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Hellraisers Journal – Monday February 14, 1910
Spokane, Washington – Foster Describes 47 Days in City Jail
From the Seattle Socialist Workingman’s Paper of February 12, 1910:
[Part I of II.]
On the afternoon of December 11th, when a contingent of men left the I. W. W. headquarters for the purpose of speaking on the street, I accompanied them, as usual, so as to witness their arrest and be enabled to report any unusual features attending it. On this particular afternoon Korthagen and Holland, two I. W. W. members from Seattle among others, were billed to speak, and having been closely associated with them in Seattle, I was anxious to be in at the death.
I walked with them to the appointed street corner, and while they spoke I stood some twenty feet away in the thick of the crowd. They were duly arrested and a few moments later the redoubtable Captain Burns came on the scene in answer to a call sent in to the station, and although he knew nothing whatsoever as to what had taken place, and had no warrant for my arrest, he immediately placed me under arrest when he happened to see me standing in the crowd.
At the police station I had the honor of a half-hour talk with Pugh, Sullivan and Burns, during the course of which conversation these worthies attempted to pump me. They adopted a dozen different ruses by which they hoped to secure a promise from me to desist from taking part in the street fight in return for my liberty. One of these was ridiculous in the extreme. Chief Sullivan (brainy man) said that he had just received a letter from the I. W. W., stating that I was a Pinkerton, his plan being to rouse my ire against the organization and to get me to desert it, or at least promise to take no active part in the fight. Failing in this he adjudged me guilty in his office of some unknown offense, because I wouldn’t answer for my conduct for the future, and I was taken to the notorious sweat-box, where I joined the balance of the street-speaking “criminals.”



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It was seven o’clock. The morning vigil was over; the strike was unbroken. The deluge had not occurred. The men, weary with watching, broken with inaction and with suspense, drifted to their homes.
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ARRASSED by a subsidized police force which drives them from corner to corner at the behest of their employers, disputing their right to live and move and exercise free speech upon the streets once resonant with the peal of Liberty’s bell; lashed by the slave whip of necessity in the hands of manufacturers who grudge them a paltry dole sufficient to keep body and soul together, three thousand girls in Philadelphia are fighting against tremendous odds for the privileges which, according to the frequent boast of American orators, are elementary—the common heritage of all.
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