Don’t worry, fellow-worker,
all we’re going to need from now on is guts.
-Frank Little
Hellraisers Journal, Friday September 7, 1917
Nationwide Raids Against Industrial Workers and Socialists
The nationwide raids conducted by federal agents on September 5th against the Industrial Workers of the World and the Socialist Party of America are described by the Spokane Spokesman-Review of September 6th:
US Officers Raid I. W. W. Headquarters
Over Nation[Report from Associated Press]
Indictments May Follow.
MAGNOLIA, Mass., Sept. 5.— Attorney General Thomas W. Gregory was a guest at the summer home of Colonel E.M. House here this evening when he received word that raids on the headquarters of the Industrial Workers of the World in many cities had been carried out as arranged by the federal Department of Justice.
“It is no secret,” said Mr. Gregory, “that the Industrial Workers of the World have been under suspicion for some time. The Department of Justice conducted a quiet investigation until I was convinced that we were warranted in taking such action as this.
“I do not need to say the the raids will be followed quickly by indictments if we find anything to warrant them, and the men will be prosecuted to the extent of the law if they deserve it.”
Raid Haywood’s Residence.
CHICAGO, Sept. 5.— Eight places were raided by government officials here today. The places raided were:
Residence of William D. Haywood, International Secretary of the Industrial Workers of the World.
Headquarters of Industrial Workers of the World, where Haywood has his office.
Residence of Ralph R [H]. Chaplin, editor Solidarity, the official weekly paper of the I. W. W.
Residence of Vincent St. John, local secretary of I. W. W.
Residence of Harrison George, editorial writer for Solidarity.
Residence of John Farley, worker for the I. W. W.
Headquarters of American Socialist, which were also headquarters of Socialist Party.
Plant of Rogers Hall Company, where socialist paper and some of the socialist pamphlets have been printed.
Haywood and J. Louis Engdahl, a writer for the socialist paper, were taken into custody, but after questioning, they were allowed to go under guard.
[Note: Comrade Engdahl is editor of the American Socialist.]
Raid Headquarters in Butte.
BUTTE, Mont., Sept. 5.— Federal authorities, aided by the police, raided alleged I. W. W. headquarters here this afternoon and confiscated all papers. Seven other places about the city were raided.
In the headquarters of the electrical workers armament consisting of 8 revolvers and pistols, several high-powered rifles, and considerable ammunition were found. In the doorway W.A. Carte was placed under arrest on the charge of carrying concealed weapons.
The raids were made under the leadership and direction of E.W. Bryn, Special Agent of the Department of Justice, United States Marshal J.L. Ashbridge, and Chief of Police J.J. Murphy, assisted by a squad of policemen and detectives.
Hundreds of men stood outside the Finlander Hall during the proceedings and uttered jeering remarks. The raid was a complete surprise. Peter Petrja, secretary of the Metal Mine Workers’ Union, readily yielded to the order of the officials and turned over the contents of the files and material desired.
The enrollment book of the Metal Mine Workers’ Union was found to consist of nothing but figures. When accosted by Byrn with the demand to turn over the membership book, Peterja is said to have declared, “That is it. The I. W. W. is prepared for you fellows. Our fellows are known only by number. You are welcome to the book, but it is no good to you.”
Raid Copper Miners’ Plae [Place?].
DENVER, Col., Sept. 5.—The federal dragnet was effective in Denver and in Miami, Ariz. At Miami several thousand copper miners have been on strike for two months, under the direction of the I. W. W. [Metal Mine Workers Industrial Union No. 800] and the International Union of Mine, Mill and Smelter Workers [formerly Western Federation of Miners, and now affiliated with the American Federation of Labor].
In Denver the government officers seized all the records, correspondence, and literature in the Industrial Workers’ headquarters.
Confiscate Printed Matter.
GREAT FALLS, Mont., Sept. 5.—Deputy United States Marshal A.G. Sathre headed a raid today upon I. W. W. headquarters and three other places and all printed matter was confiscated. A crowd lined the street in front of the headquarters while the raid was in progress, but no violence was attempted.
Active in California.
SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 5.—Five reputed I. W. W. gathering places in San Francisco were raided today by deputies from the United States Marshal’s office and agents of the Department of Justice. Books and papers were taken. Deputies also were sent to other central California cities on like errands.
Raid Philadelphia Headquarters.
PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 5.—Two local headquarters of the Industrial Workers of the World were raided by federal agents late today. All literature and documents were taken. The agents said they did not expect to make any arrests here.
After I. W. W. in Pittsburgh.
PITTSBURGH, Sept. 5.—Search warrants have been issued and executed for the seizure of documentary evidence in the hands of alleged members of the Industrial Workers of the World in the Pittsburgh district, federal officials announced today.
Seize Pictures of Frank Little.
SALT LAKE CITY, Sept. 5.—The homes of eight members of the I. W. W. were raided by government officials and police here today and 2,000 pictures of Frank Little, who was hanged by “vigilantes” at Butte recently, were seized. Literature was also taken.
Arrest Editor of Los Angeles.
LOS ANGELES, Sept. 5.—The headquarters of the I. W. W. and a branch office where the organization’s printing plant is located were raided. Carl Kaesemyer, assistant editor of the Imprinta del Rebeido, said to be an I. W. W. publication, was arrested as an alien enemy.
All persons found at the two places were searched and certain papers taken from them. A truck load of material was seized.
Raid New Headquarters Here [Spokane].
A raid on the new I. W. W. headquarters in the Logan Hotel, Main Avenue and Stevens Street, and of a storeroom in the G.N. Hotel resulted in the accumulation of a truckload of records, literature, and other printed matter yesterday afternoon.
[Photograph added.]
SOURCE
The Spokesman-Review
(Spokane, Washington)
-Sept 6, 1917
https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/unions/iww/1917/0906-spokesmanreview-iwwraid.pdf
IMAGES
WWIR, Raids IWW SPA BBH, Chg Tb Sept 6, 1917
https://www.newspapers.com/image/28711459
Ralph Chaplin, fr Bars and Shadows, 1922
https://archive.org/stream/barsshadows00chaprich#page/n3/mode/2up
See also:
American Socialist
(Chicago, Illinois)
-July 16, 1914-Sept 8 1917
https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/pubs/american-socialist/
-Sept 8, 1917
https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/pubs/american-socialist/v4n08-sep-08-1917-TAS.pdf
Note: the Sept 8, 1917 edition of the American Socialist appears to be the last.
Wobbly
Rough-and-Tumble Story of an American Radical
-by Ralph Chaplin
University of Chicago Press, 1948
https://books.google.com/books/about/Wobbly.html?id=n-ygPQAACAAJ
Note: Copyright not renewed per this source.
https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/unions/iww/1921/0102-chaplin-cominternandiwwbail.pdf
On pages 220-225, Chaplin describes the raid made on the Chicago HQ of the IWW, which he witnessed, and the raid made on his home as related to him by his wife.
There were raids and raids and raids all over the country on the fifth of September, 1917. Department of Justice agents swarmed down upon every I.W.W. union and branch office in the nation. In each case, federal agents entered private homes or union halls without warrants in search of incriminating evidence. Tons of seized material, including union ledgers, records, files of correspondence, and office equipment poured into the Federal Building in Chicago from all parts of the country. Scanning newspaper reports of the raids, Bill Haywood remarked dryly, “I always thought it was against the law to force American citizens to give testimony against themselves.”
The raids were supposed to be a surprise, but everybody knew about them in advance. I was at the Western Newspaper Union plant that day getting Solidarity to press. Since noon I had been taking a ribbing about “incandescent copy” from the printers. The linotypers were asking for “asbestos gloves.” Pressmen complained that “the forms were steaming.”
“Let him alone!” the shop foreman commented. “He made this issue hot because he knows it’s the last he’ll get out for a long time.”
“Don’t worry,” I told them. “Before very long some of you fellows may be setting up this week’s editorial for history books.”
“Yeah,” said the foreman, “and Bill Haywood and yourself will be reading them in the cooler.”
“Lots of history has been made that way too.” I reminded him.
Newspapers on the street corners were competing with sensational headlines: “Federal Agents Raid Reds-I.W.W. Leaders Face Retribution!-Nation-wide Dragnet for Wobblies.” I was impatient to reach the general office to see what had happened. Along the way I dropped in at a cigar store to phone Edith [Chaplin’s wife]. “Have you had any visitors?” I inquired. Edith’s voice faltered, but the words were reassuring. “Yes, they are here,” she answered, “but everything’s all right. Hurry home, and I’ll tell you all about it.” My impulse was to return at once, but duty called.
I found numerous detectives and a squad of policemen in front of the general office. They were taking their job seriously. No one was permitted to enter without permission. Only two persons enjoyed the distinction of breaking through the police cordon. They were two schoolgirls, Geraldine and Phyllis Udell. Every press day they would call for a bundle of Solidarity to place on sale at the Radical Book Shop. How they managed it this time I don’t know; but neither Chicago policemen nor federal detectives were able to keep them out of the building.
It was McDonough, the stool pigeon, who gave me the necessary permit to enter the danger zone, and with it a quite unnecessary sneer. Bill Haywood was seated at his desk talking to Taro Yoshihara. Miss Serviss, Bill’s secretary, was at the typewriter, but there was nothing for her to do. All organizational mail that afternoon had been seized. She made an attempt to smile, but I could see that she was frightened. The room was full of “investigators.” They were rummaging through files, examining books, and assembling piles of correspondence. Several of them had gathered around the safe. “My God! what’s this?” I heard one exclaim. He had just removed from its wrapping the plaster cast of a man’s face. It was ghastly white. The eyes were closed and the mouth twisted into a crooked grin that was all too familiar. Bill’s one eye glared and his big fists tightened perceptibly, but his voice was even. “It’s the death mask of a metal miner who was murdered in Butte,” he said simply.
A couple of the “investigators” started to “frisk” Taro. “Haven’t got a rod on you by any chance?” one of them asked. Taro held his hands up, grinning as they went through his pockets. One of them didn’t like the expression on Taro’s face.
“Tough guy, eh?” he asked. “No,” said Taro, “not tough-just good Wobbly.”
The “investigators” gathered around angrily.
“Gee fuzz,” remonstrated Bill, “why don’t you lay off of Taro? First thing you know you’ll get him mad.”
Upstairs, Andreytchine and Lossieff were being interrogated. They were both stubbornly uncommunicative. George had his arms folded heroically and was standing in front of the big Russian poster of Yegor Fetiukov. Lossieff was glaring through revolutionary lenses. “Frenchy” Wilson, the shipping clerk, was standing by as “investigators” rummaged through shelves in the shipping room, where pamphlets, song books, and files of paper were being stowed into boxes and cartons. Some of the federal men had removed their coats, displaying automatics in shoulder holsters. The newspapers said they were looking for evidence of “German influence.”
Special Agent Kline, in charge of the “investigation,” ordered me to open up the safe. It was the old Solidarity one from Cleveland which I had never got around to use. Apart from the big Mauser 30-30 pistol, which had been bequeathed me by one of the returning Russian exiles, and a few bottles of beer, the safe was quite empty. The “investigators” gathered around close as the Mauser was unloaded. “A wicked gun, Chaplin,” the special agent in charge remarked dryly. “What did you intend to do with it?”
“Hadn’t made up my mind,” I answered. “I’ve had other papers raided without a search warrant. I don’t like it. Guess I only kept the thing around in case the office might be mobbed some day.”
“I know it’s bad business not having a warrant,” the special agent admitted apologetically. “But a gun like that could have got you into a heap of trouble.”
“So could the Budweiser,” I answered. “Why don’t you take that along as evidence of ‘German influence’?”
Riding home on the street car I realized for the first time my changed status in society. Headlines were splashed all over the front pages of evening newspapers, and people were eagerly devouring lurid details of the I.W.W. raids.
Edith told me the story when I reached home. After giving Vonnie [7-year-old son of Chaplin and Edith] his lunch and seeing him off to school, Edith had gone downtown to do some shopping. Shortly afterward the federal men had arrived. Finding no one at home, they inquired from the janitor where Vonnie attended school. There was much excitement and embarrassment when the teacher turned the little fellow over to the federal agents. “Get into the car, little boy,” they urged, “and we’ll drive you home.” But Vonnie was obdurate. “I’ll walk,” he insisted. When pressed for a reason, he stated simply, “I know what happened to Frank Little when he went riding with fellows like you!” Later, the special agent asked Edith what he meant by that.
Vonnie walked home with a Department of Justice man on either side of him and another driving the long black limousine. When Edith came home, the car was parked in front of the building. She knew full well what it meant. Vonnie told her breathlessly what had happened. He held her hand tightly. Just as she put the key in the outer lock, three men got out of the car. They were polite, but firm, explaining that they were government men. They merely wanted to search the apartment. Edith asked to see the search warrant. They pushed past her and entered the hallway. Edith mentioned the Bill of Rights. “This is a war emergency,” the chief “investigator” answered gruffly. “We had a right to break down the door. You are lucky we didn’t.”
“Maybe you’re lucky my husband isn’t here,” Edith said. “After all, an American’s home is still his castle, and a citizen has a right to defend that home from unlawful entry.”
The federal men ransacked our little apartment from one end to the other. They played every phonograph record on the old Victrola and opened our many books separately, fluttering the pages to shake out any loose secret documents. They rolled up carpets, seeking incriminating “chart and diagrams” They took the pictures off the walls and searched every drawer and file for “revolutionary plots and plans.”
They discovered a Ladies’ Home Journal dress pattern, still in its envelope, which the investigators opened up and spread out on the dining-room table. One of them pointed to the perforations and said something in an undertone to the other two. “Surely you don’t want that!” Edith said.
“I’m sorry, but the United States Government will have to decide,” the special agent answered.
When they came to a portfolio full of sketches and drawings which I had made over a period of years in many different parts of the United States, Mexico, and Canada, Edith put her foot down again. “We know what we are doing, Mrs. Chaplin,” the investigators repeated. My Mexican and Canadian poems came next, then Jack London’s manuscript, edited in his own handwriting. Then followed three bundles of love letters, neatly tied with silk ribbon, which I had written to Edith while she was visiting in Sweden. But the “investigators” were insatiable. They went to Vonnie’s playbox and took out the tinfoil ball which Taro had made for him. This was too much for the youngster. As the special agent reached for the ball, Vonnie said, “You can’t have that, it’s mine.” But the toy was placed with the other “evidence” and carted away in the long black limousine. None of the papers or drawings were ever returned. Nor was any item, seized without search warrant in my home, ever used in the trial, not even the love letters.
As the tons of literature and records at the Federal Building were sifted, a fabulous but strangely convincing case was built up against Bill Haywood and key men of the I.W.W. After reading the sensational newspaper accounts of our villainy, I sometimes doubted my own innocence. At least I could understand why some of my acquaintances preferred not to see me on the streets and why neighbors ducked into doorways if I met them in the dimly lit hall coming home from the office.
Things finally reached such a pass that the corner grocer refused to wait on Edith, and Vonnie was shunned by teacher and playmates alike. Even Ida [Chaplin’s sister] and my father came under the shadow of my evil notoriety. After all, good citizens couldn’t afford to take a chance on the sort of people who burned bridges and haystacks or obstructed the war effort with strikes and sabotage.
Strangely enough, some of the most violent accusations against the organization came from competitive radical groups. One of these, a microscopic Marxian sect, known as the “Socialist Labor party,” published diatribes against us in its official organ, the Weekly People, which were more virulent than those in the capitalist press. The S.L.P., once an integral part of the I.W.W. took advantage of our persecution to even up the score of the expulsion from our midst of their leader and prophet, Daniel DeLeon.
It took several days for the deputy marshals at the general office to truck away the effects of our industrial union and other offices. While this was going on, Bill Haywood and the rest of us tried to carry on as though nothing unusual were happening. Not so Taro. He insisted on snaring the beefy “investigators” into the pitfalls of jujitsu. For several days the deputy marshals attempted desperately to get Taro’s money. They even went so far as to call in outside talent. In the end they admitted defeat. Taro, jubilant, returned to the “dicks” an assortment of stickpins which he had acquired while giving them lessons in the gentle art of judo.
[Photograph added.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Solidarity Forever – Sung by Modern-Day Wobblies
The full might of the US Justice Department unleashed by
Democratic President Woodrow Wilson failed to wipe out
the Industrial Workers of the World!
Lyrics by Ralph Chaplin (with verse added by FW Tom Morello.)
https://archive.org/stream/whenleavescomeou00chapiala#page/28/mode/2up
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