E

VER since the coal strike was settled without benefit to either side, after it had inflicted six months of expense and discomfort on the public, the natural question has been, "Why not a Labor Court?" Now we have the rebellious Passaic strike. In a previous period of vexation Governor Henry J. Allen, of Kansas, devised a tribunal in the Sunflower State, which was declared unconstitutional by the United States Supreme Court. Nothing has been created since to take its place in Kansas or elsewhere. The problem of adjusting labor disputes by legal means remains. unsettled, but is no less pressing.

Labor unions in all countries where they are strong have successfully kept themselves outside the law, where the rights of the public and employer alone suffer. In Australia a scale of wages, when agreed upon or forced by a strike, is accepted, becomes law, and can be enforced by the state. The right of the employer cannot be so sustained. With all sympathy for labor, this is manifestly unfair, but, being an advantage, is difficult to eliminate from the situation by any co-operation on the part of the unions. In the case of coal, having a stranglehold on the industry, they incontinently reject arbitration. A union is not a trust. Therefore the law as it stands is powerless. So the public suffers, while, in fact, no one benefits.

There should be an orderly way out. Government ownership of mines would breed worse conditions. To add to the already over-swollen number of public employees is not in the interest of the country at large. There are too many now with fixed tenures and no sense of obligation to the rest of us.

Labor is not a commodity, according to the United States Supreme Court. Therefore a union does not become a conspiracy unless it unites with some other union having no direct interest in a quarrel in order to produce a more effective boycott or other form of coercion. Yet when a union establishes the system of collective bargaining there ought to be some legal way of enforcing a responsibility and a continuance of it beyond contract dates. The late General Charles H. Taylor, of the Boston "Globe," used to say: "We [the employers] do the bargaining; they do the collecting." Which is about it.

With all his merits, and he had many, the late Samuel Gompers always held his

By DON C. SEITZ

following above the law. He would never permit his American Federation of Labor to come under its ægis. Yet I recall, when it was very small, how clever cmployers used Mr. Gompers and his organization against the very powerful Knights of Labor, engineered by Terence V. Powderly.

It is one of the curiosities of the relations between labor and capital that they should fight at all. Logically, they should combine and trim the general public. This they rarely do, while in fights the public usually sympathizes with labor and opposes the employer, whose only course, when defeated, is to pass the bill along to the consumers. I know of only one case where employer and union are united-that is the Employing Association of Photo-Engravers and the Photo-Engravers' Union, in New York. This was brought about by the union, whose committee makes up, not only the scale of prices the employer must pay its members, but arranges the prices that the former must charge his customers. The result has been prosperity for both.

It is obvious that, with everybody organized against everybody else, the resistless force must in time meet the irresistible object, with the public in between. Is it to be continually crushed in labor conflicts? Have we not become sufficiently civilized to elevate the unions. above the level of buccaneers or banditti? I think we have. The unions themselves are active enough in watching legislation. Mr. Gompers's successor, William Green, is a man of level head and broad mind. Eventually, it would appear that he could see the unfairness of the existing situation. If he and his associates do not deal with it, sooner or later, a long-suffering public will.

The nations across the sea have boldly joined the World Court, and the United States has just timidly crept in. If these great interests can have faith in justice, why not the labor unions? The answer is that in all too many instances corporation-controlled judges have sat upon the benches in this country. Some are there now. So the unions prefer their own power to justice.

Yet it would seem possible to devise a labor court that would fairly and honestly guard the interests of both sides. Merchants have succeeded in shortening legislation by the appointment of civil arbitrators, whose work in New York

City has given great satisfaction. The newspapers of New York and Typographical Union No. 6 have a court to sit on cases of discharge that has been eminently successful in obviating friction and doing justice. Why not go further in the interest of that great third partythe public?

The answer will be that there is no body of statute law dealing with labor questions; and that without this all would be vain. This is a good point as far as it goes. To this there is an answer. There exists in the international laws of the several great unions a rather remarkable amount of good sense thus codified, which, understood by unions and employers or properly interpreted by a court, could be used to great advantage in making a start. Neither employers nor local unions know as much about it as they should. It is well thought out, well phrased, and sound as far as it goes. It would form a base for further development and provide a way out of many existing difficulties.

How can the country safely continue to tolerate vast labor organizations, controlling thousands of men and capable at any time of stopping great industries, without some form of a tribunal in which its interests can be protected? A coal strike of 158,000 men has in it all the elements of civil war. All too often violence and death have accomplished labor conflicts. Have we not progressed far enough on the road of civilization to prevent this? If we have not, the Nation is not free and the Government does not rule. If New York, the greatest user of coal, should rise and march over into Pennsylvania to help itself to coal, what a mighty how-de-do it would raise! Yet in what way, so far as actual effect goes, does the late action of the Miners' Union differ? Practically, it seized the fuel supply of all the States using anthracite.

The labor of the individual workman may not be a "commodity." But the combined labor of many men has been made such through the practice of collective bargaining. It represents the power to make or break industry in its own. selfish interest. This right is denied capital. It ought to be repressed in labor. The welfare of the individual workman and of the public ought not to be left at the mercy of either capital or the union bosses. It is a duty the public owes to itself and the laborer to devise a method by which both can be protected.

Courtesy Union Pacific System

Pack up your troubles, though the sun may dodge,

And smile, smile, smile. Count yourself lucky you're at Zion Lodge;

Smile, dudes, that's the style. Give a look at the scenery, 'Twill make you grin a mileSo pack up your troubles, be a sport to-night,

And smile, smile, smile.

T

HIS lively parody of a war-time song came from a quartet of girls swaggering in the light of a camp-fire in the open-air theater in front of the stone lodge in Zion Canyon, Uncle Sam's newest National Park in southern Utah. Lady Mountain and Mount Majestic, rising sheer thirty-five hundred feet above the valley floor, sent the words reverberating up the mighty gorge until they were banging against the Great White Throne and doubtless shocking any angels who chanced to be lingering on Angels' Landing. They also shocked a mature lady of highly proper mien who sat with other guests before the camp-fire.

"That girl on the end there!" she ex-. claimed, as she indicated one of the singers. "Isn't she the waitress who served me my dinner?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," replied an easygoing cow-owner who had drifted in for the evening from his ranch house down the Mukuntuweap. "She and the pink warbler next to her are heavers. The third one is a sheet snatcher. The blackhaired queen on the far end is a pearl diver."

"Heaver'? 'Sheet snatcher'? 'Pearl diver'? Why, what in heaven's name are you saying about these young women? They must be worse even than their crude song would indicate."

"Excuse me, ma'am," apologized the cowman. "I hadn't noticed you were a raw dude."

"I a dude?" The lady visitor's face was the color of Mount Majestic when the morning sun is revealing all its coats of red paint.

"Sorry, ma'am, if I guessed wrong. You're a sage-brusher, you mean?"

The lady's stare was colder than the air in Refrigerator Canyon on the way air in Refrigerator Canyon on the way up to the West Rim. "I'm a schoolteacher in the city of Boston!" she cried.

"Well, of course!" The cowman waved an understanding hand and smiled his tolerance. "I can speak Bostonese too when I try. 'Dudes' is just polite National Park for folks who come to see

the wonders on the auto stages, and 'sage-brushers' is high polite for folks who come in their own cars. The four young ladies who've been getting off their low song on us are college girlsthe diggingest kind of digs-in the fall, winter, and spring; but when they're out here for the summer, hustling their heads off so as they can go on being college girls, they are proud to be 'savages.' You've guessed it about those heavers; they're waitresses. That sheet snatcher will begin to caress your bed the minute you're out of your cabin in the morning, and if you meander out to the kitchen after breakfast that pearl diver will show you how fast she can fish dishes out of soapy water. By the way, if you're waked by a bass voice hollering, 'Fire!' you needn't get excited; it'll be one of the pack rats who's out here on parole from Yell College. All he means is he wants to breeze in and put something inflammable in your little tin stove."

The lady from Boston was assisted in her return to normalcy by the fact that the quartet broke into a new song that was far from frivolous. It had a glorious swing to it, and the singers showed that they were trained vocalists by the way they went after it-"Oh, Zion, dear Zion, home of the free." It was a song

the Mormons sang in the days when they were struggling to bring Utah out of a wilderness and under cultivation. The appealing thing caught the ear and heart of thousands who visited Zion Park during its first wide-open season, and with a little remodeling of the lines it may easily become a Nationally popular sentimental song-sent on its way to fame by a sheet snatcher, a pearl diver, and two heavers.

The opening of the new wonderland, with its tourist lodges at Zion Canyon, Kaibab Forest, North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and Bryce Canyon, proved beyond a doubt that the college youth, male and female, intend that as fast as

season. In addition to those picturesquely denominated as heavers, sheet snatchers, pearl divers, and pack rats, there were gear jammers there were gear jammers (auto-stage drivers), pill pushers (camp nurses), and steam queens (laundry workers). They were chosen by women agents who visited the colleges and made careful investigation of the scholastic and personal record of every student who made application. To judge by the predominance of sweaters with a big "I" and other telltale insignia all the way from Estes Park to Grand Lake, the applicants from the Iowa institutions must have qualified in something like 100 per cent.

serving of the summer guest shall become a matter for their own capable hands. In several of the older parks-Rocky Mountain, Yellowstone, and Yosemite, notably the undergrads from many colleges regularly constitute the "help" in the camps and in many of the hotels. There are some hotels which, in spite of the proved high efficiency of the savages, still feel that a Ritz-Carlton training is requisite to the proper unjacketing of a pair of eggs.

The savages in all the parks have been hand-picked and impressively forewarned. They understand from the outset that they are being taken to the hostelries, which, while under General Government supervision, are under private management, to work, and to work hard; and they understand equally well that most persons are skeptical about the ambitions of young collegians to hustle along an order of soup while it is still palatable or to fuss up a bed so that sleeping in it becomes less than an ordeal. During every day of the long summer they are out to "show" both the management and the guests. Neither does their service end with sundown. Next in importance to feeding its guests well, the average National Park camp finds that it must entertain them well. Every candidate for a billet among the savages is asked whether he or she can sing, dance, tell a story, or make a musical instrument perform classically or in jazz. Artistic ability goes a long way in landing a job. Thus when the evening meal is over and the complacent dude or sage-brusher strolls over to sit by the camp-fire the fun begins. It is clean fun, good fun, and often the cleverest kind of fun. A guest or two will break into an evening's program usually, but the swing and burden of the nightly show move along on the shoulders of the savages.

Fifteen hundred savages from half a hundred colleges worked in the Rocky Mountain parks alone during the 1925

where the girls live in "the Dorm" and the boys in "the Rats' Nest." Deportment and discipline are as carefully looked after as on any campus in the land.

"There is just one thing to be said about the savages," declared A. K. Holmes, wise manager of the Rocky Mountain Parks Transportation Company, which operates about one hundred auto stages and cars and various chalets and hotels. "They fill the bill. They do their work better than any other class of help we've ever found. They are courteous and kind, and get a world of fun out of situations which to workers who lacked their spirit would prove very trying. They get the guests' good will by winning it. A lady eating her dinner will discover that her waitress wears a pin of the fraternity to which she herself pin of the fraternity to which she herself belongs; there is an exclamation of amazement, and in about a minute a stanch friend has been made for our company. They accept tips, but they are not tip-chasers, these collegians. They need the money, but they are animated by the finest spirit in the world. They desire to serve. We try to catch them in their freshman year; then, if they toe the mark, they are with us for four happy summers, their pay increasing each time they come back.

"The Rocky Mountain roads are wonderful, but to drive them successfully there must be unrelaxing vigilance and skill. To sit at the wheel for us the young husky has to pass tests as severe as any he ever faces in college. He must know the rule book forward and backward before he can take out a car. Then he is put on his honor, and he rarely ever falls down. Our stages carry personal liability insurance of $85,000 each, our touring cars of $50,000 each, and in sending 250,000 passengers over the roads with these drivers we have never paid out but $75 in damages. A girl got that who went to sleep

while riding along and bumped her head."

A besetting danger to the poor driver is thus commemorated in a song which the savages sometimes sing at the nightly camp-fire show:

Keep your eye on the wheel, gear jammer;

Keep your eye on the wheel, gear jam

mer.

To be sure, the girl is fair,

But you need your eyes elsewhere; Keep your eye on the wheel, gear jam

mer.

Have a heart, dude lady, have a heart! Have a heart, dude lady, have a heart! Roads are narrow, mountains steep, Gulches wide and canyons deepHave a heart, dude lady, have a heart!

M

OST of the savages, in addition to needing the money they will be able to earn, have a very genuine interest in the parks where they accept service. In their leisure hours they don hiking clothes, and it is difficult to distinguish them from the guests. They often learn more about the natural wonders than the paying guest, since they have a smattering or a scientific understanding of geology, zoology, and forestry. At Zion Lodge and the other camps on the Zion tour during last summer there were savages from practically every university and college in Utah, as well as from several other States. These students showed an intense interest in this newly opened region and carried on much exploration on their own account. They helped make trails to peaks as yet unchristened, added to the available pictures of majestic scenery with their cameras and sketching kits, and found and reported on primitive cliff-dwellings in inaccessible ledges and canyons. It is only fair to say that the girl savages, in their attractive outing costumes, increased, all unconsciously, the guests' enjoyment of many a fascinating view.

In the Yellowstone camps the savage system has developed almost into a science. Each camp is in charge of a woman manager, who is given the title of "Lady." Miss Beulah Brown, manager at Mammoth Camp, has been the friend and confidant, as well as the director, of many hundreds of girls during the years of her devoted service in the Park. In fact, she has had a good deal to do with developing the finished form of nightly entertainment that has brought fame to the camps. As might be expected, new songs and parodies are constantly emanating from the active minds of the savages, and "Lady Beu" has frequently been the judge of whether a new song should be perpetuated in the camp anthology or go into the discard. The

lady manager at Old Faithful Camp has likewise endeared herself and the place to many, if one may judge from this savage song, often heard there:

Gee, but it's worth the world to be at Old Faithful Camp,

Where boys and girls have fun galore,

Be weather dry or damp.

Let's stay forever in this geyserlandLet's stay forever at Lady Hi's command

God bless her!

Gee, but it's worth the world to be at Old Faithful Camp!

As

s has been stated, the first thought of the savage is courteous service under any and all circumstances. Yet, however perfect the outer mantle of service may appear, the savages are only human, and it is not surprising if one is able to discover evidence that inwardly the savage reacts to shabby treatment much as other humans do. The evidence is contained in a song set to the tune of "Annabelle" which the heavers sing more often when they are amusing themselves than when doing a stunt for the enjoyment of the

66

guests around the camp-fire. It goes like this:

We sling the hash and eggs and cheese,
Serve soup to nuts as well,
And make the tea for families

Of eight and sometimes twelve.
We don't even make a fuss
When they crab and frown at us,

But all the while we wear a smile. What we think won't do to tell!

The true nature of the savages is forgiving, and their sincere feeling for the visitor whom they serve is contained in these lines, which have sent many a busload rejoicing on its way:

Oh, dudes, we love you so,
And we hate to see you go.
Please don't forget

We'll remember you yet-
How we hate to see you go!

From mid-June until mid-September these thousands of young collegians labor from sunrise or earlier until an hour when the most reluctant guest is about ready to call it a day. They dignify and glorify menial service by the spirit with

which they attack it. They waste no time in telling the new arrival who or what they are; but only the most obtuse visitor remains for long in ignorance of the quality that is under the garb they wear. They add enormously to the enjoyment of the parks by administering to the guests' comfort and peace of mind. They work hard, play hard, and go home with a precious little hoard to see them through the next year of school and a philosophy that irons out everything that may have irked or annoyed, such as is finely expressed in the pleasant chant that rattles off to the tune of "I Ain' Goin' to Work No More:"

The dudes they ride the Pullman, and then they ride the bus, But the savages push Old Mollie and never make a fuss.

The dudes they eat potatoes, soup, and bread and meat;

The savages chew on corn-cobs and consider it a treat.

The dude girls use their cold cream,

the sheet snatchers their lard, The heavers use their axle grease, but they rub it just as hard.

N°

XI

B

EFORE prohibition was enacted there stretched across the continent in the larger cities a chain of "rescue missions." They were crowded night after night by what appeared to be the riffraff of the town. One of the best-known was the Bowery Mission, in lower New York, famous the world over.

It was assumed even by New Yorkers that every man on the Bowery was either a thief or a bum. There was a day when the Bowery stood for everything that was corrupt and vile. The street was lined with dives and low-down saloons, and cheap "variety shows" abounded. "The Way to Hell" was inscribed in glaring letters over the entrance to various halls.

There is still much that is cheap and tawdry on the Bowery. There are also some thieves and bums. Some of the lodging-houses are often overcrowded and filthy. The restaurants are frequently forbidding and unsanitary. But the old-time Bowery no longer exists. The thing that staggers most of us today is not its vice, but its poverty.

Most solutions of the social problems of to-day are based upon the assumption that the average man is well-nigh ideal; that all he needs is a "system" to bring in the glad new day. One of the many arguments against that assumption is that there will always be some men who will fall by the wayside, beaten and discouraged, no matter what our economic system may be nor how good the times. may be. The old Bowery Mission, in company with the many others I have seen throughout the country, has a special function to meet the needs of those who are "down" but not yet "out."

the main their needs are the same. There is something else which must quickly be said: they appreciate refinement of speech and surroundings, even though they themselves may have fallen far below the ideals of a former period in their lives. Also, they resent a spirit of patronage or paternalism.

When one thinks of the average "rescue mission," one's mind turns to a hall noisy and naked, devoid of everything that is æsthetic and refined either in equipment or service. But that is not true of the Bowery Mission. The walls. of the main auditorium are dark-brown stone, and the mottoes on the wallsthere must always be mottoes in missions

-are done in red and gold, painted in fine old-English letters. The sentiment of the mottoes is not cheap and flashy. They are Scripture texts, full of deep meaning to the wandering men who are eager to hear the voice of authority.

Rafters and ceiling and platform and pews are churchly, dignified, substantial, and strong. There is plenty of tiling about the smaller rooms-clean, white, and sanitary, like "Spotless Town" parlors. These purely physical characteristics are exceedingly important in an enterprise part of whose task it is to instill in the minds of men a desire for better surroundings.

But more important is the influence of music, particularly that of the great organ in the Mission. Every night for half an hour, as the men take their placesalthough most of them come early-the organist plays the great classics, and sometimes the best class of lighter music. How the men applaud as their favorite selections are played! Their appreciation of the best kind of music proves that they possess qualities of heart and mind which are not usually attributed to Bow

But the thing which has seemed to me to grip the audience is the simple testimony of the men who, "once living in darkness, now see the light." They had tried out the thing for themselves, and

found that it worked. As men told of their experiences in the renewal of strength, others were encouraged to come with their petitions, no matter how discouraging their situations, and the leader would take all to God, simply, devoutly, with faith and confidence.

The leaders kept close to the men who started out in the Bowery Mission to "begin all over again." For mutual help a Brotherhood was organized, so that from the moment that a convert took the first step he had surrounding him a group of men who had traveled the same road. Tens of thousands of men had become members of this Brotherhood. For about fifty years this enterprise has stood on the Bowery, steering homeless, shipwrecked men into a port of safety.

WAS city editor of the Seattle "Star"

for a day while Dr. J. Wilbur Chapman and nearly a score of other evangelists and singers were conducting meetings in that city. The enterprising editor of the "Star" thought that it would be a good plan to have his paper produced just as a preacher thought a daily newspaper should be printed. He turned over his entire staff to me to see what I would do with it.

On the day before this experiment I called together the editors and the reporters and gave them their assignments. At first some of the hard-boiled reporters on the paper thought the whole proceeding was a joke. But I had enough knowledge of newspaper practice to handle the situation intelligently, and they entered into the job with enthusiasm when they found that it was to be an honest-to-goodness experiment. Not one jot or tittle of the newspaper went to the linotype men without my approval. Everybody who came in to see the editor that day was sent to my office.

The make-up of the paper was much the same as it had been-news items boiled down, with fairly prominent headlines. But the editorial page was as unlike as it well could be. The sworn