A Ten Years' War: An Account of the Battle with the Slum in New York

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Jacob A. Riis. A Ten Years' War: An Account of the Battle with the Slum in New York

A Ten Years' War: An Account of the Battle with the Slum in New York

Table of Contents

A TEN YEARS' WAR

I

THE BATTLE WITH THE SLUM

POLICE STATION LODGING ROOM ON EAST SIDE

II

THE TENEMENT HOUSE BLIGHT

III

THE TENEMENT: CURING ITS BLIGHT

THE MOTT STREET BARRACKS

ALFRED CORNING CLARK BUILDINGS. Model Tenements of City and Suburban Homes Co

EVENING IN ONE OF THE COURTS IN MILLS HOUSE No. 1

IV

THE TENANT

BONE ALLEY

V

THE GENESIS OF THE GANG

VI

LETTING IN THE LIGHT

MULBERRY BEND PARK

VII

JUSTICE FOR THE BOY

LETTER H PLAN OF PUBLIC SCHOOL No. 165. Showing Front on West 109th Street

PLAYGROUND ON ROOF OF NEW EAST BROADWAY SCHOOLHOUSE. Area 8,348 square feet

VIII

REFORM BY HUMANE TOUCH

A TAMMANY-SWEPT EAST SIDE STREET, BEFORE WARING (See picture facing page 248)

THE SAME EAST SIDE STREET WHEN COLONEL WARING WIELDED THE BROOM (See picture facing page 242)

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

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Jacob A. Riis

Published by Good Press, 2019

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"Does it never come here?" I asked, and wished I had not done so, as soon as the words were spoken. The child at the window was listening, with his whole hungry little soul in his eyes.

Yes, it did, she said. Once every summer, for a little while, it came over the houses. She knew the month and the exact hour of the day when its rays shone into their home, and just the reach of its slant on the wall. They had lived there six years. In June the sun was due. A haunting fear that the baby would ask how long it was till June—it was February then—took possession of me, and I hastened to change the subject. Warsaw was their old home. They kept a little store there, and were young and happy. Oh, it was a fine city, with parks and squares, and bridges over the beautiful river—and grass and flowers and birds and soldiers, put in the girl breathlessly. She remembered. But the children kept coming, and they went across the sea to give them a better chance. Father made fifteen dollars a week, much money; but there were long seasons when there was no work. She, the mother, was never very well here—she hadn't any strength; and the baby! She glanced at his grave white face, and took him in her arms. The picture of the two, and of the pale-faced girl longing back to the fields and the sunlight, in their prison of gloom and gray walls, haunts me yet. I have not had the courage to go back since. I recalled the report of an English army surgeon, which I read years ago, on the many more soldiers that died—were killed would be more correct—in barracks into which the sun never shone than in those that were open to the light.

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