Haymarket (8 page)

“No, only the white ones.” Lucy tossed in.

Albert shook his head. “That goes too far for me … But I am feeling more and more sympathy for the Knights.”

Lucy eyed him suspiciously. “You said that already. Somethin’s goin’ on here.”

“Well,” Albert said sheepishly, “truth is, I’ve been going to their meetings downtown, during lunch break—”

“You’ve been going to meetings? When did you intend to tell me—after the revolution?”

“I needed to feel sure about what I was doin’ before I involved you. You can understand that.”

“I could if we had a bad marriage. Anyway, you won’t involve me. From what I hear about the Knights, they’re just a bunch of silly men who like dressin’ up in strange outfits.”

“Well, then, you haven’t heard nearly enough,” Albert replied. “And, by the way, that’s a good example of the harpy tone you wanted me to point out.”

“What?” Lucy was instantly indignant. “All I said was that the Knights seem more interested in costumes than politics.”

“That isn’t what you said, though it’s just as bad. Besides, it’s your tone I’m reacting to.”

“Oh, I see. Women shouldn’t have opinions on public questions, let alone express them with passion.”

“Lucy! You’re the one who asked me to point out when you’re bein’ a bit more tart than necessary.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll be right every time.”

“No, it doesn’t. But I am right this time.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” she grumbled, beginning to back down. “How long’ve you been goin’ to those meetings?”

“Coupla weeks. I’ve never kept any other secret from you in all the time we been together.” Albert said fervently. “To tell you the truth, I can’t
really say why I kept it from you. Maybe I thought you’d talk me out of it. Anyway, I promise you that from now on, I’ll—”

“Oh, don’t make so much of it, for heaven’s sake.
I’m
not!” She loved leaving Albert with his jaw hanging open. “If we told each other every single thing we did or thought,” she breezed nonchalantly on, “we’d bore each other to death in a week. And don’t think for a minute that by bein’ so sincere and repentant, you’re gonna get me to change my mind about the Knights!”

“Lucy, you are a maddening creature.”

The man didn’t offer his name. He instructed Albert to wait in the anteroom—the Outer Veil, he called it—that adjoined the meeting hall. The small space was bare except for a line of chairs along one wall and, near the closed set of doors that led into the hall, a triangular altar on which sat a globe, a closed copy of Scripture and a red basket filled with blank cards. The man removed two of the cards, handed one to Albert, and told him to write his name on it. Then he himself wrote something on the second card.

“When you hear a rap on the door,” the man said solemnly, “you will rise and follow me into the inner Sanctuary.” He then sat on a chair distant from Albert’s and the two waited in silence. Albert felt uncharacteristically jumpy, alert to every sound.

Within minutes the rap came, and the door leading to the meeting hall swung open from the inside. Without a word, Albert’s companion moved toward it, beckoning him to follow. Standing there awaiting them was an impressive figure of a man, his face—except for the corners of a large, drooping moustache—concealed behind a mask and slouch hat, his body draped in a black cloak. He was known, so Albert later learned, as the Unknown Knight (his informer adding good-humoredly, “I never met a member who knew what all these rituals and symbols are supposed to mean—some say one thing, some another”).

The shrouded figure wore a large triangular gold medal on his cape. Despite the dim light, Albert could make out a pyramid at the center of the medal, with the letters
S, O, M
, and
A
etched on its sides and base, standing for Secrecy, Obedience, and Mutual Assistance—the Knights of Labor’s official tenets. The man in the black cape took Albert’s right
hand in his own and pressed his thumb hard against Albert’s fingers; as previously instructed, Albert returned the pressure and then received two quick, light taps on the hand.

The Grip having been successfully exchanged, the man then placed his closed hand under his own chin. Again as preinstructed, Albert announced, “I am a stranger.” To which the man responded, “A stranger should be assisted,” and swept his cape aside to make way for Albert to enter the hall.

Albert peered expectantly into a gaslit chamber only slightly larger than the waiting room. He could make out some dozen men standing in a semicircle, several of them wearing robes of different colors with elaborate ribbons, tassels, and medallions attached to them. No man was dressed like any other. Though Albert was too nervous to cast more than a hasty glance at the exotic outfits, his eyes did fix briefly on one brilliantly fashioned badge—a large coral column with an open hand fashioned out of ivory on it, plus carvings of leaves, fruit, and the words “Hear Both Sides, Then Judge.”

After Albert had entered the inner room, a lance was placed on the door and it was pulled closed behind him, thus announcing that the meeting was in progress. Two men, one on either side of Albert, took hold of him firmly under his arms and moved him to the center of the room. The others closed in around him, forming an unbroken circle. In quick succession, they exchanged a series of complicated hand grips, signals, raps, and passwords.

The series completed, the man in the black cape spoke a few hushed and, to Albert, murky words. He could barely catch their drift, though he did distinctly hear the first sentence, “Open and public associations having failed, after a struggle of centuries to protect or advance the interests of labor, we have lawfully constituted this assembly.”

Beyond that, Albert was able to pick up only an occasional fragment: “… Opulent monopolists are a power greater than the State … sapping foundations of democracy … moral worth not wealth is the true standard of greatness …,” and the concluding sentence, spoken fervently by the entire group, “An injury to one is the concern of all.” The ceremonies ended with everyone joining hands and singing the Knights of Labor anthem, its sturdy chorus reverberating four times over:

At the close of the song, the gas lamps were turned up. Albert was greeted with smiles and bear hugs and given a copy of the booklet
Adelphon Kryptos
(Secret Brotherhood), which somewhat better explained the principals and rituals he had fleetingly glimpsed and only partly understood.

“Secret handshakes, fancy robes—oh, Albert!” Lucy laughed derisively. “It sounds like the Klan—or a bunch of not so bright schoolboys tryin’ to scare the neighbors.”

“You’re not payin’ attention to the principles.” The degree of Albert’s frustration was always best gauged not by the rising volume of his voice, but by the way its characteristic mellowness bleached into a colorless monotone. “ ‘An Injury to One Is the Concern of All.’
That
, he said evenly, “is the essence of the Knights’ philosophy. There’s no other platform that can bring together working people who don’t like each other’s manners and ways.”

Lucy remained unconvinced. “Then stress the principle, instead of burying it beneath all those ridiculous trappings! ‘The Outer Veil,’ The
Adelphon Kryptos
—ugh! It sounds like one more superstitious religion to me. And a particularly dumb one at that.”

“Forget the mumbo jumbo,” Albert said; he did want to persuade her. “It’s no different from the Masons—or the Roman Catholics, for that matter. The men need it. It gives them some sense of specialness, importance. Exactly what they don’t feel in their lives. Don’t be so hard on the poor fellows. Let them feel a little exalted for once.”

That softened Lucy, but she didn’t want to show it just yet. “ ‘Injury to one, the concern of all,’ eh? Just who does ‘all’ include? Any women at the meetin’? Did you see a black face?”

“The only people excluded from membership are bankers, lawyers, gamblers, speculators—and liquor tradesmen.”

“Liquor tradesmen?” Lucy fairly shrieked with glee. “That mean the German beer halls are off limits? Now
that’s
an effective tactic for unity!”

“You’re not listenin’. The ban is against those who monopolize the
sale
of liquor. No one intends to ban
liquor!
Now stop bein’ foolish.”

“I surely will—just as soon as you answer the question about women and negroes.”

“I saw none of either group at this particular meeting.” Albert looked uncomfortable. “But it was a small meeting, and I’ve been reliably told—”

“Told by who?” Lucy interrupted, feeling confident he’d have no answer.

“The chief man.” (Albert couldn’t get himself to volunteer his actual title, the Master Workman, knowing it would set Lucy guffawing till morning). “After the meeting, I put the question to him directly.”

“And his answer?” Lucy knew Albert wouldn’t lie to her.

“They are welcome, they truly are,” Albert said fervently. “Women and negroes. You must believe me about this. Though it’s true that Uriah Stephens, the—”

“Who?”

“Uriah Stephens, the founder of the Knights. He—”

“What a name! Sounds like a pinched bookkeeper.”

“Stephens did want to exclude women. He thought they were incapable of keeping secrets.” Albert smiled sheepishly, expecting Lucy’s wrath.

But she simply laughed. “Oh my, yes! We’re also incapable of reading serious books without overtaxing our weak brains and having breakdowns. You men have got it all figured out.”

“That’s not fair, Lucy, not in regard to the Knights, anyway.” He suddenly reached for the
Adelphon Kryptos
lying on top of the table and opened it to a page he’d earlier marked. “Listen to this, now just listen for once: ‘I can see ahead of me an organization that will include men and women of every craft, creed and color.’ Do you know who said that, do you know whose words those are?”

“God’s.”

“Uriah Stephens! You see—the man’s capable of changing his mind. His views aren’t set in stone. He’s struggling. And even if he personally ends up on the wrong side of things, it won’t matter. In the seven years
since the
KOL
was founded, more and more local chapters are actively recruiting women and negroes as members. The call is for “universal brotherhood.” And it’s not just words. I tellya, within a few years there’ll be tens of thousands of female and colored members.”

“Well,” Lucy said derisively, “ain’t nobody else recruitin’ nigras—’ceptin’ as peons.”

“I give up.”

“Oh, don’t get all edgy. I do want to hear more about this universal brotherhood stuff … Truth is, I read some of those Knights pamphlets you leave around—taxin’ though it’s been for my feeble brain. Noticed some pretty nasty stuff in ’em about the Chinese. Coolies, the pamphlets call them. ‘Vice-ridden, human locusts, pagans’—that’s how one writer describes ’em. Says they work so hard for so little money that they’re takin’ the bread outta the mouths of real Americans. Now is this what you Knights mean by universal brotherhood?”

Albert sighed. “It’s not what
I
mean. And you know it. But okay, you’re right. Most Knights do despise the Chinese, just like the rest of the country.” He fell silent for a moment, tongue-tied with discomfort. Lucy said nothing, wanting him to stew a little longer.

Albert finally blurted out, “What else is there, Lucy? No labor organization—no elected official, for that matter—is sayin’ anything different about the Chinese. The white man is what matters. You taught me that.”

“Gotta be pale white—no Jews or Italians, thank you.”

“At least the Knights are
aimin’
at something better, even if they haven’t fully taken hold of their own principles. Yes, they got a long way to go. The question is, Do we try to help ’em get there, or do we turn up our superior noses—and give up?”

Lucy broke into a warm smile, and her voice was emphatic. “We try to help ’em get there, of course.” She hugged Albert. “I like to make you sweat. But I’m with you, sweet boy.”