Читать книгу The Story of my Life - Clarence Darrow - Страница 10

Table of Contents

In due time, the strike ran its course, as strikes always do. The A. R. U. was destroyed. For many years its members were boycotted; they changed their names and wandered over the land looking for a chance to work. After the strike was over, the cases of Mr. Debs and his associates were called in court. Mr. S. S. Gregory consented to go into the trial of these cases with me. Mr. Gregory was one of the best lawyers I have ever known. He was emotional and sympathetic, he was devoted to the principles of liberty and always fought for the poor and oppressed. In spite of all this, he had a fine practice, and his ability and learning were thoroughly recognized. He at one time was president of the American Bar Association, and his legal attainments were everywhere acknowledged.

The criminal case was first put on trial. At the end of several weeks, and when the case was practically finished, the bailiff reported to the court that a juror was taken ill. The government asked for the dismissal of the jury and a mistrial. We offered to go on with eleven men; the government would not consent. When the jury was dismissed we were informed that they stood eleven to one for acquittal at the time of the discharge. We made several demands to have the case set for trial, but after fighting it off as long as possible the government finally dismissed it.

With exactly the same charge and the same evidence, Judge Woods, a Federal judge from Indianapolis, heard the injunction case. After taking a considerable time for deliberation he found Debs and his associates guilty of violating the injunction. In the whole case there was not one word of evidence connecting any of them with any violence or even the use of inflammatory language. Debs was sentenced to six months' imprisonment in jail and his associates to three months. We then took the case to the Supreme Court of the United States. For this hearing, Mr. Lyman Trumbull volunteered to argue it with us. He had been a judge of the Supreme Court of Illinois, and was for many years a United States senator. His vote in Andrew Johnson's impeachment trial went far to prevent his impeachment. He wrote the Fourteenth Amendment and was the author of much other important legislation of his day. He, like the rest of us, received nothing but expenses for his services. The treasury of the A. R. U. was exhausted before the litigation had really made a start, as it must always be in strike cases, or, at least, so it was twenty-five years ago.

The Supreme Court took the matter under consideration, and in due time decided against Mr. Debs. This opinion strengthened the arm of arbitrary power. It left the law so that, in cases involving strikes, at least, a man could be sent to prison for crime without trial by jury. The opinion of the Supreme Court was unanimous. Justice Holmes and Justice Brandeis were not then members.

So Eugene Debs was sent to jail in Woodstock, Ill., for trying to help his fellow man. He really got off easy. No other offense has ever been visited with such severe penalties as seeking to help the oppressed. When the idealist has tried hard enough and labored long enough it is always easy to lodge a specific charge against him.

A host of friends went to Woodstock jail with Mr. Debs. To be sure they were generally stopped at the door, although they would have wished nothing more than to remain there with him. During his residence in Woodstock the trains daily took visitors to his cell. No house in the town, and few in the land, were or ever had been so popular as the Woodstock jail. When the time for his release came a trainload of friends went from Chicago to Woodstock to welcome him. That night the great Convention Hall, Battery D, was jammed to overflowing with a wildly enthusiastic crowd of his admirers and supporters testifying their love and loyalty. The imprisonment of Eugene Victor Debs in the Woodstock jail made him a world-wide figure.

No one was so interested on either side as to know exactly what it was all about. Both sides swept away the chaff and technicalities. Both sides recognized that Debs had been sent to jail because he had led a great fight to benefit the toilers and the poor. It was purely a part of the world class-struggle for which no individual can be blamed.

In all this there was nothing weird or strange. It was an accident that displayed the workings of man's primal instincts and deep emotions. It was one of the experiences of life that bring hope and despair. Hope, to find that the world boasts some men and women whose idealism and devotion to sympathy for others makes them dare and suffer in a cause; despair, to learn that man is largely ruled by his feelings and emotions and will hate and punish as easily as he will love and approve. It is depressing, because one knows that the structure has not changed since he became a man, and that his very structure makes it impossible that he can ever change.

Eugene V. Debs has always been one of my heroes. And as he must figure further in this story I may as well complete what I have to say of "'Gene" whether in the natural sequence or not. There may have lived some time, some where, a kindlier, gentler, more generous man than Eugene V. Debs, but I have never known him. Nor have I ever read or heard of another. Mr. Debs at once became the head of the Socialist party of America. I never followed him politically. I never could believe that man was so constructed as to make Socialism possible; but I watched him and his cause with great interest. He was not only all that I have said, but he was the bravest man I ever knew. He never felt fear. He had the courage of the babe who has no conception of the word or its meaning.

I differed with Mr. Debs again when America entered the World War. I felt that we should join with the allies, but Mr. Debs, who hated war in any form and for any cause, thought that we should stay out. I am quite sure that his sympathies were with the allies; at least he told me so ten days before he made the speech that was to send him to prison again.

During the war Mr. Debs said very little on the subject. I have always felt that he would have gone through the period without accident except that Rose Pastor Stokes was indicted for opposing the war. The case was ridiculous and flimsy, but the judge and jury were deeply prejudiced, as all of them were through that period, and Mrs. Stokes was convicted. Mr. Debs immediately protested in the strong and vigorous language that he knew how to use. But Mrs. Stokes did not go to prison; a higher court reversed the case, and she was never tried again.

I had nothing to do with the case of Mr. Debs. He knew my views on the war, as did all the others who opposed it, so that, with one or two exceptions, I was not even invited into those cases. While I was strongly for America entering the war, and did all I could to help, still I felt that the courts had gone mad and were heartless in their horrible sentences that would shame savages for their severity; perhaps I should have said: should shame civilized people.

Mr. Debs was tried and convicted. The case was very weak, but Mr. Debs insisted on arguing it to the jury. He told them that he was against the war from the beginning, that he had done all he could to impede it, and should continue to do so till the end. It would have been impossible for any jury to do otherwise under the circumstances, and I have no idea that Mr. Debs expected anything else than conviction. I am inclined to believe that he thought his place was in jail, beside the thousands of others that the government pursued with relentless barbarity. We may admit that during the war it became necessary to confine some men in prison. Most of these were as honest and much higher-minded than most of the civilians who were entrusted with the management of important details connected with our part of the conflict. Every one knew that most of these victims were upright, fine men and women, and that they should have been subjected to no hardships or indignity, but all should have been pardoned at once as soon as the war ended. In place of that, the ruling forces of industry took advantage of the war. After it was over they caused an espionage act to be passed in nearly every State in the Union that was meant to strangle public and private criticism of public men and policies, in the sacred cause of Big Business. These laws denied and defied every principle for which our forefathers fought to obtain freedom for the United States. The treatment of the conscientious objectors, especially after the war, was, to my mind, the worst blot on the intelligence and idealism of Woodrow Wilson, for whom I always felt the highest admiration and regard.

Mr. Debs, true to form, insisted that he had done nothing but what he thought right, and refused to ask for pardon. When he had been in prison for three years, and many efforts had been made for his release, I went to Washington without consulting Mr. Debs. I saw the attorney general, Mitchell Palmer, who was supposed to be a Quaker; perhaps he is, though any Quakerism that might have been in their family probably mostly affected his ancestors. I told him my errand. Mr. Palmer said he would like to help Mr. Debs, and asked if I represented him. When I answered that I did not, he stated that he did not like to discuss the matter with me unless I could say that I represented Mr. Debs. I replied that if he insisted, I would go to Atlanta prison and talk with Mr. Debs and return to Washington. It was in the middle of the summer and the ride was long and disagreeable. I landed in Atlanta early in the morning and went directly to the penitentiary and found the warden without any trouble. I had never seen him before, but he told me that for a long time he had been with Major McClowry, warden of the Illinois State Penitentiary, who was one of my friends.

I explained that I had come specially to see Mr. Debs, and would like to see him alone if possible, the reason for this request being that I had heard many reports of the bad treatment he was receiving in prison. I was doubtful of this, and wanted to know from Mr. Debs. The warden was more than willing, and invited me to use his private room if I wished, saying that he would take another for himself. In a few moments Debs entered and greeted me warmly. He and the warden seemed to be on the best of terms, so much so that I assured the warden that there was no need of his leaving the room. We three then discussed all sorts of subjects, from Socialism and Anarchism to prisons and punishments, and every other social question, until the forenoon had slipped away. I could not get a train for Washington until late at night, so I decided to wait in what was probably the most interesting place in Atlanta, if not in the United States.

The warden asked me to have luncheon with him at his house, and said how sorry he was that he could not take Mr. Debs, too. When we had finished the meal I said that I would like to visit Mr. Debs in his cell if it would be all right to do so. The request was at once granted and he took me there himself, and asked if I wanted him to stay or not. Of course I invited him to remain, and so he did.

Mr. Debs was in a very large cell, made for six persons. Just in front, with only the bars between, was a garden full of beautiful flowers. There was with him a mountaineer from the South, good-natured, simple and fine, who had done nothing but give Nature a chance to convert corn into whiskey; he could not imagine why he was there, any more than I can imagine why men who think themselves civilized build cells. There was also a business man from a Northern city who had been charged with a confidence game; though why his particular kind of confidence game should be singled out from all the rest I could not understand. There were two or three others in the cell, and there was the atmosphere of a happy family; and so it was, for the place was radiant with the sunshine and kindness and love of Eugene V. Debs.

We sat on boxes, on the beds, and the few chairs, the warden with the rest. We discussed with the frankness of friends our experiences, hopes and visions. A jail is a good place for these reflections; there is no business to be disturbed. In answer to my question, Mr. Debs said that he could not ask for anything from the administration, and could make no promises, but if I wanted to help him out he fully appreciated all that I was doing for him.

"Really," he said, "this place is not bad. I look at that garden of flowers. There are bars in front, I know--but I never see the bars."

Mr. Debs was loved and idealized by all the inmates. He did all in his power to help every one with whom he came in contact. He steadily refused to take easier jobs or receive any privileges that were not given to all, as Walt Whitman said, "on equal terms."

It was with reluctance that I bade Mr. Debs "good-by" and went home with the warden to dinner and then to the train. On my return to Washington I called on Mr. Palmer. I expected that Mr. Debs would be pardoned at once. But I was disappointed. It took more work and longer waiting. President Woodrow Wilson and Mitchell Palmer missed a great opportunity to show belated understanding of Mr. Debs and thousands of other honest men whose conscience and humanity had landed them in jail.

It was left for President Harding and Mr. Dougherty to pardon Debs. Although I was never a disciple or follower of either Mr. Harding or Mr. Dougherty, I always remember them with kindliness when I think of Gene. The truth is, no man is white and no man is black. We are all freckled.

Later, I formed the acquaintance of Mr. Harry Dougherty under very favorable circumstances. I told him that I could never forget that it was through his kindness that Mr. Debs was pardoned. He replied, "No, it was not. President Harding asked me to investigate the case and see if we could not let him out; so I sent for Mr. Debs, and asked him to come without guard to see me in Washington. He spent a large part of the day in my office, and I never met a man I liked better." He added, "Won't you please remember me to his wife and brother when you write to them?"

I had always admired Woodrow Wilson and distrusted Harding. Doubtless my opinions about both in relation to affairs of government were measurably correct; still, Mr. Wilson, a scholar and an idealist, and Mr. Palmer, a Quaker, kept Debs in prison; and Mr. Harding and Mr. Dougherty unlocked the door. I know at least two men who understood this: Lincoln Steffens and Fremont Older. So far as I am concerned, I never think of either Harding or Dougherty without saying to myself: "Well, they pardoned Debs!"