tainly an artist. Whatever there is of color and poetry in the neighborhood we owe to him. "Little Italy," with its picturesque markets, tenor-voiced venders, Vesuvio restaurants, candle-shops, statuette dealers, religious and patriotic societies, dark-eyed signorine and buoyant men, is but a reproduction of Bella Napoli. The feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, one of many feasts throughout the year, with its processions of barefoot devotees winding through the decorated and lighted streets, is a dramatic event. There is about it a touch of the Middle Ages. pers" and the "cake-eaters" of the younger generation, "Americans" to the core, the illusion would be complete. They "Americanize" the picture, but do not destroy it. Paris is not more interesting nor Vienna gayer than this miniature Europe which is Paris, Vienna, and Naples combined. To be sure, we have not the imposing opera houses, theaters, and hotels of those cities; no Boulevard des hotels of those cities; no Boulevard des Italiens. We are a community of workers, and our life is proletarian. But we have our cafés, rathskellers, spaghetti houses, cabarets, dance-halls, and, since the Volstead Act, our "speak-easies" for the "regulars." We have Yiddish theaters and Italian marionette shows, not to mention the movie and vaudeville houses. Our the movie and vaudeville houses. Our second-hand book-shops are as good as those of Paris. So are our music stores. Were it not for the soul-stifling tene ments and the necessity of having to "keep going," we would have great poets, great artists, great musicians. Some day we will have them. S° OME day! But some day this neighborhood of mine will be gone. In fact, it is going now. America's doors are fast closing, and the tide of a new civilization, a civilization which is not AngloSaxon or Latin or Slav, but "American," is setting in. When the Great American Novel comes to be written, this "polyglot boarding-house" of many "nations," with its old customs and traditions, its alien tongues and creeds, will have lived Out of the crucible a new its day. neighborhood is emerging, and the myriad of little tots crowding the street and packing the school are my neighbors of to-morrow, Americans all. T terious. What Co-operation Can BY HUGH J. HUGHES Do Co-operation has been talked about as though it were a panacea for all the ills of producer and consumer. Hugh J. Hughes tells simply and graphically what it is, what it has done, and what it can do HE outstanding mystery about co-operation is that its processes have been made to appear mys From the day when it began to toddle about in the guise of farmers' elevators, stores, and creameries, back in the 'seventies, it has been press-agented as the Knight in Shining Armor that was come to deliver the farmer from the whole brood of dragons that harass him the Monopolies' dragon, the Low Prices dragon, the Mortgage dragon, the OverProduction dragon, the Exportable Surplus dragon, etc. It has been represented as the Sir Galahad of business, able to conquer because its heart was pure. Its advocates have said little about preparation, ability, equipment, necessity for it, practical obstacles to be overcome, etc. It's about time that we get over this childish vision of co-operation as a dragon slayer, and talk about it in terms of twentieth-century business. It goes without saying that co-operation has made wonderful progress within the United States, and more especially during recent years. That fact is not merely admitted; I wish to stress it as showing that, in spite of all the false bally-hooing and misunderstanding of the aims and scope of co-operation, it has accomplished wonders. I submit that co-operation-the kind that does things-is merely our old friend Private Ownership dressed up in a new suit of clothes. He is no bigger, no better, no wiser, no more omniscient than of old. He can stub his toe as easily or go broke as surely under the new name as ever he did under the old. TA The Test of Experience AKE your own experience with cooperation first, if you please, with some local co-operative venture. Dollars to doughnuts, it was started on its way with the assistance of a lot of "hot air" about putting "the dealers" out of business. And what happened was this: After the battle was over (and usually it was some battle) there was another dealer in the local field-another store, elevator, creamery, or what not. Nobody exterminated. No business "wiped out." Whatever happened in that line amounted to this: The new association became the owner of a business which it either took over or else built up by a transfer of its members' patronage from other business men to themselves. The local co-operative does exactly what the local private dealer did and what the local private dealer did and does, and its only chance to win out in a business way is to do all that the private dealer does-and to do it a bit better. And if the local co-operative tries to do more than the local private dealer has found it profitable to do, the chances are that it winds up in bankruptcy. Take grain. The local private elevator buys, sells, margins, mixes grain. Collects and ships in volume. It is exactly this, no less and no more, that the co-operative can do and does. Of course it adds, now and then, other things to its list, such as the purchase of flour, feed, coal, salt, etc. So might, and so does, the private dealer. There is here no difference in the work performed. The difference to the farmer lies in the fact that, as part owner of the business, he shares in its profits, when there are any, and if he is a good partner in the business, if he gets to know its "inside," that knowledge may help him to gear his farming a bit closer to market requirements. So we might analyze the service performed by each and every local co-operative from coast to coast. And from these comparisons we would be able to draw the general conclusion that the local association does for itself, or has done for it by the farmer member, down to the last item and detail everything that the private dealer does with the product he buys from the farmer, and that what the THE HE new Packard club sedan This beautiful new body combines But unlike a coupe, the club sedan Those who tour will appreciate enameled trunk, which is removable without affecting the car's beauty of line. For all social uses the new club sedan is destined to be very popular. It will appeal also to the business or professional man who wants beauty, distinction and comfort combined with unfailing perform ance in his motor car. Thenewclub sedan body is mounted on the improved chassis of both the Packard Eight and the Packard Six. PACKARD ASK THE MAN WHO OWNS ONE The Packard Eight club sedan is illustrated-$4890 at Detroit. The Packard Six club sedan is priced at $2725 at the local "co-op" has done is to make the farmer a partner in the business, just as Jones and Smith were partners in the same line of business, and, further, that if the "co-op" is on the road to lasting success it passes back to each member a partner's responsibility. Any profits made by the local firm, whether private or "co-op," comes usually out of assembling goods for market, often out of sorting or grading, seldom out of speculative holding. As in retail selling, comparatively large volume and quick overturn are the main essentials to profit in local co-operative selling. Now let us circle a bit wider. Beyond the local dealer stands next in line on the road to the consumer the man who buys at wholesale what the local dealer has to sell, and who sells either in large or smaller quantities what his customerthe packers, the millers, other brokers and dealers the consumer, so far as we are concerned, wants to buy. Elimination that Doesn't W HEN the farmer, working along any one of the plans that is to "eliminate" the "middleman," sets up a wholesale marketing organization, he has "eliminated" nothing and nobody. What he has done is merely to buy or create another wholesale concern, consisting of himself and some hundreds or thousands of other farmers as partners, geared to do exactly what any first-class wholesale firm of like kind does. No more and no less. The field of such a concern is limited. It takes on where the local group or concern leaves off; it leaves off where the buyer takes up the burden. In the main its work is to stand next to the market, study that market, sort, grade, condition its salable product, direct its flow, ease the market burden where it can, get the best price possible. This is the work of any private wholesaler; this also is the work of the cooperative wholesaler. Again let us compare. The private live-stock commission firm acts as a salesman at the terminal market. It receives, unloads, feeds, waters, sorts, grades, weighs or watches the weighing, dickers, haggles, and sells. Then it renders its account back to the shipper. Every item of this service is duplicated by the wholesale "co-op." And if the service rendered is equal, then the partners in the co-operative business stand to profit in the same sum total that the owners of the private firm profit, but in a somewhat different way, and for another reason that fits in right at this point. Let's assume that you, the reader, and I, the writer, and a few more of our "bunch" set up a wholesale business. It's a perfectly fair thing to do. Each of us puts in $5,000. We incorporate for thirty years. We rent offices, organize our forces, set the wheels to turning. After a few months I get tired and want to quit. So I go to the cashier's window, present my stock shares, and demand: "Gimme m' money!" Just like that. The cashier looks at me coldly and remarks, icily and distinctly: "Mr. Ura Quitter, when the Board of Directors of this corporation get good and ready to buy your stock they will do so, and not until then. You can sell to some one else if you want to do so, and if the directors approve. But you put $5,000 in this corporation for thirty years, and unless you make provision to leave a like amount in the assets of the firm when you go, then you can't get out at all until the thirty years are up! Please excuse me now, for I'm busy." That's what membership in a corporation means. It means sticking to the ship through thick and thin. It means that we have put our combined capital at work and that my capital can't sneak out, and in the sales contract there is exactly the same sort of bargain, and there should be no sneak-out in it either. And the net profit must, of course, be in fair proportion to the amount of business each member contributes to the association. The promoter talk about "new methods of marketing" is a bit overdrawn. The "co-op" sales agency has made no new routes from producer to consumer. What it has done is to take over the methods and practices of private business men, adapt them to its own particular situation, and go ahead. Private business, for example, never has found a way to control the market. Every so often somebody tells you that he has the "corner" idea worked out, and proceeds to demonstrate. Then his friends mournfully gather up the fragments that are left and inter them along with the bones of the dodo. And the "co-op" that starts out to control prices through control of supply is bound to the same end-disaster-for the same reason; it's a perfect system, this "corner" idea, but it just doesn't work! out and leave your capital alone on the You job. So long as this partnership agreement stands there is a chance that we may go broke, but not through violation of our contract to stand by one another with our capital. Exactly the same logic applies to the "co-op" and the muchdiscussed "contract." Private business is based largely, though not wholly, on capital. Good will and experience are vital factors. Location, volume-many other matters are important; but capital, and the power to hold capital to the job at all times and in all seasons, is the keystone of the structure. In the "co-op" marketing agency the keystone is volume of produce, which is the output of farm capital. That is supplied to the "co-op" as the produce moves forward, but if the output does not come forward disaster follows. Just as disaster would follow the private concern that locked its capital up and refused to invest it in the business for which it was created. The Stockholder's Obligation So, if it is fair to demand of the stock holder in a corporation the use of his money for the term of the investment, it is equally fair to demand of the "co-op" member the use of his crop for sales purposes during the lifetime of his membership. In the one case the stockholders' agreement is a bargain to use and to give for use a certain amount of money for a certain length of time, with no sneak No Corners in Green Things ou can't "corner" the wheat crop, you can't "corner" the corn crop, nor oats, nor cotton, nor tobacco, nor sugar, nor apples, nor potatoes, nor butter, nor oranges, nor any other living growing green thing on God's footstool. All you can do is to tie up the moment's supply and create an economic vacuum into which rushes with all possible speed the growers of this and other lands in the hope of profiting through the forced and temporary scarcity. Result: Increased acreage and yield, and the "controlled" market goes out of control. Surplus piles up. Prices fall. Another dream goes glimmering. Private business can and does hold over necessary market supplies, but this is quite another thing from "cornering." Take eggs as an example: In the spring, when the egg harvest is on, the dealer stores up eggs, but the moment the demand outruns the supply that same dealer is selling eggs, gradually, so as to meet the seasonal demand. In like manner all agricultural products are held for the time of need. That is legitimate "orderly marketing," and it is as far away from the idea of forcing up prices through "cornering" methods as one pole is from the other. And this normal spreading out of the crop over the season of demand is the natural job of the co-operative wholesale organization, just as it is the natural job of the private wholesaler. Another real service that the wholesale "Here is One of the Most Satisfactory Heating Plants in the Country" These are the words of Mr. John W. Kelly of the Alaska "When we put on the first test," says Mr. Kelly, "the farthest "The Austin Company, engineers and builders, believe We shall be glad to send you an illustrated booklet over the quality of the produce delivered long been attributed to anything carry for sale. What the "co-op" can do, additional to the service rendered by the private dealer, is to lift up the average level of quality as delivered by the producer, and so to advance the average price received by the association and, in the end, by each one of its members. In a word, co-operation has the same field of action, the same limits, the same chances of success and failure, as private business. Co-operation is merely another form of private business, and the only mystery about its place and purpose is that unusual powers and results have so ing the name "co-operative." It can do and does all that privately owned and operated business can do and does. Its sales contract is as necessary as the corporation contract, and for the same reasons. It can cut out marketing wastes by control of the quality of the products marketed. It can, and usually does, raise the general average of prices paid to the grower through raising the general quality average of produce delivered. That's co-operation of the sure-footed, businesslike sort that the farmer can well afford to tie to. W ILLIAM JAMES MACGILLIVRAY walked down the highway that runs for mile on mile beside the railroad track. Upon his back, secured by a strap, was a blanket roll. He was what is known as a "blanket stiff," a "hobo," or a "bum." The highway and the track were populous with such as he. It was the fall of the year. Haying was long ago over. The grape, the melon, the sweet potato, and the prune harvests were done. There were old men with white hair, and men of middle age, prematurely gray. There were young men and there were boys. Some, and these walked mostly in twos, were Industrial Workers of the World. These, seeking recruits from the boys, found some tractable and were roundly damned by others. As was the case with W. J. MacG., practically all were white American. There were those who had left a woman and a child in a shanty somewhere, while seeking work for the approaching winter. W. J. MacG. was one of these. Because he had lately been ailing, he walked with weary feet. The previous day he had not eaten. He had not eaten to-day. Shivers ran through his frame. An overland train clanged by, and as its din died in the southward he crossed beneath its trail of oil smoke and made toward a ranch house on the other side of the track. At thought that he would be scarce able to work did he find work, he bit his lip. When at his rap a farmer came to the door and gazed down on him, he felt a sort of horror. "Mister," he said, "could you spare ne a cup of coffee?” Three Thieves By BILL ADAMS "What brought you to begging? Ranch houses were growing few and A farmer, coming from behind olive trees that bordered the driveway, met him. Ere he could speak the farmer spoke. "I only hire Japs," said the farmer. At the next house a woman came to the door. Because light loads grow heavy with long carrying, he laid his blankets down. "If you'll chop me some wood, I'll give you coffee," she said in reply to his question. "Chopping wood's my middle name, lady. Where's the ax?" said W. J. MacG. "Good luck to you, lady," he said when he handed the cup back. Then he went on his way. The sun was gone. Clear in the west the Coast Range hills rose dark. In the east the Sierras gleamed with pink and purple lights, snow on their highest peaks. Soon he came to the jungles. When, riding down the great valley, you see a little fire with raggedy men beside it, there is the jungles. Where "stiffs" foregather is the jungles. motionless above, stood in a pasture near by. The last wisp of alfilaria, the last burr clover seed, long since picked by grazing beasts, the bare earth shone with a pallid glow. Down the track a way stood a ranch house; peach trees, yellow and crimson leaved, beside and behind it; roofs of house and of barn distinct against the dimming sky. W. J. MacG. had been warned of the place. "They keeps a savage dog, an' sets him on ye." He unfastened the strap of his blanket roll. His eyes were swimmy. He was conscious of a oneness with the light above the barren pastures. It seemed to him that he was become transparent, volatile, yet unable to escape from the shadows that darkened above and about him. He saw a double surrey come from amid the peach trees and drive off toward the distant town. He heard a dog bark. When the surrey was become a blur far away, he sighed deeply and laid his blanket roll at the foot of a fence post. A Billy owl flew from the top of the post with quick ghostly motion and no sound. At the moment that he entered the driveway to the house a large tawny dog rushed, roaring, from behind the house. He strode on, as though he had met the surrey on the highway and had bought the place from its owner. The dog stopped before him, and, its eyes on his face, growled low. "Reuben Ranzo," he said, "how do you get that way?" The dog, the hair on its back erect, walked beside him to the back step. "Reuben," he said, "it's great to be a dog." |