’ll just laugh at me.”