whether she would be going to Philadelphia when the new Congress convened in January.
But it wasn’t another messenger with a fistful of telegrams standing out there in the hall. It was Max Fleischmann, the butcher from downstairs. He carried a tray covered with brown paper. “You people will be hungry,” he said. “I’ve brought up some salami, some bologna, some sausages…”
“You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Fleischmann. You didn’t have to do that at all. You’re a Democrat, for heaven’s sake.”
“You people-and especially you, Miss Hamburger-you don’t let politics get in the way of beings friends,” the butcher said. “This is the least I can do to show you I feel the same way.”
After that, Flora didn’t see what she could do but take the tray. “This is very kind of you,” she told the old man, “and if more people felt the way you do, the United States would be a better place to live.”
“Getting rid of those Soldiers’ Circle goons would be a good start,” Fleischmann said. “Well, I hope you win, even if you’re not from my party. What do you think of that?”
“I hope I win, too,” Flora blurted, which made the butcher smile. He bobbed his head to her and went back downstairs.
She put the tray on a desk near the door. People descended on it as if they hadn’t already demolished a spread of cold cuts and pickles and eggs and bread that would have done justice to the free-lunch counter at a fancy saloon. Everyone was eating as if there would be no tomorrow.
Someone else knocked on the door. This time, Maria Tresca got it. This time, it
She started opening envelopes. “Debs leading by seven thousand in Wyoming,” she said, and a cheer went up. “The Socialist there is going back to Congress, too, it looks like.” Another cheer. She opened a new telegram, and her face fell. “Roosevelt ahead by ten thousand in Dakota.”
Groans replaced the applause. Dakota had voted Socialist most of the time since being admitted to the United States. Herman Bruck let out a long sigh and said the thing most of the people in the room had been thinking for some time: “We aren’t going to elect a president this year. The people are too mystified to put aside the war.”
A few party workers called out protests, but most only nodded, as when a doctor delivers a diagnosis grim but expected. “We carried New York,” three people said at the same time, as if that were a consolation prize.
“We aren’t carrying any of the other big states, though,” Bruck said, looking at a map of the USA. “And, now that the returns from west of the Mississippi are coming in, it doesn’t look like we’re going to carry enough of the Midwest and the West to make up for that.”
“Foolishness,” Flora said. She’d been saying the same thing since the beginning of the war. For the life of her, she didn’t understand why more people didn’t feel the same way. “If you have a mine that doesn’t give you any gold, why spend more money on it?”
Along with everyone else in the room, her mother and father, both sisters, and the younger of her two brothers nodded at that. She wished David Hamburger had been there to nod, too. But he was down in Virginia now. That filled Flora with dread. Yossel Reisen had gone down to fight in Virginia, too, and never came back. His little son slept in Sophie’s arms.
A telephone rang. Herman Bruck picked it up. He scribbled numbers on a piece of foolscap, then hung up. “New returns from City Hall,” he announced in a loud, important voice, cutting off Maria’s reading of results from farther away. “Latest returns for our district…Miller, 6,482; Hamburger, 7,912. That’s the biggest lead we’ve had tonight.”
Howls of glee filled the air. Benjamin Hamburger’s pipe sent up smoke signals. He looked over at Flora, smiling broadly around the pipe. “This is a fine country. Never doubt it for a minute. This is a fine country,” he said. “I came here with the clothes on my back and not a thing more, and now I have not a son but a daughter-a daughter, mind you! — in the Congress of the United States.” More cheers rose.
“Angelina would be proud of you,” Maria Tresca said quietly. She added, “And if the results hold, you can keep your brother out of any danger.”
“I can, can’t I?” Flora said in some surprise. The War Department would likely pay attention to the wishes of any member of Congress, even a young woman from the opposition. The War Department might even pay special attention to her wishes, in the hope that, by doing as she wanted, it could influence her vote on matters pertaining to the war.
And, in making that calculation, the War Department might prove right. All at once, leading by fifteen hundred votes, Flora contemplated the differences between running for office and being in office. The Socialists down in Philadelphia often compromised on issues Party regulars back home would sooner have seen fought to a finish. They’d compromised on war credits back in the summer of 1914, and Flora was far from the only one who wished they hadn’t.
Now came her turn in the barrel. Would she have to make deals with the Democratic majority? Could the Socialists and the few surviving Republicans do anything to slow down Teddy Roosevelt’s juggernaut?
Then she asked herself another question: if she used her Congressional office to protect David, wasn’t she taking for herself one of the privileges of the elite that Socialists from Maine to California decried? But if she didn’t do what she could to keep her brother out of harm’s way and something (God forbid!) happened to him, how could she ever look at herself again? Was her ideology more important, or her family?
Asking the question gave her the answer. In a sudden burst of insight, it also gave her a clue to something that had puzzled her since the war began: why Socialists the world over, in Germany and Austria-Hungary and England and Canada and France and the USA, and even in unprogressive countries like Russia and the Confederate States, rushed to their nations’ colors when ideology should have made them stand together against the madness.
A Western Union messenger brought her out of her reverie with a new batch of telegrams. When he saw who was taking them from him, he smiled and said, “I hope you get elected.”
“Thank you,” she said, startled. He was developing his ideological awareness early on; he wouldn’t be able to vote for another six or seven years.
“What’s the latest?” four people called at once.
Flora started opening telegrams. “Senator LaFollette is out in front in Wisconsin,” she said, which drew cheers. A moment later, she added, “And Senator Debs is sure to carry the presidential race in Indiana; he’s leading three to two.” Noise filled the Socialist Party offices again. Flora was pleased, too, but if Debs couldn’t carry his own home state, what was the point in having him run?
Herman Bruck was studying the map, the slow trickle of incoming returns, and a couple of sheets of paper filled with calculations. “If things go on like this,” he announced, “I think we’ll pick up about a dozen seats in the House and two, maybe three, in the Senate.”
That brought a fresh wave of applause. Bruck’s calculations had been pretty good during the Congressional elections of 1914. That made Flora think she could place some confidence in them now.
“Roosevelt repudiated!” somebody shouted. Somebody else let out a real war whoop, almost a Rebel yell.
“It’s not enough,” Flora said, and, being almost a congresswoman, got instant attention from everyone. “It’s not enough,” she repeated. “If the people had wanted to repudiate TR, to repudiate him properly, I mean, they would have elected Debs. And another couple of senators and another handful of congressmen-”
“And congresswomen!” Maria Tresca broke in.
“-Aren’t enough to matter,” Flora went on, as if her friend hadn’t spoken. “The Democrats still have a big majority in both houses. TR can jam any bill he likes right down the country’s throat, and we can’t stop him. There aren’t enough progressive Democrats to join us in a united front and keep him out of mischief. We’ve done something this year-a little something. When 1918 comes, we have to do much more.”
She got some applause for that impromptu speech. She also got some thoughtful silence, which struck her as even more important. The Socialist Party had some notion of the shape of this election now. They had to look ahead, to see where they could go next.
