Labor Strikes

Narrator​: Roberta was working her 15 hour shift at the Square Shirtwaist Factory in New York City. Finally
the cracked stone clock situated above the ancient factory struck 10, and Roberta stumbled home in the dark to
feed her children, distressed from the work conditions. Her sleep was restless, and she resolved to plead with
her boss for shorter hours and better pay.
Bert​: What do you want?
Roberta​: ​Shuffling, then mustering the courage to speak​. I work here finishing the shirtwaists… My name is
Roberta Johnson. I have a family that I need to feed and my salary isn’t-
Bert​: I don’t have time for this. ​Gestures angrily towards the door., directing Roberta out of the leather clad
office.
Roberta​: Please… at the very least could you open the windows? I’m hardly able to breathe in the heat.
Bert:​ ​Unsympathetically. ​I told you to get out… unless you want to be fired?
Roberta hurriedly exits the office and looks sad.
Narrator​: Roberta desperately wanted to go home, but knew that if she did, she would be fired and lose her
only source of income. The next morning was different. Roberta could sense it as soon as she got close to the
looming factory. Where once had been the cold streets of the factory district, with hurried people passing by
periodically, was now a solidified mass of people screaming at the doors of the factory.
Roberta​: ​Walks up to Man. ​What’s going on?
Man:​ We’re striking! ​Hands Roberta picket sign and smiles enthusiastically.
Narrator​: Roberta stumbled about the crowd, brushing against the sweaty bodies of grimy strikers and
laborers.
Man: ​We want higher wages! We want shorter work hours! WE WANT BETTER CONDITIONS!
Roberta:​ ​Feeling a new anger stir within her.​ My boss denied me the ability to care for my children! We want
fair treatment!
Narrator​: The day grew unbearably hot as the garment strikers marched towards the shopping district.
Policeman​: ​Confronting Roberta physically.
Narrator​: A burly cop stood before her, bristly beard and filthy blue uniform exuding the impression that he
was a threat.
​ ou’re coming with me
Policeman: ​Growling. Y
Roberta:​ No! What did I do?
Policeman: ​Disrupt the peace of shoppers, you dirty striker! I’m bringing you to jail!
Roberta:​ What am I going to do… ​ ​Getting off the floor and marching around in a jail cell. Keeping her gaze
down, but glancing around her musty surroundings, searching for salvation.
​ pens door. In a shrill voice.​ Are you with the strikers?
Elise:​ O
Roberta​: ​Distressed and nervous. ​Yes?
Elise: ​Where are my manners?​ ​I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Elise Beckett. ​Puts out hand to shake.
Roberta: ​Roberta Joseph. ​They shake hands.
Elise: ​Leading Roberta out of the cell. ​It’s nice to meet you. I’m the widow of the late businessman Mr.
Beckett. When I saw the laborers striking outside the Saks Fifth Avenue just as I was buying shirtwaists, I
realized that I had to help the unions. I was advised to come here to this jail, since many strikers such as
yourself have been unfairly arrested.
Roberta: ​Smiles softly, the beginnings of hope lacing her lips. ​Are you sure you want to help this protest? It
won’t be easy, and you won’t even benefit.
Elise:​ ​Laughing. ​Of course! But I might as well do my part. Can I give you a donation to give the union?
Roberta​: ​Laughing dryly.​ What union? Despite your generosity, without a union this strike means nothing.
Elise: ​Assured. ​Don’t worry. I’ll give you some money now to feed your family, and we can look into making
a union soon.
---
Narrator​: Bert was fuming. His chauffeur got stuck on the other side of town due to traffic induced by the
labor riot. The day kept getting worse and worse. Bert kicked his polished shoe at the muck coating the filthy
sidewalk.
Bert: ​Where is my chauffeur!?
Thug​ ​approaches from behind and steals manilla folder. Bert whirls and tries to attack, but is shoved and falls.
The thug runs away.
Narrator​: The next morning Bert realized that things needed to change. The strike and the loss of his papers
that signified a cash bailout from the bank helped him realize that his life’s work, the Square Shirtwaist
Factories, might go into bankruptcy if things stayed the same. The first step would be satisfying his nagging
factory workers. Bert called in his financial advisor and his factory managers and informed them that he was
allowing a 12-hour work day and a 2 cent raise to all employees back in the factories by tomorrow morning.
Bert: ​It’s not perfect, but I need my workers back to keep this factory in business. ​Sighs​---
Narrator:​ Roberta used the money Elise gave her to feed her children and herself. The extra income and the
shorter days were welcome as well. Roberta and Elise struggled, but eventually they created a union to better
fight for their rights.