February 20, 1917
WOMAN CRY FOR FOOD IN NEW YORK
SCANTLY CLAD WOMAN CRYING WE WANT BREAD
Many Carried Babies In Their Arms and Showed Pinches of Hunger in Their Faces
(By United Press)
New York, Feb. 20.—Crying “We want bread, we want
bread," more than 300 women, bareheaded, scantily clad—their warmest garment
being a shawl thrown about their shoulders stormed up the steps of the City
hall here today, demanding relief from Mayor .Mitchell from the high cost of
food.
Some declared their families were starving.
Most of the women carried babies, their faces showing the
pinch of hunger.
The women were headed by Mrs. Ida Harris, president of the
Mothers Vigilance league and Marie Ganz, known as “Sweet Marie.” They came from
the Rutgers Square tenement district, where push cart peddlers have been
steadily raising prices until the women declared they are now utterly unable to
feed their families.
Food riots also occurred in several of the city’s congested
districts. Push carts were stripped, overturned and burned by frantic women.
“We are starving, we want bread,” was the constant cry
raised by the women as they surged about the entrance to the city hall.
Walking quietly across city hall park the women were at the
very steps of the building before they were noticed. They swept up the steps
en-masse. The doors were banged shut in their faces and wild cries and
imprecations followed.
A swarm of police reserves and Plain clothes men appeared.
They drove the women down from the steps. Marie Ganz then mounted the steps and
addressed the women.
She urged the women to remain in the street, and especially
to do nothing that would give the police an excuse to arrest them. With this
the crowd quieted and “Sweet Marie” and Mrs. Harris were admitted to the
building as representatives of the protesting women.
Mrs. Harris declared she represented no political
organization of any kind.
“I represent no one but mothers,” she said. “My husband is a
watchmaker I have three children and we just, manage to get along. But other
mothers who can't get along come to me with tears in their eyes and ask me what
to do.”
“We were promised a public school in which to hold a protest
meeting next Tuesday. By that time, though, hundreds will be starving, so we
determined to march down here to see him.”
Mrs. Harris was told that the mayor was not in his office,
but was promised that he would meet them later today or tomorrow.
For nearly an hour the confusion and near rioting continued
in city hall park. Inspector Dyer was in charge of the police and went from
patrolman to patrolman, cautioning them to “be easy, don’t push them, be
careful.”
Tears streamed down the faces of scores of woman as they ran
blindly from one line of police to the other, crying for bread.
When Marie Ganz and Mrs. Harris entered City hall they were
met by an attendant who told them the mayor was not in.
“Go back Marie, and tell those women what I told you,” he
said.
Quietly she and Mrs. Harris started for the front door, but
Mrs. Harris was alone when she reached the steps.
A low hum that rose to a roar of women's shrieks and an
atmosphere of waving fists and a sudden elevation of babies greeted her when
Mrs. Harris tried to speak.
“We are starving!” the women shouted at her. “We want to see
the mayor! We are American citizens and something must be done for us.”
It was with difficulty that Mrs. Harris made herself heard
above the cries. Clenching her fists above her head, her eyes turned upward and
glistening, she appealed for silence, “just for a moment.”
Police pleaded with the women, but they grew gradually more
and more hysterical. A newspaperman
volunteered his services and he mounted the
steps.
“Go on home,” he told them in Yiddish, “The mayor has
promised to see you tomorrow. He is for you. He wants to do all he can for the
people.”
“Who are you?” they asked. “Who do you represent?”
They cheered when he told them he was a reporter for a
Jewish daily newspaper.
But they didn’t disperse.
Around the circle of women and separate from them by a blue
cordon of police a curious crowd of thousands hung on. Police lines were
established and no one was allowed to pass.
As the shouting, gesticulating, closely packed mob of women
howled down the efforts of the Jewish newspaperman to quiet them, the riot
squads under Inspector Dwyer edged in among the crowd and broke them up into
groups.
Just as they were scattering out under the urging of the
police they caught sight of Marie Ganz being loaded into a patrol wagon and the
riot broke out afresh.
The forward groups, being urged over toward Park row, began
to yell and make a dash across City hall place for the patrol wagon, while the
other groups surged away from the city hall steps and hurried to join the
chase. They took time as they ran to shake their fists and cry:
“We want food!
“Give us milk!”
“We’re starving!”
But the police lines straightened between the racing women
and the black patrol wagon directly in front of Brooklyn bridge, and the rush
degenerated into a free-for-all fight between the women, the police movie men
and reporters, on whom the women began to vent their wrath.
Meantime the patrol wagon whizzed away, the women yelling
and shaking their fists after it and “Sweet Marie” Ganz waving a handkerchief
and smiling at the crowd from the back door of the fast disappearing wagon.
After the brief skirmish in the park space between city
hall, Park row and Brooklyn bridge, which width is [sic], with the general
crowd breaking through the police lines and taking part, the women surged down
Center street past the tombs and on toward police headquarters, with police,
mounted and on foot, galloping along beside them. A crowd of thousands of men,
women and children trailed excitedly in their wake.
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