Then came migration, war, more migration, prohibition, and the Riot. Black Chicago was in continual turmoil, and the black vote more than doubled. Sammy’s business expanded enormously; bootlegging became a prime source of graft and there was more gambling, more women for sale, and more crime. Men pushed and jostled each other in their eagerness to pay for the privilege of catering to these appetites. Sammy became Alderman from the Second Ward and committeeman, representing the regular Second Ward Republican organization on the County Central Committee. He made careful alliance with the colored Alderman in the Third Ward and the white Aldermen from the other colored wards. He envisaged a political machine to run all black Chicago.
But there were difficulties—enormous difficulties. Other Negro politicians in his own and other wards, not to mention the swarm of white bosses, had the same vision and ambition as Sammy—they must all be reconciled and brought into one organization. As it was now, Negroes competed with each other and fought each other, and the white party bosses, setting one against the other, got the advantage. It was at this stage of the game that Sara Andrews joined Sammy’s staff.
When Sara Andrews applied to the Honorable Sammy for work, he hired her on the spot because she looked unusually ornamental in her immaculate crépe dress, white silk hose, and short-trimmed hair. She had intelligent, straight gray eyes, too, and Sammy liked both intelligence and gray eyes. Moreover, she could “pass” for white—a decided advantage on errands and interviews.
Sammy’s office was on State Street at the corner of Thirty-second. Most of the buildings around there were old frame structures with living-quarters above and stores below. On each corner were brick buildings planned like the others, but now used wholly for stores and offices. The entrance to Sammy’s building was on the Thirty-second Street side; a dingy gray wooden door opened into a narrow hall of about three by four feet. Thence rose a flight of stairs which startled by its amazing steepness as well as its darkness. At the top of the stairs, the hall was dim and narrow, with high ceilings, At the end was a waiting-room facing State Street. It was finished with a linoleum rug that did not completely cover the soft wood floor; its splinters insisted on pulling away as if to avoid the covering of dark red paint. There were two desks in the waiting room, some chairs, and a board upon which were listed “Apartments for rent.” Sash curtains of dingy white, held up with rods, were at the windows, and above them in gold letters were painted the names of various persons and of “Samuel Scott, Attorney at Law.”
A railing about three feet high made an inner sanctum, and beyond was a closed door marked “Private.” Back here in Sammy’s private office lay the real center of things, and in front of this and within the rail, Sammy installed Sara. The second day she was there, Sammy kissed her. That was four years ago, and Sammy had not kissed her since. He had not even tried. Just what happened Sammy never said; he only grinned, and all his friends ever really knew was that Sammy and Sara were closeted together for a full half-hour after the kiss and that Sara did most of the talking. But Sara stayed at her job, and she stayed because Sammy discovered that she was a new asset in his business; first of all, that she was a real stenographer. He did not have to dictate letters, which had always been a difficult task. He just talked with Sara and signed what she brought him a few minutes later.
“And believe me,” said Sammy, “she writes some letter!”
Indeed Sara brought new impetus and methods into Sammy’s business. When that kiss failed, Sammy was afraid he had got hold of a mere prude and was resolved to shift her as soon as possible. Then came her letter-writing and finally her advice. She listened beautifully, and Sammy loved to talk. She drew out his soul, and gradually he gave her full confidence. He discovered to his delight that Sara Andrews had no particular scruples or conscience. Lying, stealing, bribery, gambling, prostitution, were facts that she accepted casually. Personally honest and physically “pure” almost to prudery, she could put a lie through the typewriter in so adroit a way that it sounded better than the truth and was legally fireproof. She recognized politics as a means of private income, and her shrewd advice not only increased the office revenue, but slowly changed it to safer and surer forms. “Colored cabarets are all right,” said Sara, “but white railroads pay better.”
She pointed out that not only would the World-at-Play pay for privilege and protection, but the World-at-Work would pay even more. Retail merchants, public service corporations, financial exploiters, all wanted either to break the law or to secure more pliable laws; and with postwar inflation, they would set no limit of largesse for the persons who could deliver the goods. Sammy must therefore get in touch with these Agencies in the White World. Sammy was skeptical. He still placed his chief reliance on drunkards, gamblers, and prostitutes. “Moreover,” he said, “all that calls not only for more aldermen but more members of the legislature and Negroes on the bench.”
“Sure,” answered Sara, “and we got to push for Negro aldermen in the Sixth and Seventh Wards, a couple of more members of the legislature, a judge, and a congressman.”
“And each one of them will set up as an independent boss, and what can I do with them?”
“Defeat ’em at next election,” said Sara, “and that means that you’ve got to get a better hold on the Negro vote than you’ve got. Oh, I know you’re mighty popular in the policy shops, but you’re not so much in the churches. You’re corralling the political jobs
