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 ERLE PRESS, INC. 
 
 30 No LA SALLE STREET 
 CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 
 
Copyright 1953 Camille De Rose. All rights re- 
 served. No part of this book may be reproduced 
 in any form without permission in writing from 
 the publisher. 
 
E XL 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 1 1" dedicate this book to my mother and dad whose love followed 
 •■■ through my joys and my sorrows, through success and failure, 
 and who found justification for my misdeeds when justification 
 was veiled; to brother Jimmy to whom my faults become virtues; 
 to my godfather Tony who has never failed me; to my present 
 Attorney, Laurence M. Fine, who snatched me from the jaws of 
 defeat and whose compassion restored me; and finally to a world 
 in danger of being torn by a mad race conflict. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 In this book I aim to bring to public attention the yet un- 
 told core of the story of the Cicero race riots, their significance 
 as a prelude to perhaps a world-wide race war, and the sinister 
 plot which touched off those riots. The explosive elements were 
 (a) the ever-present race repellants, real and imagined, (b) a 
 town without colored citizens and colored citizens without living 
 quarters, and (c) a group of colored incendiaries on the prowl 
 for a chance to light the fuse. 
 
 The chance arose from the growling form of communism 
 implicit in rent control, the communistic liquidation of American 
 kulaks owning rental property, forcing me out of my 20-apart- 
 ment building, leaving my own apartment vacant for the challenge 
 of the conspiracy, with "civil rights" as the co-efficient. 
 
 The explosion also shattered the closet door to the skeleton 
 of my ungracious past. Never have I felt so keenly the curse 
 of publicity. Publicity! How the millions of citizens abhor it. 
 Were it not for this nauseous publicity, the genius of our great 
 nation would arise to public service and make a heaven of this 
 country instead of a shamble. Instead, we are, ruled by op- 
 portunists of thick skin and thicker heads, and what have we? 
 Rent control ! 
 
 Alas! I am not among the mentally elite, but how I cherish 
 privacy, how I crave the sweet, charmed and restful obscurity, 
 words cannot express. This blessing of privacy was also 
 destroyed by the race riots. 
 
For I must not, dare not, strike against injustice, without 
 granting justice. I dare not disclose and attack the infamy o\ 
 others without confessing to trespasses of my own. If I can give, 
 I must also take. I therefore had to make a critical decision — 
 to tell or not to tell. This decision I pondered long and intensely. 
 I felt that we are facing an onrushing racial world war, which 
 can be averted. I felt that the world should know the under- 
 lying facts governing the race riots. I felt that the fables and 
 legends which flowed from those events should be corrected. 
 I also felt that the true facts are of great public concern, and 
 that I had no right to permit them to remain untold. In this 
 book I cannot tell all, but I will try to cover the primary essentials. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
THE CAMILLE DE ROSE STORY 
 
 r T^HE Cicero Riots, brought world notoriety to a town which was 
 not exactly a virgin in the news beforehand. The riots also 
 brought to the forefront a specie of a "cold war" which had sim- 
 mered between the colored and white population. It also turned 
 the spotlight on subversive police methods, on the tug-and-pull 
 of political cross-currents and on the amazing action and reaction 
 of the courts. 
 
 The aftermath of the riots also brought into the limelight an 
 hitherto obscure youngish woman, of an admittedly checkered 
 past, but one much more sinned against than sinning. I have no 
 yen for preaching or apologizing. I confess to great hesitation 
 in writing the dark chapters of my life which follow, but feel 
 certain that what I judiciously would omit others would rush to 
 disclose. I am therefore making it easier for myself by meeting 
 my readers head-on. 
 
 Much as I regret my thwarted career as a dancer, of which 
 I make mention in the body of the book, I also regret my thwarted 
 education. At times I really do not feel deprived of book learn- 
 ing. For I have known college-bred men and women who didn't 
 know how to tie a shoe-lace properly, whereas, after all, I had 
 accumulated what some might consider ample wealth. 
 
 But returning to the skeleton which has been taken from my 
 closet, I am told that a philosopher by the name of Spinoza wrote 
 that if a bullet were stopped in its flight and if it could speak it 
 would say that it is rushing forward on its own volition. Which 
 means that we are not our own masters, that we are tossed about 
 by conditions. It is a mistake to think that those who fall from 
 grace, those who violate conventions, even those who violate the 
 law, have no appreciation for propriety and decency. Quite the 
 contrary is true — at least it was and is so in my case. Those who 
 are fortunate in being allowed to lead an orderly life often fail 
 to appreciate their great privilege. One who is thrown into the 
 
— 8 — 
 
 tossing sea of insecurity and indecency is like one shipwrecked 
 whose most urgent prayer is for the shore. Girls who, like I, 
 have been thrown on the street, either struggle for eventual 
 restoration, or give up the struggle by taking to drink or dope. 
 I do not wish to impugn the character of those who live a good 
 and conventional life. But what I have to tell about those thrown 
 into what some call the "underworld" will prove that "one touch 
 of nature" or the touch of disaster, "makes the whole world kin." 
 
 At this introductory point of the Camille De Rose-Cicero 
 story I hasten to caution the reader not to confuse the "underworld" 
 chapter of my personal history with the Cicero phase of the "under- 
 world." They have no connection whatsoever. In Cicero I was 
 the enviable owner of a large and imposing apartment building. 
 The building was a symbol of ray triumph over my unconven- 
 tional past. 
 
 The building became the center of a racial war, of a planned 
 insurrection, and the town of Cicero, its police and town officials 
 as well as Camille De Rose, were swept into the vortex of the 
 turmoil. The war brought the State militia to the rescue of the 
 citizens, but it destroyed the "empire" I had built. It also destroy- 
 ed the myth of equality before the law; it swept aside the already 
 tattered curtain of respectability which draped official and political 
 corruption. There were tons of newsprint paper devoted to the 
 riots and what followed in their wake, but the true story of the 
 cause of the riots and their important incidents before, during 
 and after, never thus far came to light. These I relate in the 
 ensuing pages, without "color added," and without reserve. 
 
 The newspapers knew and reported only the surface incidents 
 of the Cicero race riots. They did not dig deep into the under- 
 lying causes of the insurrection and its frightening implications. 
 Of course, I think of my own losses first, just as the gold star 
 
— 9 — 
 
 mother thinks of the world war in the terms of her loss. Yet, this 
 is my story, as the riots affected me, and in the larger sense as it 
 affected and threatens to affect the entire country, unless prompt 
 and decisive action is taken. Because my 20-apartment building 
 was used as the testing ground for what I will soon show is to be 
 a widespread race conflict, I must take the reader through an 
 unromantic series of events and conditions which made my build- 
 ing a suitable springboard. 
 
 % * * 
 TTNDER rent control I was operating my building at a severe 
 loss, although it was free of mortgage debt. Computed on 
 the number of occupants, men, women and children, the rentals 
 figured from 9 cents per person per room per day. 
 
 Yet I had no thought of finding any short cuts. Throughout 
 the months and years I strictly conformed to the law, and to 
 make sure that I do, I consulted not one but several attorneys. 
 I was content to find means of supplementing my income to take 
 care of the losses in operation of my building. Until things began 
 to happen. 
 
 A Resolution was passed by the Cicero Town Board, under 
 its Home Rule charter, decontrolling rental property. The resolu- 
 tion was announced in headlines not alone in the Cicero news- 
 papers but in all Chicago newspapers. Being of a cautious nature, 
 I set out to get specific advice from lawyers. The Cicero Town 
 Attorney was vacationing in Florida. My own attorney was out 
 of town. Over the Radio I had heard invitations to landlords to 
 join a Landlord's Association. I went to a meeting and became a 
 member. This step led to the world-shaking event. 
 
 I went to the lawyer for the association and asked a simple 
 rent control question and — wow — my building was destroyed, 
 my home wrecked, my freedom lost, my past uncovered, my 
 sanity libeled . . . Will you kindly follow me through a winding 
 
— 10 — 
 
 path of startling experiences. 
 
 In seeking justice through the courts, in attempting to re- 
 cover money and property of which I had been swindled, I found 
 that justice is not only blind, but paralyzed. Again and again I 
 was told by neighbors, by friends and by my own lawyers, that 
 equal justice can be expected only when the power and influence 
 of the litigants are equal. Again and again I was warned that to 
 secure that which is mine, even from an obvious swindler, 1 
 must see an influential politician, or that I must employ an 
 attorney with strong political connections, if I wish to have my 
 rights protected in the courts. In spite of my previous expe- 
 riences, with my brushes with the law, I found such warnings 
 hard to believe. Yet, so as not to take undue chances, I did 
 employ attorneys with political connections. In doing so, I ran 
 into another gimmick in this political-influence set-up. 
 
 I found that the lawyer with political connections, who ex- 
 ercises influence where it pays him to do so, also yields to 
 opposing influence when that course happens to be to his ad- 
 vantage. The client merely gives him the opportunity to jockey 
 the best advantage to himself. 
 
 As a consequence, I who sought justice in the courts against 
 those who swindled me, I who invoked the power and justice 
 of the courts for the redress of the wrongs against? me, found 
 myself convicted, imprisoned, sent to jail and finally declared 
 insane and sent to a mental institution in Kankakee. 
 
 HP HE fellow who came to fix my typewriter tested it by 
 writing a few lines which he tells me comes from Shakespeare. 
 I have it before me. 
 It reads: 
 
 "Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
 
 Wkich, like the toad, ugly and venemous, 
 
— 11 — 
 
 Wears yet a jewel in its crown." 
 
 There are more lines, but these hold the thought that bitter 
 and humiliating experiences need not be written off as a complete 
 loss. My experiences include poverty, privation, blushing humil- 
 iation, illness, blindness, four loveless marriages and as many 
 divorces, a short but consuming romance with a Negro, years 
 of unmarried cohabitation, and last but even lowest, a mortify- 
 ing, soul-destroying stretch of brazen street-walking competing 
 for pick-ups against other social outcasts. That doesn't make a 
 sweet story for a girl reared in utmost tenderness and affection, 
 in an atmosphere of piety and severe respectability. From that 
 murky background I rose to comparative wealth, good standing 
 and reputation. Throughout my life's jungle journey the love, 
 confidence and devotion of my parents and my brother Jim ever 
 followed me. They didn't always know of my plight, but re- 
 joiced in my successes and prayed for me in my failures. I was 
 never wrong in their eyes — I was merely injured. By a strange 
 and painful coincidence I became the center of an historic riot, 
 a racial insurrection, which tore away my hard-won level of 
 economic sufficiency as well as the closed door to the closeted 
 skeleton of my turbulent past. 
 
 The corruption, social, economic and political, which de- 
 stroyed the empire I had built, also added to my sordid expe- 
 riences. I was recently tried for offenses I did not commit, im- 
 prisoned, and finally declared insane, with the help of my 
 attorney who knew otherwise. At Kankakee it seems that the 
 entire staff "gave me the works" and unanimously declared me 
 in good mental health. I did not waste my time altogether in 
 either the County jail or at Kankakee, nor even before the 
 courts. What I heard and saw and experienced I will relate 
 here briefly. Forgotten are the victims thrown in jails, peniten- 
 tiaries and mental institutions, who lack the experience and 
 
— 12 — 
 
 therefore the resourcefulness to extricate themselves. For every 
 innocent victim in the jails, a scoundrel goes free. For every 
 sane person in the "snake pit," a maniac roams the streets. It 
 is no exaggeration to say that many in jail are more honest than 
 those who sent them there; that many in mental institutions are 
 more sane than their keepers and the frowsy, befuddled 
 "psychiatrists" who respond to pressure to make a false report. 
 
 What I learned the "hard way," I will present before you 
 sitting comfortably at your fireside. 
 
 Inasmuch as the so-called Cicero Riots involve a threaten- 
 ing world race conflict, before going into my personal history, I 
 will mention an incident involving a not too eventful experience 
 with a Negro. Later on I will show that the riots were purposely 
 provoked, staged and performed in the manner of a Hollywood 
 extravaganza. There was no intention of having Harvey E. 
 Clark, or any other Negro, move into my building. The truth 
 is that if Clark really wished to move into the building, he could 
 have done so unostentatiously, quietly, without fanfare, without 
 ceremony. His occupancy thereafter would perhaps have gone 
 unnoticed. The trumpeting, proclaiming a Negro family moving 
 into the Cicero building and that the entire building would be 
 taken over by Negroes, and that the white tenants would be 
 evicted, was thoroughly rehearsed and exploded on the town 
 square. The effect of such a manifesto was premeditated. What 
 was to happen was not only known, but planned. 
 
 It doesn't take an Einstein to foresee what would happen, 
 any time, anywhere, in a similar situation. The whole cavalcade 
 was engineered by a group of so-called leaders and South Side 
 politicians, as an incident. Further detail of the scheme and 
 its true objective will be discussed later. I will return to the 
 minor incident, for a glimpse into the thoughts of a colored 
 citizen. 
 
— 13 — 
 
 A S I said earlier here, my education ended with the grammar 
 
 grades. My capacity for reading was greatly reduced by my 
 
 failing eyesight, which rates a chapter by itself, for it led to 
 
 total blindness for a period, and then to partial restoration. 
 
 People are sensitive about what they think are their shortcomings. 
 
 I feel my lack of education keenly. I am hesitant to write letters 
 
 for fear of improper punctuation. All the assurances that I write 
 
 tolerably well fail to give me courage. Therefore in writing 
 
 this book, I sought an editor, a writer attached to "The Chicago 
 
 Defender," to "edit" my manuscript, to correct misspelling, 
 
 punctuation and to suggest such changes as might be advisable. 
 
 You might wonder why there were so many, or any, colored 
 
 people hovering around me. All I ask now is that you withhold 
 
 judgment for further enlightenment. 
 
 This colored "editor" summoned his attorney, who drew 
 a contract covering editorial work on my book, a contract which 
 the said "editor" failed to live up to. But the curious portion 
 of the contract is a phrase which I wish to note here. It reads 
 as follows: 
 
 1. That the author shall in a free, friendly ami- 
 able and co-operative manner make herself available 
 to the Editor, at such times and a such places as meets 
 the needs and convenience of the Editor, for the pur- 
 poses, but only for the purposes, of effectuating the 
 
 purposes of this contract 
 
 That phrase looks to me as if he desired to confine me to 
 the restricted purpose of the contract, and to protect his austere 
 chastity against me. In my manuscript he found my unconven- 
 tional past, and he wished to give lip-worship to his aloofness 
 and rectitude. He proclaims he will write with me, confer with 
 me and deliberate with me, but won't visit with me, walk with 
 me or associate with me, (with apologies to Shakespeare). 
 
— 14 — 
 
 What I have sown I must learn to reap. It seems that 
 even a colored man feels he must have protection against my 
 past. I won't spend myself in resentment. 
 
 I wish to tell my story without reservations and without 
 trimmings. I must subdue my pride. My pride as well as my for- 
 tune is a casualty of the riots, still fresh in popular memory. I 
 left the "editor" with a promise to send him a steady stream 
 of pages, so I must go forward. In this, as perhaps in other 
 things, I seek the "easiest way" (which I found at times to 
 really be the hardest.) 
 
 As this is my birthday it is, by coincidence, a logical 
 day to commence my story. Like most people, I have my days 
 of cheer and repression — and of remorse. Like most people 
 I fight against the blues. 
 
 Perhaps that because it was so cold and dark on the day 
 of my birth, as my mother would often reminisce — perhaps — 
 that was a night that would never dawn. On that day astro- 
 logers say that the heavens are in flux, changing, blending or in 
 strife for something or other beyond my understanding. I was 
 born between 2:00 and 2:30 A M on January 20th, on a 
 borderline between the changing heavens, when the stars change 
 from Capricorn, which is the earth — materialistic sign — to 
 Aquarius the air — ^humanitarian sign. I try to console myself by 
 the blessings I do have. My impaired eyesight is, oh, so much 
 better than to have no sight at all! I am reminded of a placque 
 on the wall in a shoe-shop, which read, "I worried that I had 
 no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet." Today I am full 
 of spirit and optimism. When one sustains a great loss, he 
 quickly makes a count of the things he has remaining. And I 
 do feel that I have much left to be thankful for, even for the 
 writing of this book. The riots and what went before have made 
 me poor in worldly goods, yet rich in experience. True, much 
 
— 15 — 
 
 of it makes me cringe, even scream with nostalgic pain: but 
 all of it does "have a jewel in its crown," and points to what 
 I should avoid and what I should accept in the future. And I 
 am still young and still look forward to a future of usefulness 
 and happiness. 
 
 As I said, I mean to enjoy this day, being my birthday. I 
 took a stroll through a North Side park. Miles of immense 
 beauty of the Chicago parks give me no hint of its official cor- 
 ruption. How little we do know about the people we meet, and 
 how kind is Providence to withhold such knowledge. 
 
 In starting out for the day I had a premonition that I will 
 meet someone whose company will be pleasant, if not alluring. 
 Strolling, one gets hungry. When I came to a cafeteria I entered. 
 
 r- 
 
 There stood my premonition in the flesh. His name is Laurel. 
 Laurel always beamed when I came into his presence; and 1 
 always felt comfortable and expectant in his company. We en- 
 joyed a steak dinner, then went to a bar, where we partook oi 
 rhine wine. Neither of us drink to excess. Time rushes by when 
 one is in pleasant company, and the hour was getting late, and 
 my mind wondered to my writing. Laurel is a bachelor and 
 lives alone. I likewise live alone, although I am in constant 
 touch with my parents, sister and brothers. My thoughts hovered 
 between my sudden date and the urgency to continue this writ- 
 ing. I explained my thoughts to Laurel, and he co-operated 
 in our early parting. 
 
 Back to my hotel room I plunged into my chosen objec- 
 tive, with pleasurable anticipation. I had already made up my 
 mind to tell all. I wondered what my readers' reaction would 
 be. Would they be sympathetic and understanding, or would 
 they denounce me as a vixen? I pondered again if it would not 
 be better to omit some of the forbidding incidents. Then I 
 braced up and thought — why should I cringe before the judg- 
 
— 16 — 
 
 ment of my readers, be it harsh or benevolent? I have gone 
 through hell and fury and was able to take it! Shall I now 
 shrink from the scorn of my unseen readers? I must go head- 
 on without reserve. So, let's get going! 
 
 * * * 
 
 A LICE in Wonderland has already been written ; and those who 
 ^~*-wish fantasy can read it. But my name isn't Alice and I do 
 not live in Alice's wonderland. I will first dispose of a compar- 
 atively recent romance which is tied in with the orgy of destruc- 
 tion which the world knows as the Cicero Riots. With all my 
 rugged and almost incredible experiences, I not only knew noth- 
 ing of race prejudice and discriminations, but I had no sense 
 of what seems to be considered propriety in such relations. I 
 now know that there exists an unwritten law against race mixing. 
 Strangely, I now know that this unwritten law is insisted upon 
 as much by some colored citizens as by some white. I am 
 confident that were the colored people in the majority, were 
 they in command of creating the customs and styles as are the 
 white and predominant portion of our community, the colored 
 people would openly prohibit the mixing of the races, as some 
 now do tacitly. 
 
 My people had never instructed me regarding any division 
 of races. I now know, and shall show later, that the colored 
 child is nurtured in an awareness of the very division of which 
 he later pretends to complain. But be that as it may, my unmind- 
 fulness of race distinctions, brought me closely to a marriage 
 with a Negro attorney. 
 
 I again ask the reader to withhold judgment, even in re- 
 lation to this budding romance, which I shall later recount in 
 detail. Here, in this Introduction, I merely wish to say that this 
 attorney became identified with the restoration of my building, 
 as I hoped, and therefore with my very soul. 
 
— 17 — 
 
 What did the building mean to me! My God! It was a 
 symbol of all I held sacred. It was my redemption for a 
 life, at once hard to describe and hard to justify. The building 
 was my justification! It held the essence of my redemption. 
 From it could flow the triad of love, hope and charity. For 
 whatever misdeeds I had committed, for whatever transgressions 
 I may be accused, this building held the substance wherewith 
 to purchase forgiveness. My building was not merely a cata- 
 comb of rooms, of dwellings, of brick, stone, mortar and an 
 assortment of people known as tenants. My building was a con- 
 gregation of homes, ministering to the highest of human emo- 
 tions, where children were born and raised, homes consecrated 
 by love and by sacrifice. Whatever I had lacked or lost in 
 my past, my building found. I tended it with loving care. I 
 caused a miniature forest of some three hundred trees, poplars 
 and evergreens, to surround it. It was gorgeously landscaped, 
 with flowers growing in profusion, to the delight of the com- 
 munity. 
 
 In this story we must not overlook the role of Cicero, its 
 citizens and its officials. I presume there are people of quality 
 and sympathy in the town, but these were not in evidence. Those 
 with whom I came in contact were unfriendly, un-neighborly, 
 self-centered and aloof, not only to me but to each other. 
 
 It did not occur to them that I was a lone woman, caught 
 in a frightful tempest of strife, with my building torn brick by 
 brick, with my life endangered, requiring the calling of the 
 State Militia. None of the Cicero neighbors came to comfort 
 me. All left me to the whirlwind, then to the loneliness, isolation 
 and heartache, which a sympathetic person could visualize. 
 Is it therefore any wonder that I was drawn to one human being, 
 though a Negro? 
 
 We often hear that points of time are merely imaginary; 
 
— 18 — 
 
 that they do not really exist. Yet we cannot escape those mile- 
 posts in life's journey. Those are days which sweep our thoughts 
 back to our past to the very day of our birth. On my birthday 
 my day-dream takes me back that far. I agree with those who 
 ask, "How can so much happen to one person?" 
 
 "ltyr Y father was born in Italy in the 1880's. He had never gone 
 to school. In this country that would be unusual. Not so else- 
 where, I am told. He often described the hardships and poverty 
 in the old country. In his early childhood he was taken to Turkey 
 as a water boy for a railroad gang. The illiterate Turks resisted 
 the encroachment of the railroad, as the Indians here resented 
 the white man's civilization. Members of the railroad gang 
 were often killed by the native Turks. Often my father had to 
 flee in terror from pursuit by an infuriated Turk who came so 
 close behind that he almost felt his breath. Dad used to make 
 the chills creep up our back when he would relate his perils. 
 He returned to Italy with the gang when their work was done. 
 At the age of 19 he migrated to America, then as now, looked 
 upon as the land of promise and opportunity. To my father that 
 promise more than materialized. 
 
 My dad was here but two years when he met my mother. 
 She was 17, he 21. The marriage was arranged between her 
 parents and my dad's older relatives, after a thorough check-up. 
 Within five years four children were born. The first was Rose, 
 I came next, then came James and after him Andrew. My dad's 
 two brothers-in-law, laborers for a railroad, took my dad along 
 and he was employed at about $1.00 per day. That was at 
 the turn of the century when a dollar had both power and 
 dignity. 
 
 Within a short time, one of the brothers-in-law was killed 
 
— 19 — 
 
 at work. In those days such an accident was the signal for the 
 entire Italian gang to quit that section. In such cases the gang 
 would be moved to another section and a new gang moved into 
 the one vacated. Such was the deep superstition of the*>.mmigrant 
 Italians. The surviving brother-in-law poo-poohed the destina 
 which frightened and governed the Italian mind. To show his 
 bravado, he boasted that he would continue to work in the 
 same section. He did. In a short time he was killed. My mother 
 sighed it was the gremlin destina. 
 
 The destina greatly disturbed my mother. She feared for 
 my father's life. She insisted that he quit the railroad. He learned 
 a new trade — that of a buffer and polisher of nickel-plate. 
 There were six mouths to feed, six bodies to clothe. 
 
 There was no minor illness which my mother couldn't 
 manage with the help of the corner druggist. To their small 
 savings they added by borrowing from relatives to make a down 
 payment on an old frame two-story building. The building had 
 many rooms suitable for repairs and remodeling. They did not 
 sign notes. Italian people trusted each other. It would be an 
 unforgivable insult if one asked for a security for a loan. Their 
 word was their parole. It is still this way among them. My dad 
 worked on Sundays and late into the week-day nights doing 
 his own carpentry, plumbing and redecorating. His regular 
 work was not on a 40-hour week, as is now the rule. He had to 
 be at work at 7 in the morning, and returned at about 7 p.m. 
 
 My mother was attractive with an ingratiating personality. 
 She was always cheerful, in spite of her almost endless toil. She 
 was an excellent house-keeper — she had to be. She was a good 
 cook, canned fruits in season, sewed expertly, made all our 
 clothes and repaired them, cut and sewed the boys' clothes, also 
 my dad's, cut my dad's hair also the boys' hair as expertly as 
 a barber. In addition, a local tailoring and repair shop gave 
 
— 20 — 
 
 mother tailoring and repair work to do at home. How was it 
 possible for one person to do so many things, in 24 hours, and 
 yet keep cheerful and healthy? I often wonder. But it's true. 
 Incredible? Then listen. She also did the family washing when 
 a washing machine was unheard of; she hanged them out, even 
 during the winter, and brought them in stiff and ironed them 
 as they thawed. With the soapy water she scrubbed the floors 
 and the stairs, making the same soap do for both operations. 
 And it wasn't all work and no play. My mother still had time to 
 cut paper dolls from newspapers, put strings on them and 
 manipulate them like puppets, making us scream with laughter. 
 
 My dad didn't sit by and smoke his pipe either. He was 
 equally active and as thrifty. He planted and kept up a vegetable 
 garden continuously. He started the plants indoor in a window 
 box, then transplanted them outdoors in a plot protected by glass 
 held by frames. He grew radishes and other vegetables in the 
 early season, and followed by later planting. We were therefore 
 provided with most vegetables for our table, and mother would 
 announce the amount saved as the vegetables were brought in 
 from our garden. But mother also loved flowers. Our yard was 
 ample for both, so it was equally divided for both. I insisted on 
 going along with dad to buy the seeds. He walked so fast I 
 couldn't keep up. He was vexed with me in slowing his progress 
 and I was vexed with his impatience. I had to run to catch up 
 and he had to slow down so I would. My tears ran down my 
 cheeks and he looked at me with a mingling of anger . and 
 affection. 
 
 But I am getting ahead of my story. This planting and 
 working and playing which I describe came long after the 
 repairing and remodeling of the first frame building my parents 
 bought. That building was in the right-of-way of a railroad 
 extension, and was taken and paid for before the remodeling 
 
— 21 — 
 
 was done. But before we had to move, I was born there, and 
 it was wrecked afterward. It was in our second house where my 
 childhood was spent from the age of three to eleven. In this 
 building, too, my dad did the repairing and painting, inside and 
 out. He also soled our shoes and kept them shined. On Sunday 
 morning he made his trek to the Maxwell street market for 
 bargains. He walked miles to save the nickel carfare. With the 
 extra savings he would buy fruits from the wagons stationed 
 on the Randolph street market, late in the day, when the farmers 
 were ready to call it a day, and had some surplus produce. He 
 would bring the fruit in baskets tied with gaily colored ribbons. 
 The home of my childhood was a two-story building with 
 a store in front and four living rooms in the rear. The eight-room 
 flat above was divided into two fours. The store and the rooms 
 in the rear were occupied by one tenant and one upstairs flat 
 was rented to another. We occupied the remaining flat. We had a 
 large kitchen, where we ate, cooked, played and worked. My dad 
 placed a huge blackboard on one of the kitchen walls, on which 
 we did our homework, learned drawing, reading and writing. 
 He was determined that his children would have the educational 
 advantages he missed. A large coal cook-stove was placed in a 
 proper spot in the kitchen which also kept the rooms warm in 
 winter, when the family would sit around it; and when we didn't 
 eat or work we would sing and harmonize, in which my mother 
 took part. 
 
 A T the age of six I was sent to kindergarten. I was thrilled yet 
 
 dejected, almost frightened. There was a mingling of both 
 
 eagerness and futility. The newness itself heightened my longing 
 
 for something I couldn't define. I was dazzled by the new and 
 
 strange world of the kindergarden, the two teachers for whom 
 
— 22 — 
 
 1 soon felt an attachment, the many children which multiplied 
 the keen love I had for the few I had known. I was in the midst 
 of a fairyland panorama. I was fascinated by the looks and 
 activity of the teachers. The gray hair of one curled around her 
 face. She wore a taffeta dress, of changeable green color in the 
 changing lights, and which rustled as she walked. One teacher 
 played the piano, while the other marched us around the room 
 until we faced each other in a large circle. We skipped and 
 stepped from side to side, turned, faced each other and bowed. 
 We were thereby led to a dance routine as the teacher clapped 
 her hands and counted. I felt bewildered and happy as I felt 
 my face flush with the first experience. 
 
 I had a passion for dancing. I was eager to learn. There was 
 a free dancing class at school, but my dad forbade me to attend 
 it. My parents were fearful I might later make it a career and 
 thereby run into scandal. Little did they guess how one can run 
 into scandal even without dancing. I wonder if there are children 
 without some longing gnawing within them. It seems to me all 
 have some pet ambition in which they are thwarted and which 
 they somehow hope to attain or to find a path to attainment. 
 This suppressed ideal touched my childhood with a longing. Yet 
 I was almost always cheerful. My sister was content with piano 
 lessons, which held no allure for me. I did sing, and my child- 
 hood singing was much in demand. I was shy, did not speak to 
 strangers, and was silent when in company. Yet when asked to 
 sing, which was often, I never refused. I did not relent in my 
 dancing. I learned many ballet routines. I depended upon 
 my own choreography, although I did not then know of such a 
 term. Secretly I would make up dances like one draws patterns. 
 I would then dance the pattern I had thought out. I had a 
 preference for the Gypsy style of dance. It was exotic and 
 emotional. I learned to toe-dance without the box-toe ballet 
 
— 23 — 
 
 shoes. A light broke through my darkened hopes just before 
 graduation. Our school had a play in which there was to be 
 some dancing in which I was to take part. My mother bought 
 me ballet slippers for the occasion. These I prized for many 
 years after, even when I outgrew them and had to squeeze my 
 feet to get into them. 
 
 Every child had to be useful. There was no room for idle- 
 ness. Life had to go on. My mother taught me to make the 
 rent receipts and to collect the rent. The tenants would discuss 
 things with me as if I were their equal, and I was not conscious 
 of the great difference in age, although I was always respectful. 
 I would help them select the colors of the walls and trimmings, 
 they would discuss with me improvements and repairs, and con- 
 fide in me some of their smaller problems. Little as I was, they 
 showed respect for me as patrone di casa. There was a comrad- 
 ship between tenant and landlord, no spitefulness, no jealousy. 
 No tenant ever moved without advance notice, and those who 
 moved would come back to visit. Tenants and neighbors ex- 
 changed courtesies, also an occasional plate of spaghetti, they 
 would visit the sick, comfort each other when tragedy struck. 
 All this did not prepare me for what I was to meet later in the 
 outer world. 
 
 A T school I had no difficulty with any of the subjects. I was 
 either at the head of the class or close to it on practically all 
 subjects. It was unnecessary for me to do any home work. The 
 first ten students were on what the teachers called the "honor 
 roll." I was No. 1 in the eighth grade. The "flu" then broke out 
 and many teachers were stricken. There being a shortage of 
 teachers the principal decided to permit the three highest eighth 
 graders on the honor roll to teach the lower classes. It was both 
 
— 24 — 
 
 thrilling and bewildering to be taken into a classroom full of 
 children and introduced as their teacher. I was fourteen but 
 wore size eleven clothes. I was much smaller and even looked 
 younger than some of the children in the class I taught. The 
 principal and one of the teachers took turns in breaking me into 
 the teaching schedule. In a few days it was as easy as if I had 
 taken a teachers' training. I had the children do some simple 
 additions and subtractions, used the blackboard for illustration, 
 then went through reading about the three little bears, then took 
 up spelling. 
 
 It was just about that time when the first world war broke 
 out. Boys were being drafted, families were being broken up 
 and the normal life of our community interrupted. Many hus- 
 bands and breadwinners were gone and tenants were unable to 
 maintain their apartments. Vacancies increased from month to 
 month. Owners of buildings worried about their taxes and 
 payments on their mortgages. Real estate values tumbled. In 
 spite of the uncertainties, lower prices made the real estate 
 market active. My parents also decided to sell. They feared the 
 store might become vacant, as many stores did in our neighbor- 
 hood. They also felt that whatever loss they might be forced to 
 take, they could retrieve it by reinvesting in another building at 
 the reduced value. Our building was sold. My parents bought 
 another two-flat stone front brick building, which was much 
 more impressive than what we had. A big truck came to move us. 
 I felt as if something had died within me when we moved. The 
 two big trees we planted grew with us. The newly scrubbed 
 flight of stairs was an object of neighborly admiration. My mo- 
 ther scrubbed the long hall and stairs several times each week, on 
 her hands and knees and kept the bare wood dustless and spot- 
 less. We children had to use the rear stairs. Father had installed 
 a toilet, which was then a major luxury in that neighborhood. 
 
— 25 — 
 
 Through later years, beset as I was destined to be, with trials 
 and heartache, I went back to look at the trees and the home 
 of my carefree childhood. Many the time I stood before It as 
 before a shrine, with tears and heart-throbs. My thoughts go 
 back to the days when I would walk, not on the stairs, but on 
 a strip which ran around the wall beside and above it, and 
 sing and sing, until I reached the furthermost end when an 
 echo responded to my singing. My mother warned me again 
 and again that I would fall, but I never did. That experience 
 of walking on a narrow ledge later stood me in good stead 
 when I broke out of jail onto a ledge also running along the 
 wall above the stair, and escaped. That was twenty years later. 
 Our home on West Erie street brought $3,200.00. A bachelor 
 who was drafted had to dispose of the building on West Lexing- 
 ton, which was our new home. The price was $4,400.00, subject 
 to a $2,800.00 mortgage. It consisted of two apartments of 
 seven and eight rooms, with bathrooms, bath tubs, and marble 
 basins. It had a large basement with a furnace for the first 
 floor. The building was set back about ten feet from the side- 
 walk. The lawn between the sidewalk and building had been 
 neglected. 
 
 r I^HE DeRose's, six of them, arrived with paint brushes, 
 brooms, hammers, pails and other clean-up and repair imple- 
 ments. In the new predominantly Irish neighborhood we were 
 an odd and unwelcome lot, at least to begin with. But we 
 were careful of our neighbors' feelings, were well-behaved and 
 polite. We met their stern looks with smiles. Soon we won them 
 over. From across the street a Mrs. Duggan called me to go 
 to the store for her. I ran excitedly, did her shopping and 
 returned much sooner than she had expected. She was very 
 
— 26 — 
 
 pleaseu. Another neighbor, a Mrs. McLean, also warmed up to 
 us. There was to be a service flag raising ceremony on the 
 street, with a band and free-for-all. A Mrs. Ireland came to 
 ask dad to help build a band-stand, which he did with some 
 little help. The street was truly picturesque. The lawns were 
 well kept, huge trees on both sides of the street rose to arch 
 their branches over, making our neighborhood a fairy land. There 
 were many service stars in the windows. Mrs. Ireland came to 
 ask mother to permit my sister and me to join in the parade. 
 
 The ceremony was one of those childhood fantasies. Colored 
 lights were strung into the trees, across the street and in a 
 variety of patterns. The lights, the swarms of people and the 
 picturesque trees bewitched the eyes as the band struck up and 
 stirred our emotions. A doll-like little girl from across the 
 street, an only child, with blonde curls, retrousse nose, blue 
 eyes and lovable stature danced the Highland Fling which the 
 band played. I was thrilled by the child's loveliness, and by 
 her dancing. I was seized with an uncontrollable urge to 
 perfect myself as a dancer. The block was roped off and street 
 dancing continued to the early hours of the following morning. 
 
 ^T^HE children of the neighborhood made a playground of the 
 
 street. The boys played baseball, using the sewer cover as 
 
 a plate. I joined the boys who accepted me when they were 
 
 short of boys. They laughed at my batting, but I outran them all. 
 
 Every morning the Stars and Stripes was raised in the 
 school yard and we had "the Salute To The Flag." My father 
 worried about the war. I was too young to understand it. 
 
 Armistice Day — Peace! Bedlam broke loose. Shops and 
 factories celebrated by shutting down for merry-making. Parades 
 were started. Our block turned into a social gathering. A parade 
 
— 27 — 
 
 was in the making. Service flags were unfurled. Girls wore 
 red crosses, like nurses. The DeRose's were all in the parade. My 
 dad talked politics with neighbors, excited as never before. My 
 mother called him aside and mentioned that he must get 
 citizenship papers. 
 
 Neighbors began to receive letters and cablegrams, which 
 they showed each other. All were excited and expectant. Some 
 talked of boys who weren't heard of, some who will not return, 
 some who were crippled. Our boys were yet too young and 
 our family untouched by the grim aspect of the war. Every- 
 where there was a strong spirit of patriotism. We were proud 
 being Americans, and my dad even more so. He was always 
 comparing the old country with life in America, as if he found 
 heaven here. Here he owned what he worked for, he owned 
 what he paid for, here he was able to earn what to pay with. 
 Here he was secure with his life and his property, and no one 
 could interfere with him and his precious family. More than 
 religion, more than our schooling, the blessings we were enjoying 
 in the country of our birth were told and retold, by my dad 
 who came here as an immigrant. We were not permitted to take 
 our birthplace for granted, as other children do. Ever before 
 us was the picture of strife, privation, fear and regimentation 
 of the old country placed in contrast with what we here enjoy. 
 
 My dad owned a stake in this great country, his own home, 
 a building with an income. Every brick; had a meaning. The 
 surrounding land provided part of the family food. It also 
 gladdened the eye with flower beds, and the trees reached toward 
 heaven, like celestial messengers. 
 
 The children were under a strict discipline, although my 
 dad was never a tyrant as some I have heard and read about. 
 We generally had our own-way, and none of us ever got into 
 real mischief. Mostly we were happy to help with the chores. 
 
— 28 — 
 
 We even competed with each other for a chance to do needed 
 work. I helped with the housework. I also went to Mrs. Duggan's 
 home occasionally to help with her work, cleaned all of her six 
 rooms, and washed all windows inside and out on Saturdays. 
 She didn't wish me to wash the front windows without a 
 ladder. She was afraid I might fall. I paid no attention to her 
 fears, washed those windows and did not fall. 
 
 Our house had a stone ledge around the bay windows about 
 two inches wide. I would walk on the ledge to wash the win- 
 dows. The neighbors would watch me as if I were on a trapeze 
 or tight rope. My mother would reassure them. "She'll make 
 it — she always does," mother would boast. 
 
 Mrs. Duggan paid me a whole dollar for helping her. She 
 knew that the dollar went into the family budget, so she 
 would give me an additional dime for myself. I passed up the 
 enticing candies displayed in the neighborhood stores and bought 
 "The Dance" magazine instead. These I read over and over, 
 with keen interest, imagining myself to be among the celeb- 
 rities. That smouldering ambition I had to keep secret. 
 
 But one of us children would get into the "dog house" 
 from time to time, for minor misbehavior, for talking back to 
 either of our parents, disobeying or neglecting to do something 
 we should or doing something we shouldn't. The punishment 
 was a ,few strokes with , dad's razor strop. The strokes didn't 
 make welts, nor were they too severe. The real punishment was 
 that the offender had to bring the strap to Pa himself. That 
 was a humiliation which brought remorse. The strap got its most 
 efficient work-out when we stuck up our nose at food left over 
 from the previous day. 
 
 We went to the Fiesta in Melrose Park every summer on 
 Saint's Dav. Mother sent us to "Lady of Sorrow's" church, 
 after school, to learn the catechism and the prayers. We were 
 
— 29 — 
 
 all confirmed as we arrived confirmation age and received 
 our first communion. Mrs. Duggan urged mother to send us 
 to a parochial school. Mother made evasive excuses, without 
 giving the true reason for refusing, which was that a tuition 
 fee was charged. In our case there would have been four 
 tuitions to pay. Dad also was thrilled by the very idea of 
 having his four children educated in those magnificent buildings 
 for free, something unheard of where he came from. What! 
 Refuse such beneficence! He thought such refusal itself would 
 be a form of impiety. He didn't resent the idea of a parochial 
 school, by any manner or means. In Turkey they would have 
 burned such schools. Nothing burns nobody here. All are 
 equal, all are free. 
 
 Mrs. Duggan owned her small six-room brick cottage, which 
 she had some difficulty in maintaining. She was more attached 
 to us than any of the other neighbors. My dad put in an 
 entire cement sidewalk for her, working Saturdays and Sundays, 
 for which he charged her $4.00 in wages. "Milly," she would 
 call me, "and won't you sing for me?" I knew her favorite 
 songs, such as "Peggy O'Neil," "My Irish Rose,' and "Johnny 
 Comes Marching Home," which I would sing for her and for 
 which I was repaid by her keen appreciation. Mrs. Duggan 
 was my second mother. She watched over me in everything I 
 did or bought. She wis 72 years old when I was eleven, yet 
 she treated me like an equal. She was alone, all her seven 
 children having died. She buried four husbands. She had 
 living with her a much younger brother, also a nephew. They 
 would get drunk and lose time from work, and were unable 
 to pay for their keep. She often asked me to discipline them ; 
 and I would take them to task pointing my finger and lecturing 
 to them. They would listen and tell me I was right. Mrs Duggan 
 would talk over with me all her problems, and she would, in turn, 
 
— 30 — 
 
 inject herself in mine. She would take my side in any differences 
 with my mother, which were never serious — just if I should 
 or should not have a new dress, or attend a gathering or not. 
 
 ]%/| RS. McLain's boy at the bat hit a pitched ball through a 
 neighbor's large window. I was not in that game, but my 
 brothers were. My dad said that the boys should each contribute 
 to pay for the window. It was up to me to sell them on that 
 idea, then to go from house to house to collect the contribu- 
 tions. I was the arbiter of all disputes. I didn't inject myself, 
 the neighbors did. Whatever was to be done, "Millie" was the 
 answer. 
 
 Mrs Duggan came to my rescue when a boy deliberately 
 bumped me when I was standing in front of my house. "Hey, 
 you," she shouted at him. She then said, "That's that fresh 
 Crowley kid. He doesn't belong here, he lives in the next block." 
 That boy in later years became Judge Crowley, who, equally 
 without provocation, sent me to jail and to a mental institution. 
 
 I was fourteen when I graduated grammar school. Gradua- 
 tion was an unforgettable event, more so for me than for many 
 other children because that was my final schooling. It was, as a 
 novelist would say, a rare day in June. The rose bush in our 
 garden was abloom with twelve roses. The entire neighbor- 
 hood counted every morning, and none was more proud than 
 our tenants. One of our tenants was childless, and on several 
 occasions asked my parents to permit her to adopt me. That 
 was not as unusual a request as one might think. Too many 
 children were being born. One of our neighbors had eleven 
 children which she could not support. The blessed event was 
 often a source of worry for the mother and sympathetic neigh- 
 bors. There was no gossip, no jealousy, no malice. There were 
 
— 31 — 
 
 tenants who were better off than their landlords. All knew 
 the joys and troubles of each, and each contributed help and 
 sympathy. Mothers of too many children were glad to give a 
 child or two out for adoption, strange as it may seem. Children 
 were born at home, with the help of a midwife. Neighbors came 
 with clothes and supplies for the baby. Some gave what their 
 own children outgrew, others sewed and knitted things. 
 
 I was the only graduate within two blocks. All our neighbors 
 joined the festivities. Graduates made their own graduation 
 dresses under the guidance of sewing teachers at school, from 
 white material supplied by parents. 
 
 My dad was as proud of me as if I had graduated from 
 Vassar, or if I had become a professor or something. We had 
 a party. Relatives and our tenants (and Mrs. Duggan, of 
 course) were invited to an elaborate supper. The larger crowd 
 came later. Many brought bouquets and our house was deco- 
 rated in a profusion of flowers of all colors. My thick brown 
 hair I made up in curls, which I could feel bouncing up and 
 down my neck when I walked. The tenant who asked to adopt 
 me brought me a dress which she gave me as tears came down 
 
 her cheeks. 
 
 * * # 
 
 f I ^HE very next day, in my graduation dress, I applied for a 
 job at Sears Roebuck & Co. A law just then came into 
 effect prohibiting children under sixteen to be employed, but 
 I commenced working in time to come under the exception 
 which permitted those already employed to continue if they 
 attended a continuation school. But soon thereafter the school 
 closed. I had to quit. I entered John Marshall High. Some- 
 thing then happened to the law. Apparently it was suspended 
 or nullified. Sears called me back to work, ini what was then 
 the Administration building, with some 200 women employed. 
 
— 32 — 
 
 Advancement was by both seniority and capability. The division 
 head was a woman who had been longest in service. 
 
 I was less than sixteen when the manager in charge of 
 that and other divisions called me in and spoke to me for what 
 seemed to me a very long time. He said that I had great merit 
 and wished me to become assistant to the head of the division, 
 and that in his 35 years with Sears it was the first time a 
 youngster was given such an assignment. I was to be in charge 
 of the entire crew of 200 women. My duties were various. I 
 was to watch the women's records, give out passes for using the 
 'phone, to leave their desks, to go to the hospital, to issue sup- 
 plies, to adjust quarrels, to promote efficiency and to supervise 
 the work generally. I was to have recourse to the manager in 
 any instance which reached beyond my control, or when an 
 employee became too difficult to handle. I never had to come to 
 him. All the 200 women weren't angelic. I caught some cheating. 
 There were irregularities and quarrels. In each instance I called 
 them to my desk, talked with them smilingly and restored order. 
 
 At Sears I met the more intimate of my many girl-friends. 
 Her name was Marie, a very fine looking girl, one of seven sis- 
 ters. We went dancing together. She was of very good charac- 
 ter and behavior. Aside from her seven sisters, she had many 
 cousins, and we were invited to many Italian weddings. Necking 
 or kissing boy-friends were never even thought of. We looked 
 after each other. Both stuck close to our own circle of relatives 
 and friends. Dating chances became thick and fast for both of 
 us, and we would analyze together before deciding. I could 
 accept no date without bringing my date home to meet my mother 
 first. The dates had to have the approval of either family, which 
 was accepted by the other. 
 
 My first date was Pete, 27 years old, when I was but sixteen. 
 We met at one of the Fiestas. 
 
— 33 — 
 
 While dating Pete other boys came on one by one, perhaps 
 as many as a dozen. Some found their way into our home 
 through acquaintances with my brothers, others through rela- 
 tives, also through neighbors. One, Frank, became a challenge 
 to Pete. He lived on the next block, but the families could see each 
 other from their back porches. Frank's mother commenced to 
 worry about his interest in me, because they had a large family, 
 all taking music lessons, and Frank's wages were impor- 
 tant. His cousin told me that Frank's mother cried and made a 
 fuss. That ended my dates with Frank. 
 
 A T eighteen I left Sears. I answered an ad of an employment 
 agency and filled in an application. I was sent to an insurance 
 company. The manager said that he expected someone with a 
 high school education at least. Many of his employees were 
 college graduates. He kept reading my application and telling 
 me my shortcomings, until I felt myself shrinking, as if I had 
 no merit at all. Seeing that he didn't think me qualified, and 
 I wouldn't be hired anyhow, and not having resigned from Sear& 
 definitely, I got up enough steam to fight back, "See here, Mis- 
 ter," I said. "Sears don't hire derelicts either. My lack of edu- 
 cation didn't interfere being in charge of a whole division of 
 people twice and three times my age. Sears thought me very 
 efficient without a college education. Maybe, if I did have a 
 college education, I would apply for your job." 
 
 "We don't usually hire Italians," he remarked. "I was born 
 here — does that make me an Italian? I never saw Italy. Only 
 my dad was born in Italy." "Where were your parents born, or 
 were they Indians?" Inwardly I was scared at what I said, and 
 felt tears coming into my eyes. Maybe I looked scared and 
 wounded. The man turned sympathetic. To my surprise, he- 
 
— 34 — 
 
 said, i4 I will make an exception. I like the way you talk. Can 
 you be here at 8:30 in the morning?" I said I could. He 
 became stern again and said, "I hope we will like you. If not, 
 out you go!" I smiled from my toes to forehead, and he res- 
 ponded with a good-natured smile. 
 
 I arrived at 8, not 8:30, next morning. I was the first one 
 down excepting the boss himself, who said, "Hmm, you're here 
 bright and early." From then on I was respectful and unassum- 
 ing. Soon the other girls sidled up to me, but inquired about my 
 nationality, or, rather the nationality of my parents. My dark 
 hair, and my name, provoked those questions. 
 
 There was a clannishness in those years. Each nationality 
 lived in a particular neighborhood, and at work they followed 
 the same grouping. This age seems to have outlived such exclu- 
 siveness. It still exists, of course, in race relations, more sharply 
 between Negro and white than between orientals with white or 
 black. What the future holds in that respect is hard to foretell. 
 This I will discuss later in this book, as recent events brought 
 me into contact with Negroes to an extent beyond what would be 
 considered normal or even probable. 
 
 am told that every person has some hidden hopes over 
 which he grieves. The suppression of my dancing ambition 
 kept me sombre. It followed me through my work and my play. 
 It sort of dampened the usual expectation a girl feels during her 
 teen-age dates. The popularity with the boys which brought 
 comment from neighbors and friends didn't register too sharply 
 with me. Yet I accepted various dates. My parents laid down 
 rules. From a movie I was to return before eleven. From a 
 dance date it was to be not later than twelve. My dad commenced 
 to look and act cross because I returned a few minutes after 
 
— 35 — 
 
 those hours. Mother also cautioned me regarding the few min- 
 utes, not that she lacked understanding, but to appease my dad. 
 There was a pressure in my home atmosphere toward having 
 me married. My dad particularly had misgivings about too many 
 boys hovering around me, not that he didn't trust me, but 
 because the free comradeship with many boys by a girl of 
 marriageable age of eighteen might reduce the pristine halo 
 which should surround a girl of delicate taste and breeding. 
 Of my own accord I wished to be as proper as would meet full 
 approval. I bought books on etiquette and read articles in the 
 newspapers on what a girl should and shouldn't do, and I con- 
 formed strictly. That was after my earlier dates, the memory 
 of which made me cringe for many years after. For instance, 
 it was Pete who asked me for the first date. He asked if he 
 might come over on a Sunday. I hold him he might, but long 
 before Sunday I had forgotten. When he came I was in jeans 
 playing baseball with the boys on the street. Mother yoo-hooed 
 and got me in the house where I met Pete in my jeans, with 
 my hair disheveled and my face streaked with dust. He looked 
 at me bewildered. I wasn't the girl he saw in a party dress, 
 looking as a young lady should. 
 
 "|7*RANCIS was my final boy-friend. He was of royal descent, in 
 the sense that his grandfather was one of the provincial Italian 
 kinglets ruling over the various provinces in the middle of the 
 19th Century. Francis was twenty, handsome, a careful dresser, 
 was always neat and trim. Several boys, including Pete, asked 
 me to marry. I did not wish to marry. I had other ambitions. 
 But at every turn I sensed that was what was expected of me, 
 as of every girl. It looked as if it were a social error for a 
 girl to be unmarried. Love? That was for the movies and the 
 
— 36 — 
 
 books. Marriages were arranged by the parents and love was 
 to be taken for granted as a consequence. The idea that marriage 
 was a consequence of love was not in the cards. Not then, among 
 Italians. Francis brought an engagement ring, and about eight 
 months thereafter we were married. 
 
 I often wonder why Francis married me, or anyone else. 
 He was cold and unaffectionate throughout the courtship. Per- 
 haps I was to blame for his temperature. Perhaps I didn't know 
 any better, or differently. As we lived with my parents after 
 marriage, no affectionate behavior was possible. It just wasn't 
 done. No coddling, caressing and such was ever done in Italian 
 homes when others were present. That seemed satisfactory to 
 me as I had no feeling for it or for Francis. As I look back I 
 realize that Francis' courtship was in the nature of a conquest 
 against my many boy friends. If I was not the best looking, I 
 surely was the most popular. My mirror told me I was not 
 the best looking, but my boy-friends insisted I was. 
 
 Francis would get lost for days and days during ©ur court- 
 ship. He had given me a ring. When he returned from 
 an unexplained absence I returned his ring. That happened 
 three times. There was another boy for whom I had a deep 
 affection. My mother advised me against the other boy because 
 he was attending night school and not then marriageable. Obed- 
 ience to my mother and conforming to propriety, was upper- 
 most in my mind. I didn't know there was any other way 
 permissible. Within me there was a discipline which made 
 indulgence unthinkable unless it conformed to the proper stand- 
 ards and routine of life. What is the future of a girl? Marriage 
 and children ! Francis was the answer. That he was self-centered, 
 vain, proud and the neighborhood show-off was beside the 
 question. If one must have a roof over one's head, one cannot 
 refuse a hovel to dream of a mansion. During our courtship 
 
— 37 — 
 
 separations Francis intercepted other dates, by offering to re- 
 turn the engagement ring I had given back to him. Each time 
 mother nodded that I accept. 
 
 \\7E married in a Catholic church. The church was crowded 
 with Francis' and our families and relatives, and our neigh- 
 bors. A wedding among Italians is like a coronation. I am told 
 that in European countries parents commence to plan a girl's 
 marriage from the day of her birth. It is their chief concern. A 
 girl must be without blemish, must be attractive and must have a 
 dowry to capture a husband. Marriage is the business of the 
 parents who negotiate and weigh the advantages. There are 
 classes, and grades within each class. The wars in Europe cut 
 down the male population and the severities of life make mar- 
 riage too great a risk for the man. Girls must compete for 
 the few marriageable men available. The congratulations by 
 relatives, friends and neighbors had the European flavor, as if 
 a great fortune had been attained by my marriage. Inwardly I 
 resented such an attitude, but the resentment faded into my 
 general habit of suppression and conformity. I was not a happy 
 bride. Throughout I felt dejected. I felt that my care-free life 
 had been cut short. I felt no warmth toward my husband. I was 
 going through the motions of an obedient child who did what 
 was proper and expected. 
 
 We settled down to a drab routine life with my folks. 
 Francis had no money at the time of our marriage. I began to 
 find greater interest in housework. It answered my craving for 
 physical activity and kept my thoughts from wandering into 
 painful longings. Not long after our marriage I was hurried to 
 a hospital as an emergency patient. I had overstrained myself 
 during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage. I suffered my first 
 
— 38 — 
 
 real heartbreak. I consoled myself that what was happening to 
 me was the working of my destina over which I had no control. 
 My husband was aloof as if it were none of his affair. In con- 
 trast was the tender care and love of my parents, sister and 
 brothers. 
 
 Back from the hospital, I was determined to make a success 
 of my life and of my marriage. My husband was a barber. 
 He was the lowliest of the descendants of an ancestry high in 
 Italian aristocracy. He had lost caste, but not his taste for eleg- 
 ance, nor did he develop a taste for work and responsibility. 
 I felt it my duty to strengthen him. I made contact with a 
 letter shop for which I did addressing at home. During spare 
 time all my family helped me. Living with my folks our expenses 
 were at a minimum. I encouraged my husband to establish a 
 business for himself. Francis brought his small salary to me, 
 retaining a sufficient amount for his personal needs. We saved 
 the greater part, to which I added my earnings. Francis found 
 a partner who also wished to go into business. 
 
 My younger brother Andy went scouting in the neighbor- 
 hood for a store suitable for a barber shop. He saw a barber 
 shop in operation, owned by an elderly barber. He asked the 
 barber if he wished to sell. The man said he might, but was 
 frank to say that the place doesn't pay him a living. Andy said 
 that he is inquiring for his brother-in-law and that our family 
 had many friends in the neighborhood who would patronize him. 
 After further negotiation my husband and friend purchased the 
 barber shop. My brothers loaned Francis the greater part 
 of the down payment. 
 
 w 
 
 ITH the men folks busy with their toils, mother and I be- 
 came even more inseparable companions. We kept house to 
 
— 39 — 
 
 gether, entertained company together and did our thinking 
 together. Our world consisted of relatives, including Francis' 
 relatives and neighbors. Francis' business proved profitable, and 
 mother and I commenced buying new furniture and furnishings 
 for our mutual home. My dad took advantage of an opportu- 
 nity to sell the house in which we lived. We moved to Berwyn, 
 into a new two-flat building, in a new subdivision. Mother and 
 I joined in making a doll-house of our new apartment. 
 
 Berwyn was another step in the progress of our way of 
 living. It was in 1927. Homes were springing up all around, 
 keeping pace with the lilacs, the cherry and apple blossoms. The 
 streets were clean. Young trees were spreading out their branches. 
 The air had the freshness of open fields. There was little smoke 
 and less dust. Everywhere there was an air of youth, prosperity 
 and contentment. Business in the barber shop was good. My 
 husband no longer brought me a fixed amount weekly. He paid 
 the general household expense which was little, and he paid 
 the bills for purchases I made. In a short time after we 
 moved to Berwyn we bought from dad a half interest in the 
 two-flat and we moved upstairs. For the first time we had privacy. 
 Not that we had suffered when we did not have it. Francis was 
 never demonstrative. He treated me with semi- indifference. Not 
 that there was any lack of affection on his part, nor on mine. 
 The trouble seems to have been that he loved himself first. 
 
 My purpose in buying a half interest in my folks' building 
 was to induce Francis to divert some of his income into build- 
 ing our future. I took it for granted that the business was 
 accumulating a bank account. His silence regarding his business 
 made me sick at heart. I knew I was headed for a quarrel if 
 I should pin him down to a discussion. I knew that the shop was 
 taking in substantial weekly income. I bought furniture for 
 which he was compelled to pay. Within the first six months 
 
— 40 — 
 
 Francis commenced to stay away from home and from business. 
 I knew he was gambling, but did not know to what extent, nor 
 did I know of whatever might have been his other vices. Every 
 so often I threatened to leave him. By such threats he was 
 frightened into coming home after work for a stretch, but would 
 gradually lapse into his ruminating habits. Ownership of half 
 interest in the property didn't inspire Francis. He took no 
 interest in it. He did not offer to help dad in maintaining the 
 building, in seeding the grass, in making improvements, nor 
 in any of the chores incidental to maintenance of a building. 
 He failed to pay our share of the mortgage payments. He bought 
 very expensive suits for himself. Francis' role as husband re- 
 solved itself in coming home very late at night or in the 
 early hours of the morning and leaving when he arose. He made 
 a gesture to drink the breakfast coffee which I made, but would 
 be found having his breakfast in a restaurant near his shop. 
 This drab life went on for about seven years, until the year 
 1933. 
 
 My bleak married life was offset by the cheer, laughter and 
 merriment which went on in the household which I had left 
 formally but not really. The tender affection between mother, 
 brothers and me never diminished. I do not include my dad 
 and sister, because dad was always working and did not wish to 
 relax discipline. My sister was married and was less demonstra- 
 tive by nature. All knew of the injustice of my married life, 
 they knew more than they would tell. What was denied in the 
 world of reality they tried to compensate by hopes, dreams and 
 philosophy. Andy treated my mother as if she were a girl ac- 
 quaintance, telling her how pretty she was, and romped and 
 danced with her. He had a thousand reasons for the joy of living. 
 There was never a dull moment. We were either working in the 
 house, or visiting, or entertaining, or working in the garden. 
 
— 41 — 
 
 planting, harvesting and attending. In all this activity I was 
 being neglected and deserted by Francis, who went deeper 
 and deeper in gambling, wasting his time and his ample profits. 
 
 HP HE depression which struck in 1929 threw my brothers 
 out of their jobs. My dad's employer couldn't make the 
 pay-roll but kept promising payment to keep his employes work- 
 ing. My father stayed on for two years, without pay, until the 
 plant closed. He was never paid. The barber shop did not 
 feel the effects of the depression until 1932 when business com- 
 menced to fall off. Francis continued to neglect me and to 
 spend his time gambling and loafing. We were unable to pay 
 our share of the mortgage on the house. He failed to bring 
 enough money home. He had no reserve, few gamblers have. 
 He commenced to stay away from home days at a time, three 
 days on one occasion. 
 
 Come summer of 1932, my sister and her husband invited 
 mother and me to spend a week or two at their summer re- 
 sort in Michigan. After a week, mother wished to go home. 
 I took mother home and returned for another week. I had gone 
 dancing at a near-by dance hall. There I met John Fuhr with 
 whom I danced frequently. He was a good dancer, polite and 
 very attentive. In his company I seemed to regain my lost spirit. 
 I told him I was married and on vacation. 
 
 My behavior during my visit was nonetheless severely 
 proper. It had to be, if not for my own sake, for the sake of 
 my brother-in-law who watched my coming and going. Francis 
 came in by a lake steamer unexpectedly and came to the 
 dance hall when I was dancing with John. He made a scene. 
 Alone, he demanded of me if I was in love with John, and made 
 insulting insinuations. I returned home with Francis, who 
 
— 42 — 
 
 showed an uglier mood than I had ever seen him in. Back 
 home, Francis continued as before, staying away nights, making 
 excuses for his absences, and for his inability to bring money 
 home. He kept grumbling about my dancing with a stranger 
 I had picked up in a public dance hall. 
 
 Before leaving Michigan, John gave me a slip of paper 
 with his address. He sensed my embarrassment and hinted that 
 I call on him when in need. At the time I never thought I 
 would ever see John again, and never would have if Francis 
 had not continued his gambling and neglect. There was a painful 
 silence in the family household regarding Francis. My folks 
 did not wish to arouse me, although my dad showed his impa- 
 tience by petty quarrels with mother. Francis continued to 
 get home in the early hours of the morning. His jealousy and 
 nagging became more severe from day to day. He was driving 
 me to distraction. Yet in his peculiar way he showed unmistak- 
 able affection and a dread of my leaving him. His home with 
 me was a convenient place to come to. He was welcome when 
 his other haunts closed. Whatever friends he had outside, 
 male or female, I was one who wouldn't, or couldn't, disown 
 him, until death do us part. Wherever else he went he had to 
 make a showing, but not at home. I pressed his trousers, washed 
 his shirts and ironed them expertly, bought his sox, handker- 
 chiefs and underwear, kept them mended, and kept his clothes 
 ready for him in professional order. This routine went on even 
 while Francis went galivanting into his gambling and other 
 haunts. 
 
 My patience was wearing out. I lost sleep. An ailment 
 developed in one of my eyes requiring regular treatment. 
 
 My thoughts turned to alternatives, not excluding an over- 
 dose of sleeping pills, which came later. I was in a dark wilder- 
 ness without a path or light. I thought of John's offer to come 
 
— 43 — 
 
 to my aid. That seemed like a desperate step, but I was desper- 
 ate. I wrote him a polite note without disclosing too much. He 
 answered promptly. There were no secrets in the family. We 
 opened and read each other's mail. I had to watch for the 
 mailman to keep my correspondence with John from the eyes 
 of mother and the rest. I became bolder with each exchange 
 of letters. Finally I wrote him about my distractions. He promptly 
 came into Chicago. He telephoned from a Loop hotel, and I 
 arranged to meet him. He asked me to leave with him, and I 
 decided to do so. 
 
 Tiptoeing I packed my things. I hadn't seen Francis for 
 three days. Someone reported he was seen at the races. Inwardly 
 I had hoped his jealousy would bring him to his senses, so 
 that we would make a success of our marriage. All my girl- 
 friends were married and all doing well. My sister was enjoying 
 a happy marriage. I asked myself what sins had I committed 
 to deserve my fate? I could not blame myself for a wrong choice, 
 as even in that I obeyed others' and took their advice. While 
 I was packing I had fits of remorse. I hoped for some miracle 
 to straighten out my life. I had been dropping in at the shop 
 from time to time secretly hoping to find justification for Francis' 
 absences, but what I learned was downright discouraging. No 
 sooner than I completed my packing, Francis came home unex- 
 pectedly. That was the first time he had ever made his appear- 
 ance in the afternoon. Had he come a few seconds sooner he 
 would have found me packing. Later I learned that he had a 
 premonition that all wasn't well. He saw that I was dressed for 
 the street. He asked where I was going and what I was up to. 
 I merely replied that I had a date with my eye doctor. 
 
 Francis and I walked out together, and I had to go to 
 the street-car, which he saw me board. I went to the Loop and 
 met John, then returned to take the things I had packed. We 
 
— 44 — 
 
 took; a bus to Michigan. John took me to his home and I was 
 well received by his mother. There I lived with the Fuhr's for 
 almost a week. John was also a barber. I was very uncom- 
 fortable, I feared my sister and brother-in-law would learn of 
 my escapade. I wanted to run away from trouble, not into it. 
 John suggested Los Angeles, and there we went. Before going 
 to L.A., I returned to say good-bye to mother, dad and brothers. 
 For the first time mother told me of her worries about me. She 
 said she could see no future with Francis. I told mother to 
 sell our furniture, which she did while I was gone, and for 
 which she received a fraction of what it had cost us. 
 
 rry HE panic was on in California. John did get employment, 
 A but his earnings were scant, even with our frugality. He com- 
 menced to fret, although he was attentive to me. The few months 
 together seemed as if they were that many years. We had mo- 
 ments of exhilaration, when we enjoyed the balmy weather, the 
 beauty of the landscape and the profusion of flowers and blos- 
 soms. Yet we couldn't venture too far from living quarters, 
 as we had no automobile. Before long I noticed in John a 
 strange demeanor. I asked him what was on his mind, and 1 got 
 the surprise of my life! 
 
 John made a proposal which left me gasping. He talked 
 about young actresses who came to Hollywood from everywhere 
 working as extras on the movie lots. That they were living in 
 splendor and wearing mink coats. That wealthy men were 
 willing to pay a high price for a girl's company, and suggested 
 that I should take advantage of the opportunity. 
 
 All the ugly things which had ever come to my imagination 
 came before me and through which I saw the outline of John's 
 face. I almost smelled the sulphur and brimstone from his nos- 
 
— 45 — 
 
 trils. I saw ugly horns rise from his forehead, like the devils 1 
 saw in movies and on drawings. For a moment I lost my power 
 of thought. I kept repeating, "What?" "What?" "What did 
 you say: 
 
 I must have been insensible for a long time. He kept 
 talking, but I did not hear a word. I was lost in my thoughts. 
 Instinctively, I was looking for the door. I wanted to run away. 
 I recalled my affection for him, which seemed to cling. I was 
 seized with a feeling of terror, even for my life. I had about 
 $350.00 when I left Chicago. I had some left, enough for trans- 
 portation back to Chicago. Yet I wished to avoid the humiliation 
 of another failure. John tried to apologize for what he said, but 
 something happened to my ears. Whatever he said to me I heard 
 in retrospect, not at the time he spoke. I either kept silent, or 
 repeated, "What did you say?" He embraced me but I was 
 numb. Before nightfall I left him and registered in a hotel about 
 a mile away. I never saw him again. Three years later I learned 
 that he had written many letters, but that mother destroyed them 
 without reading. 
 
 I tarried in Los Angeles until my funds dwindled to where 
 there was merely enough for bus fare and some sandwiches, 
 which I took with me. Upon returning home in Berwyn there 
 was a tearful reunion. My fears that I would be received with 
 tolerant pity proved groundless. The tears were tears of joy. 
 Their little girl was home again. My brothers, dad and mother 
 rushed around as if I had become Miss America. If I had a 
 feeling of guilt, or of failure you couldn't tell it from the recep- 
 tion. The family never let me down. I was determined not to 
 let them down, if humanly possible. 
 
 On the morning following my return, I hit the street deter- 
 mined to somehow knit together the unraveling pattern of my 
 life. I went to an employment agency. The corridor leading to 
 
— 46 — 
 
 the reception room was jammed with applicants. The conversa- 
 tions I overheard were most discouraging. Some of the women 
 had left their young children unattended and were eager to get 
 back. I thought of going to another agency, but decided to 
 remain. Before long, a young lady stepped out and said they 
 would take no more applications for the day. The women left, 
 but I remained. I was trying to decide where I might be going. 
 As I stood there I saw the applicants inside go out one by 
 one. The young lady adjusted the latch to keep the door locked 
 from the inside. I kept waiting and dreaming. The door again 
 opened to permit applicants to leave. The telephone made the 
 young lady turn away from the door, leaving it open. By then 
 the office was clear of applicants. The call was from an office 
 seeking a mail clerk, to address, stuff and seal envelopes. This 
 I gathered from the telephone conversation. 
 
 I promptly suggested to the lady that I was expert in that 
 particular work. They asked for someone at once. I made out 
 an application, and received a slip to the Woods building. Arriv- 
 ing, I found the office to be a theatrical agency. I commenced 
 work at once. I was told I would receive so much per thousand. 
 The pay was scant, but no one complained those depression days 
 about the amount of pay. While working I overheard the shop 
 talk about filling vaudeville engagements, forming quartettes and 
 dance numbers, songs and singers were being tried out. Some 
 days thereafter the office seemed to have run into a crisis. 
 They had entered into a contract for an acrobatic dance team 
 consisting of three men and a girl, for a year run. They had 
 received a wire to the effect that the girl in the team had mar- 
 ried and left the troupe. They had to have a girl of the 
 same type as shown on the posters and other advertising pieces. 
 Someone in the office remarked that but for red hair (mine 
 was brown) I was the dancer's twin sister. If only I could 
 
— 47 — 
 
 dance. I asked, "How do you know I don't?" 'Please, please,' 
 said the boss. 'This is an acrobatic dance act. 5 "Why don't you 
 give me a try-out?" I asked. After some sharp retorts back and 
 forth they decided to do so. The try-out was not as successful 
 as it might have been, but much better than they had suspected. 
 
 The dancer's wardrobe, in every detail, fitted me perfectly, 
 as if specially made for me. I improved with every rehear- 
 sal. The part was glamorous. The men were m full dress, and 
 the dance consisted in circling around me, while I pirouetted 
 from one toe to the other, swinging into waltz from one man 
 to the other and being lifted into the air in acrobatic patterns. 
 I was thrilled! Is it possible that I had reached my life's destina? 
 I was tingling with joy and expectation. I signed a typewritten 
 paper without reading its contents. My office work was taken 
 over by another girl. In my hotel room where I was then living 
 I worked for hours on my dance routine, to master steps and 
 poses which were new to me. 
 
 At the final rehearsal, as one of the men caught me, I 
 slipped from his grip and landed on my toes. I felt a click in 
 my left big toe, but thought nothing of it at the time. After 
 that rehearsal, as usual, we went for coffee, after which I went 
 to my hotel room. 
 
 HP HREE days later I woke up in the County hospital. I had been 
 in a coma. The clean-up woman at the hotel opened my 
 room and found me. She thought I was dead. The manager 
 called the police who took me to the hospital. On waking, an 
 intern asked me about my parents or relatives. I refused to 
 tell. More attendants came to my bed and indulged in muttering 
 suspiciously. One asked me how I felt. I said that I felt sharp 
 pain in my left eye and left toe. The interne felt my toe and 
 
— 48 — 
 
 examined my eye. Later the nurse marked my chart. As I regained 
 full consciousness the pain became more severe. I tried to attract 
 every nurse which walked by in the ward. They promised to 
 send a doctor. My pain was becoming unbearable. I commenced 
 to cry. A doctor and a nurse came to my bed. The doctor 
 examined my chart. He asked me if that was all that was the 
 matter with me, my toe and eye. He acted indifferently. When 
 they left, I commenced to scream. I was shaking with chills from 
 the pain. A nurse came up and I asked for a blanket. She 
 strapped me to the bed, slapped my face and walked away. 
 
 I suffered through the rest of the day, with chills and pain. 
 I had not eaten that day nor the next, nor the day after. 1 
 had no craving for food, and the food served would have 
 nauseated me if I were well. Each patient was given three small 
 prunes, a slice of unbuttered bread and half a cup of black tea. 
 The evening "meal" was black tea again, a discolored potato and 
 some watery soup. My pain kept me awake the nights in the 
 hospital. Once or twice a day a doctor or interne picked up 
 my chart, looked at me suspiciously and muttered to the nurse. 
 On the third day several doctors caime to my bed to examine 
 me. They were convinced that I had no pain either in the toe 
 or in the eye. In desperation I asked them to notify my folks 
 and gave them my folks' address and telephone number. My 
 mother and brother Jim came to the hospital almost immediately 
 and asked for me. A doctor asked my mother to sign some 
 papers which he offered. Jim asked what the papers were, and 
 the doctor said the papers were for the purpose of admitting me 
 to a mental institution. My brother said he would have to see 
 me first and also to consult our family attorney. Jim demanded 
 to be taken to me. The doctor said, "You can't see her." 
 Jim became angry and said, "See here, I took a day off to 
 come here and I am going to see her even if I have to punch 
 
— 49 — 
 
 you in the nose." Jim brushed the doctor aside and rushed 
 into the hospital ward. After some search he found me and 
 came to my bed. My mother also came up. There was a tearful 
 reunion. I sobbed with pain. I told them that my toe felt hot 
 while I felt chills throughout my body. 
 
 The doctor came up and said to Jim, "You get out of here 
 or I will call the police." Jim said, "Go right ahead. I am 
 taking my sister home. My sister isn't a mental case, you are." 
 He lifted me in his arms and rushed out of the hospital. 
 
 Arriving home, a doctor was called, neighbors came in with 
 flowers, and I was soon surrounded by the dearest people. My 
 pain persisted, but the excitement seemed to ease the pain some- 
 what. In spite of the throbbing toe and eye, the aroma of fresh 
 coffee and the cooking made me hungry after days of starvation. 
 
 The doctor gave me some shots and I slept soundly through- 
 out the night, and until late the following afternoon, when mother 
 awakened me. 
 
 I had a feeling of not knowing where I was. I heard my 
 mother's voice. She said, "Mil, are you awake?" 
 
 I said, "Yes." 
 
 "That's good. Now, I can give you your medicine." 
 
 I said, "What time is it?" It was dark. 
 
 She said, "It's three o'clock." 
 
 Then I said, "Is it night or is it day?" 
 
 She did not answer. I heard her go into the living room, 
 i knew she was crying. I realized then I could! not see. 
 
 I was in a strange world. I had no sense of time nor direc- 
 tion. An eye specialist was called, and he came every other day. 
 1 was taken to various specialists and hospitals for treatment. A 
 bone injury in my toe brought an infection which failed to heal. 
 Three operations brought no relief. The infection commenced 
 to spread. I commenced to lose weight. I was totally blind. 
 
— 50 — 
 
 The doctors alarmed my folks about my condition. In my weak- 
 ness, darkness and pain I worried about the doctor bills. 
 
 Dad's resources had dwindled. Jim was out of work. 
 Tenants were behind in rent. My sister demanded that I be 
 taken to the Mayo clinic, and that she would bear the greater 
 part of expense. Jim saw a dealer to sell his car to raise money 
 for me. 
 
 HP HE Mayo hospital was reached by telephone. My doctor ex- 
 plained my condition. I was taken to the train on stretehers. 
 Arriving in Rochester, Minnesota, I was promptly taken through 
 a series of tests and examinations. I was fed through all hours 
 of the night. The nurse asked my sister what kinds of food I 
 like and took a list of them. From then on full trays were 
 brought and I was coaxed to eat. My treatment lasted two 
 weeks. They then called my doctors at home, including the eye 
 specialist, and communicated the results of their tests, then 
 discharged me. Upon my return my treatment was continued 
 by the eye specialist and family doctor. Before leaving Mayo's 
 I was instructed upon the care of my eyes. They assured me 
 that my sight would gradually return, but that I must do no 
 reading, no close work, and I must not cry. 
 
 I began to improve from day to day. Spring was returning, 
 with occasional warm days. I commenced to distinguish be- 
 tween light and darkness. Soon I began to distinguish objects. 
 Before another month passed, my eyesight was restored, though 
 my eyes continued to be weak for reading. In the struggle 
 to regain my sight and health I seemed to have lost contact with 
 the world and its cares. My toe was improved but not cured. 
 Jim devoted himself to caring for me with his accustomed 
 tenderness. He massaged my toe, watched my needs and carried 
 
— 51 — 
 
 me around to spare my energy. He feared that I might strain 
 myself and aggravate my sick toe. My toe continued to throb, 
 a pain which never seems to have left me, and which in the 
 
 ensuing years affected my destina. 
 
 HT1HE depression was in its third or fourth year. Families with 
 many children depended upon relief allowances and packages. 
 Men of all occupations were on W.P.A. Unemployment was wide- 
 spread in every field. Job hunting was discouraging if not futile. 
 Men, and women, went from door to door inquiring if there were 
 anything to be done, some telling pitiful stories. Scenes at the 
 pawn shops were sickening. Withered and worried, elderly wo- 
 men brought their watches and silver to borrow from fifty cents 
 to a few dollars, which they were more often refused, turning 
 away in despair. 
 
 In my convalescense I became increasingly restless. My 
 unpaid bills lay heavily on my conscience, particularly the bill 
 owing the Mayo clinic. Etched in my mind was the remark by one 
 of the doctors who toiled over me with such scrupulous interest. 
 To the other doctors, he remarked, "Some day she may have 
 money, then she can pay us." In the distress I felt over my 
 unpaid bills I forgot my infirmities. It occurred to me it might 
 have been more honorable not to have come out of my coma. 
 I felt like one thrown overboard struggling against drowning. 
 I was drowning in a sea of debt. Nothing could be more pain- 
 ful, mentally. I have no right to be a burden on others. They 
 have their own burdens. If I cannot help others with their 
 burdens, I surely must not add to them. I felt I was returning 
 evil for good. I was letting down those who trusted me and 
 who would not let me down when I needed them most. It was 
 intolerable. 
 
— 52 — 
 
 What was even worse because more immediate, I was a 
 burden on my folks, whose resources were dwindling away. I saw 
 the struggle in their faces, as well as I saw their struggle to put 
 up a brave front in my presence. I asked mother to read the 
 ads in a local newspaper for a job. Mother said I was too weak 
 to even leave the house, but I insisted. One ad offered a job 
 as a maid at $3.00 per week, with room and board, in a neigh- 
 boring suburb. I telephoned. The next day a man drove up 
 in an old car. 
 
 I did not look too promising for housework, but even 
 during the depression he couldn't expect too much for a $3.00 
 weekly pay. There were four children to take care of. He had 
 a well paying job on the railroad. He had married a much 
 younger woman, who seemed to have an allergy for housework. 
 They had their own cow, chickens and vegetable garden. 
 He promised I would become stronger with fresh milk and fresh 
 eggs. I took the job. He took me with him that very day. 
 
 I found the home in disarray, the children unwashed and 
 unkempt, their clothes neglected as was the general appearance 
 of the household. Shades were unevenly drawn, beds unmade, 
 curtains partly tattered, dirty dishes stacked in a basin. There 
 was no plumbing in the house. Water had to be carried from 
 a well. For bathing, the water had to be carried in and heated 
 on a coal stove. There was no gas piped in. The lady of the 
 house sat comfortably in the midst of all this plunder, reading 
 "True Stories," and other trashy literature. I took hold. 
 
 It/T Y days off were Thursday afternoon and every other Sun- 
 day afternoon. I traveled "home" by bus and street car, 
 which did not run frequently. While standing on the road wait- 
 ing for transportation I was frequently offered a lift by passing 
 
— 53 — 
 
 automobiles. For those I had a genuine fear. I accepted only 
 when the driver was with his family, or if elderly, and of good 
 appearance. 
 
 While waiting for a bus on one of my off-days a Cadillac 
 
 stopped and the driver asked me if I wished a lift. He was an 
 
 elderly gentleman, looked kindly and dignified, I accepted. 
 
 We talked about the weather, the condition of the roads 
 
 and newspaper stories. I asked him to drop me off at the corner, 
 
 making an excuse that I wished to buy a cake to bring to my 
 
 mother, to avoid disclosing my address; also to avoid being 
 
 seen by mother and risk a severe lecture. The gentleman said he 
 
 passed the place on the highway every Thursday and that he 
 
 would give me a lift, to which I agreed. That went on for several 
 
 weeks. We became more and more friendly. He asked me about 
 
 my work, complimented me on my appearance and upon my 
 
 alertness and intelligence. When he learned that I also was 
 
 free on Sunday afternoons, he also met me on those days, which 
 
 made our meetings twice a week. 
 
 We often stopped for coffee before he dropped me at the 
 corner. He took me to dinner — and in those days, a dinner was 
 a dinner was a dinner (with apologies to Gertrude Stein). At 
 $3.00 a week, and what a week, a dinner was a dinner, and what 
 a dinner! And a Cadillac is a Cadillac! My dad walked to save 
 a nickel I thought, and who was I to refuse a Cadillac to save a 
 dime! A dkne and a dime and a dime meant that much added 
 toward paying the Mayo bill. In paying for the dinner my 
 elderly escort would take out a genuine leather wallet crowded 
 with a stack of new 20's and even 50's. In his wallet lay the power 
 for my redemption. I didn't envy him. I did'nt crave the glitter- 
 ing diamonds in a jewelry store window, nor the stacks of money 
 in a bank. I had no impulse to take. My impulse was to give. For 
 the kindness this man showed me I began to worry about repay- 
 
— 54 — 
 
 ment, about appreciation. I feared being always on the taking 
 side. My soul cried to be on the giving end. J felt ever that I 
 would rather die, I regretted my birth, if my destina was to be 
 to take, and take and take. From my earliest childhood I had an 
 eagerness to help, by running errands, by bringing things and 
 by solving the problems of others. Whatever I was to have I had 
 to earn. What I didn't earn scorched my hands, and my soul, if 
 I took without returning. 
 
 My health was improving and my skin was becoming pinked. 
 I had nine rooms to take care of. They had been neglected. I 
 worked on each room, the curtains, shades, floors and furniture. 
 Soon I had the entire house straightened. I made all the beds. 
 I washed, dressed and fed the children. The youngest, 18 
 months, was a most beautiful child. I taught her dancing, and 
 she was apt. All the children were blonde, as were both parents. 
 The 18 month tot was puzzled by my dark hair, which she 
 would examine with wrapt interest, then study my face, wonder- 
 ing what a strange creature I was, with strange hair, long, thick 
 and curly so much unlike theirs. The children had never been 
 taken to town. Visitors were few and infrequent. Neither the 
 children nor the three dogs had received any discipline. The 
 only discipline for the children was their table manners, which 
 were insisted upon. I had to teach both the children and the 
 dogs. The dogs would romp about the house, pull off the bed 
 spreads and tussle with them. 
 
 I maintained a trim appearance, in spite of my many chores. 
 My employers would spend much of their time together looking 
 over racing charts, and placing bets. In spurts the lady would 
 primp up as a sort of challenge to me, then lapsed into her 
 accustomed slovenliness. She would take off her stockings and 
 leave them in the middle of the house. The dogs would play 
 with them. I went after her to pick up things she dropped. 
 
— 55 — 
 
 The children came to me when peeved or hurt. At times 
 the mother showed streaks of jealousy. The husband commenced 
 driving me home. He complained of her during such trips and 
 complimented me on my appearance and abilities. He made no 
 advances and I was determined he would not. I discouraged 
 such trips. I preferred the elderly gentleman with the Cadillac, 
 who had thus far been impersonal. 
 
 T continued to regain my health. With no carfare to pay, 
 and no other expenses, I spent very little of the $3.00 pay. 
 With the coming summer I spent more time outdoors. I built 
 a rock garden, gathered eggs from the henhouse and carried 
 milk. I didn't learn to milk the cow. We baked biscuits, using 
 fresh milk and butter. I churned the butter. 
 
 The elderly gentleman kept calling for me, driving me home 
 and taking me to dinners. On one occasion he told me of 
 his home life. His wife had been an invalid for years. He 
 provided her with every care and luxury. He had no children. 
 He told me many things about the nature of his work and 
 of his interests, but my mind either wandered, or I was con- 
 centrating my thoughts on my future, and only pretended to 
 hear him. He seemed greatly interested in my welfare, but I 
 sparred to keep from telling him too much about me. 
 
 The atmosphere of the household where I was employed 
 became increasingly strained. The husband, unintentionally, spoke 
 of the neatness of the house, of the children, and how I appeared 
 as if I hadn't been working at all. All the while I scrubbed, 
 washed, baked, cooked, washed windows inside and out, cared 
 for the children and the dogs. My Mistress became even more 
 slovenly and at intervals showed resentment of my pride and 
 independence. She would rise for breakfast, wait until he was 
 
— 56 — 
 
 gone, then go back to bed, with a novel or other light reading, 
 while I attended to the children. The husband asked me, not 
 her, for his personal things, discussed his problems with me, 
 without noticing her resentment and he encroached upon me 
 more and more in her absence. Things were becoming frighten- 
 ing. At the end of the week, I made an excuse that I was 
 needed by my parents, packed my few belongings and left. It 
 was hard to break away from thd children I learned to love, 
 so I made frequent visits to them from time to time. 
 
 I" found another job in a duplex apartment of six rooms, at 
 $4.00 per week. There was husband, wife and two children. 
 He was in the early thirties and she somewhat younger. They 
 had many friends whom they frequently entertained, and were 
 entertained by them. Among the callers were a good half dozen 
 bachelors, one of which was more intimate with them, whose 
 name was Bob. Here also I washed windows, scrubbed, cooked 
 and laundered. 
 
 The bachelors insisted on including me in their circle, 
 brought me cocktails and punch while I usually did some iron- 
 ing in the kitchen. I tried to be aloof and out of sight. On 
 one occasion, one by one of the men left the main room and came 
 into the kitchen. The hostess came in and demanded, "What's 
 the attraction?" 
 
 Bob visited my mistress frequently after the husband was 
 gone, or when he went out of town. He would go up to her 
 room and into her bed. One of the children was five who was 
 not too young to be puzzled. The child knew Bob as her 
 uncle. On the other hand, the husband lathered up a fondness 
 for me, which made me very uncomfortable. I kept out of 
 his way. 
 
— 57 — 
 
 I was in much better health, although still doctoring my 
 toe. My work was continuous, which made me tired at the 
 end of the day. I slept soundly. On one occasion I was shocked 
 out of a deep sleep. I felt hands stroking my face. I woke up 
 and saw a frightening shadow on the wall. My boss was in my 
 bed. I screamed with terror. I must have been heard throughout 
 the block. I rose and struck him. The mistress had gone out 
 with a girl chum to a movie, so she said. Husband and wife 
 quarreled frequently and violently. I slept downstairs. The 
 quarrelling was above me. During such battles, the children 
 joined the ruckus by screaming. I would run up and take 
 the children downstairs, to quiet them. Thej littler one, about 
 15 months old, would become hysterical. On one ocoasion he 
 threw his wife out into the hall of the building in her night- 
 gown. She pounded the door but he refused to open. She ran 
 down to have me open the door for her. Conditions were becom- 
 ing critical in the household. I tried to leave again and again, 
 but they raised my pay to $5.00 and I stayed on. 
 
 By now I had saved about $100.00. I bought a cashier's 
 check for $85.00 which I sent to Mayo's. There was much more 
 to pay, but with every payment I felt a great relief. I dreamed 
 of the time when my debts would be paid. Meanwhile my aging 
 dad took advantage of the depression by working around the 
 house, and built an apartment in the basement, for additional 
 revenue. His condition was greatly reduced compared to the 
 previous years, but he did not relent in his comparison with the 
 grim experience of his youth in Turkey. This was still heaven. 
 Nor did mother and brothers diminish their affection and tend- 
 erness for me nor for each other. There was! no brooding or 
 defeatism. Brother Andy was never short of a humorous story, 
 nor of words of cheer, nor of compliments. The skies were still 
 blue, the grass green, the flowers in bloom and the future bright! 
 
— 58 — 
 
 Every visit was as if I had been away a year. The welcome mat 
 
 was a magic carpet. To Andy mother and I were queens and 
 
 queens can do no wrong. 
 
 My boss and mistress continued quarreling and partying. 
 She continued entertaining men when he left the house, and he 
 
 continued to force his attentions upon me when she was gone. 
 And sometimes even in her presence. I gave them notice I would 
 
 leave. In her absence he apologized, but said he couldn't under- 
 stand my resistence. None of the previous girls had resisted 
 him. He also offered me additional money. At the end of the 
 week I left while he pleaded with me to remain, to which I gave 
 no answer. 
 
 I found other jobs as maid. The pattern changed in some 
 particulars, but the overall routine was the same. In one place, 
 the young son became attached to me, which made it impos- 
 sible for me to remain. Truthfully, there was a rivalry for me 
 between the son, openly, and the father, secretly. 
 
 The elderly gentleman continued to call for me in his Cad- 
 illac. He caught me in a worrisome mood. I felt I wasn't 
 catching up with my debts. I mentioned to him that I was 
 embarrassed by his hospitality. On several occasions, I tried to 
 choose less expensive dishes, but he would not permit it. He 
 said that the cost of a dinner was small for the value of my 
 company. He said he was not comfortable eating alone. He 
 offered to lend me money, which at first alarmed me. I sensed 
 in such an offer a bid to put me under obligation. I refused, 
 but it wasn't easy. He handled money as if it were that much 
 waste paper. I reasoned, why shouldn't I take his money, when 
 it meant so little to him and so much to me? He spent for 
 one dinner three times as much as I received for a week's toil, 
 with its trials and abuse. In such moments, if he were on 
 hand I would have taken his money, because I gave way to 
 
— 59 — 
 
 reasoning, but! when the offers were made I gave way to my 
 feeling. 
 
 He pressed me to tell him what was on my mind. I finally 
 said that I had to quit my job, without telling him the true 
 reason. He said that his housekeeper, of his Chicago apartment, 
 was about to leave, and that he would give me the same pay 
 if I were to take over. I had not told him the amount of my 
 pay. I asked him what the job pays. He said $20.00 per week, 
 and that I wouldn't need to shop, as I could have things brought 
 in by stores with which he had charge accounts. That seemed 
 like manna from heaven. I struggled to suppress my emotions, 
 but he saw how my eyes lit up. He took it for granted that I 
 accepted. 
 
 I didn't stop to ask why he had two homes. I didn't even 
 think of it for the moment. I assumed that his business duties 
 required a city location. A week later I moved into the apart- 
 ment. Of course, he had a key. Within a short time afterward, 
 we were living together in that apartment. What went through 
 my mind would fill another book, but what 1 first feared and 
 abhorred I finally accepted. Instead of $20.00, he gave me a 
 handful of $20's. I had no expense because whatever I required 
 was taken on a charge account. That he insisted upon. I opened 
 a bank account. The accumulation whetted my apetite. Young 
 men in the neighborhood opened conversations with me and 
 asked to call, or for dates. They seemed to know my situation. 
 When I refused to have them visit me, they asked me to visit 
 them. I did. I became brazen. I began to reason that I was 
 doing no one any* harm, but myself. Which was much better 
 than owing unpaid honest debts, and taking further risk to 
 become a burden on others. With the money I was making I 
 felt a sense of security and rising to a condition where T could 
 be of help to others. 
 
— 60 — 
 
 f^ HECKS to the Mayo Clinic went on steadily. I also paid 
 other bills. Such withdrawals left smaller and smaller 
 balances in my account. Had I foreseen the future I would have 
 held out more in my bank account, but I looked forward to a 
 continuous flow of money, from my elderly companion and from 
 my new neighborhood boy friends. 
 
 There was very little for me- to do. I straightened up the 
 small apartment in less than an hour. Time hung heavily on 
 my hands. My companion would show up not more than twice 
 a week, then wouldn't come at all for weeks at a time. His wife 
 had died in the meanwhile, and he said something about the 
 possibility of shifting his offices to New York. Fewer visits 
 meant more infrequent money deposits. Within four months 
 after I took up this "housekeeping," I received a note in the 
 mail that he was forced to leave town, that my rent was paid for 
 two months, and he wished me good luck. He enclosed a final 
 $100.00 certified check from a Chicago bank. I never saw him 
 again. 
 
 The rent was $85.00 per month. I thought of advertising 
 for a girl to share the apartment with me. In my frequent visits 
 to the restaurants, I made many acquaintances, of both men 
 and girls. Half the time some young man picked up and paid 
 my check. There was a spirit of helpfulness during the* hard 
 years. Boys talked to girls freely. No introduction necessary. 
 
 They were not all flirts nor "wolves." I know of very many in- 
 stances where girls received help from men who asked for 
 nothing in return. But there was another side to the story. 
 
 nnHERE are hotels owned by so-called religious and charitable 
 
 A institutions. At about 5 o'clock in the afternoon a robed and 
 
 bewhiskered preacher or parson would come to the hotel corridor, 
 
— 61 — 
 
 prayer book in hand, stretch his hands and lift his eyes to the 
 heavens and call upon the Lord for forgiveness and mercy, and 
 to bless us with the spirit of righteousness, love and charity. 
 These Hotels did not pay taxes I learned. It was cheaper to 
 pay the bewhiskered preacher. From those very hotels there 
 would be a daily tossing out, together with bag and baggage, 
 of girls and men who had lost their jobs and were behind in 
 their rent. These penniless outcasts would stand there on the 
 sidewalk in fear and bewilderment. 
 
 What happened to the men tossed out *of hotels, evicted 
 from apartments and thrown out of jobs? Your guess is as good 
 as mine. But I do know what happened to the girls, because I 
 was among them. Not all of them. Some went back to their homes 
 in small towns and farms. But many had nowhere to go, and 
 didn't have trainfare. Many left aged mothers or widowed 
 fathers, who were looking for help from their daughters. Who 
 were those girls? They were models of expensive gowns, models 
 for commercial artists, show girls, chorus girls, also waitresses, 
 hostesses, clerks and stenographers. Bankruptcies and fore- 
 closures put many on the street. Many were college girls, some 
 from refined homes and decent backgrounds. 
 
 Many of the girls received help, as I said, from men out of 
 the goodness of their heart. Some were less fortunate. They 
 joined the great army of street walkers. They had been ac- 
 customed to invitations from strange men, with and without 
 cars. They had never thought of accepting. Now they couldn't 
 refuse. It meant filling their hungry stomachs, at least. 
 
 I found myself in an expensive apartment, with my savings 
 dwindling. I could no longer return to $4.00 or $5.00 jobs. 
 Further, what the "tricks" were willing to pay for, as a maid 
 my bosses wanted for nothing. To the uninitiated I may ex- 
 plain that a "trick" is a man who patronizes a street walker 
 
— 62 — 
 
 or call girl. Was I seized with compunctions, with a sense of 
 fear, of guilt? Yes, and no! To be sure, I had to guard my 
 secret from my folks. This I did with the greatest caution. 
 I established a "day off" on Tuesdays. And on Tuesdays I 
 would be home, even if Rome, or Chicago, burned. 
 
 r| i HE evicted girls swarmed the streets. The rooming houses 
 and small hotels were in jeopardy of foreclosure. The guests 
 had no money for rent. Some of the landladies encouraged 
 the girl roomers to find men to help with their rent. Practically 
 all welcomed this "transient" business. Signs showed up, "Tran- 
 sients Welcome," and how! Intermittently I lost my sense of 
 repression, because I was in "good company." On the other 
 hand, competition became rugged. One gal was superstitious, 
 with a bag of charms for good luck. Another said she prayed 
 every night and on Sunday. A smartie retorted, "I pray, too. 
 Now I lay me down so cheap!" 
 
 Street girls are the most superstitious lot in the world, and 
 probably the most sensitive. There are fears and tears. An 
 ugly word may throw them into the dumps. A "trick" in time 
 saves a girl's morale. 
 
 With the increase of street girls came cops who patroled the 
 section. The girls had a grape-vine to warn each other. There 
 was a shift of cops monthly. The police automobiles weren't 
 always identified as they are now. The girls would watch for 
 the new car and tip-off the rest. Some cops would demand so 
 much from each girl, or cause arrests. In turn, these cops 
 would protect the section against too many girls. The non- 
 paying girls would be arrested. 
 
 The honest cops were a real worry to the girls. They would 
 make arrests, and if the girls offered them money, they would 
 
— 63 — 
 
 be charged for both street walking and attempted bribery. 
 
 The more experienced of us had the name of the lawyer 
 who was a sure shot to get us off. At that early period of my 
 life it had been drummed into me that there is no such thing 
 as justice in the courts. You had to pay for what you got in 
 the court just like the tricks paid for what they got from you. 
 This part of the American Way of Life I had wholly forgotten 
 when I needed it most, in Cicero, where I fell into a trap, as I 
 will later show. 
 
 The police preyed on the girls. The girls were always broke. 
 The police had no check on the girls they arrested. The girls 
 would put up a bond, then failed to show up in court. The piti- 
 ful amount they took in hardly paid for the squalid room they 
 lived in, their food at cheap restaurants, cops and cosmetics. 
 Yet they were haunted by fear of arrests, disease and even murder. 
 They say that necessity knows no law. Into the cold, storm, 
 rain and sleet the street girl hunted and was hunted. In the 
 neighborhood which was more favorable for the traffic, roamed 
 some strange characters. Each trick may be her last. Girls 
 were choked, knifed and brutalized. Many died of syphilis, 
 others from beatings. Some went to jail for a long stretch, 
 they didn't know the "ropes." Some girls married, others 
 were helped to good jobs. 
 
 One evening I leaned against a lamp post, like the publicity 
 picture of "Anna Lucasta," but for a different reason. My toe 
 was bothering me. Two policemen came forward, but I couldn't 
 run. Soon I was between them. They searched me for dope, 
 as they thought I was unsteady. They looked into my purse 
 and asked, "What's this?" I said that's a receipt from the Mayo 
 clinic for money I sent. One of the policeman said to the other, 
 "Well, here is a new reason for hustling," and said I may go 
 home. * * * 
 
— 64 — 
 
 The courts were lenient with the girls, they had to be. 
 Newspapers reported that four magistrates in New York were 
 removed from office by the Bar Association for being too harsh 
 with the street girls there. A stiff fine would break a girl's 
 heart and spirit. It might put the girl on relief, and the relief 
 rolls were overflowing. I was present when a judgd cautioned 
 a girl that she must leave the neighborhood and stop hustling. 
 She was timid, refined and tearful. She boldly sobbed that if 
 she fails to pick up a trick she will go without dinner that day. 
 
 Who were the street walkers? 
 
 There were wives who had overspent and couldn't account 
 to their husbands. There were women who were under the gun 
 of a loan shark who threatened to take away furniture or fur 
 coat. There were divorcees who had to provide schooling and 
 keep for one or two children. There were wives who lost money 
 at poker and couldn't get the money from their husbands. 
 There were women whose darling sons or daughters would lose 
 their graduation from some school or college, if they had not 
 the money for a variety of expenses and tuition. 
 
 One woman on the street was 58, no less. She had been a 
 school teacher. Her husband was a druggist from whom she 
 was divorced. She came to Chicago to find work, to add 
 income to alimony she had been receiving. The depression 
 threw her out of work. The ex-husband failed in business. At 
 58 she was forced to a life she had dreaded. None of us girls 
 ever had a notion that we would be in the racket. We read about 
 such things, just as we read about the "Snake Pit." It is some- 
 thing that only happens to others. It can't happen to us. And 
 this elderly woman sat with me with her tears mingling with 
 her coffee. 
 
— 65 — 
 
 On the police force there are what are known as Captain's 
 men. There are but few of them. They are regarded as of a 
 higher police position. One such Captain's man made frequent 
 arrests of a woman who maintained her own flat, in the neigh- 
 borhood. Before long she made a truce with the officer and 
 put him on her pay-roll. Later he divorced his wife and made 
 his home with the woman he had prosecuted. I know that he 
 had been living with her for some eight years, He may yet be 
 living with her. They may be married. 
 
 I wish to get on with my main story. I don't wish to 
 undertake a comprehensive description of vice in Chicago. Such 
 is not the mission of this book. Yet I feel my description thus 
 far is unbalanced without adding a paragraph or two. 
 
 There were and are street girls of a yet different type. 
 They got down to a more profitable system. Instead of dealing 
 directly with the police, paying them off, hiring their own 
 lawyers, as they must occasionally, they operate through pimps. 
 These pimps are a rough and ugly lot who attend to the "extra- 
 curricular" working of the street walker. These pimps are of 
 two classes, those who are employed by the street girl and those 
 who employ the girls with whom they divide the take, the profits 
 and losses. 
 
 A gang of pimps broke into one of the girls rooms on the 
 fourth floor. This girl had been cutting in on their business. 
 They tossed her through the window. Her lifeless body was 
 found on the alley pavement. Here and there one of the girls 
 committed suicide. Here and there a girl was found uncon- 
 scious, having been beaten by pimps for holding out money 
 she received as tips, or after a warning to keep out of their 
 neighborhood. The pimps were immune to arrest, as they paid 
 off the cops. 
 
— 66 — 
 
 T IKE other girls, 1 would read about this or that girl taking 
 the "easy way." I now wonder if those writers were in their 
 right mind. It may be easy to get into, as it is easy to fall over- 
 ^ard. But in the turmoil of the racket there's nothing easy. 
 It is harsh, brutal and dangerous! Even worse than its dangers 
 are the scorn of the community, to which the girls are sensitive. 
 They hide behind assumed names in cities distant from their 
 homes, relatives and acquaintances. They dread exposure. 
 Pride becomes keener when in danger of being wounded. My 
 escape was living in my dreams, in my hopes and in my prayers. 
 I was reliving my happy, carefree and innocent past. I consoled 
 myself in my hopes of escape, redemption and future security 
 after my bills were paid. I feared for my eyesight and my 
 still aching toe, and had but two alternatives to choose from. 
 I must either put myself to sleep eternally or put myself in a 
 position where I would not be a burden to others. 
 
 Among the girls in the racket there is a spirit of honesty 
 and truthfulness. The tricks, likewise, are rarely vicious or dis- 
 honest. The "rolling" and thievery occasionally reported to 
 police are usually by girl bar-flies and dope addicts. These are 
 wholly irresponsible. Craving for dope makes murderers out 
 of the addicts. 
 
 I struggled to keep up my spirit and my health. I retired 
 as early as 7 P.M. I didn't dare to fall into despondency. 
 I was warned not to cry. What punishment! Even that was 
 denied me. Yet I had what the other girls didn't. A smiling, 
 happy, loving home to go to weekly, to give me courage and to 
 refresh my spirits. Sometimes I cried a little; the difficulty was 
 the fault of my destina, I thought, because I could not cry it out — / 
 was afraid to. I could feel the scar tissue when tears came to my 
 eyes. I blamed God for taking away even the cry from my life. 
 But I didn't indulge in self-pity. The entire country seemed 
 
— 67 — 
 
 gripped by despair. People out of work everywhere. The radios 
 kept blaring that "prosperity" was "around the corner." But to 
 me it was the hustler's corner. The hustler's life is a bleak and 
 lonely one. I felt I did not "belong." I was unable to read, not even 
 the newspapers. The "life" in the tavern had no appeal for me. 
 The "tricks" told me a variety of intimate stories of their sorrows, 
 failures and disappointments. I did not tell them mine. Yet I 
 continued to smile, and my smile was not strained. I still 
 looked many years younger than my age. Throughout I was 
 sustained by my early discipline, to be truthful, to meet my 
 obligations, not to run away from them, and to accept bravely 
 whatever was my destina. I continued to send checks to the 
 Mayo clinic. 
 
 Some time later, I had to return to the Mayo clinic for 
 another toe operation. The doctor admonished that one should 
 always have his toes in good shape, because one never knows 
 when he might be forced to run for his life. Little did he know 
 how prophetic he was in my case. 
 
 My struggle with the outside world silenced the struggle 
 within. I kept telling myself that I am too full of myself and 
 felt that whatever I had undergone and am undergoing should 
 make me grateful because of the greater trials of others. After 
 all, I was not afflicted with a dread disease, nor hopelessly crip- 
 pled, not old and helpless, nor convicted of a serious crime. Yet 
 I was benumbed when I passed a church, or a school or a peace- 
 ful home. Hardly a day but some young man showed a keen 
 interest in me. I could have married hundreds of times. I could 
 hardly understand why girls had difficulty in finding a mate. 
 Yet I could not wholly escape my troublesome thoughts. I tried 
 to cling to the thought my dad implanted in me, that whatever 
 fate follows me, it was my destina. Yes, that's it. I am not to 
 blame. I have no sense of guilt. Yet hardly a day passed with- 
 
— 68 — 
 
 out finding myself in the grip of self-accusation and mental 
 chastisement. I was determined to find an escape. There really 
 was no excuse for my finding myself in the pit — not even for 
 
 toiling as a maid. 
 
 
 T was determined to learn the restaurant business, hoping to 
 go into that business. I applied for a job as waitress in one 
 of the largest restaurant chains. I had an interview with the 
 manager, whose name was Frank. The interview lasted an hour 
 with Frank doing all of the talking, for which I was grateful. 
 
 I was avoiding talking about myself. Soon Frank called 
 a waitress and ordered lunch for two. He asked what I wished. 
 I was too impatient to eat. I ordered a salad. Lunch over, 
 Frank showed me through the kitchen, the commisary and the 
 various rooms, showing the new improvements, as if I came to 
 buy the place instead of for a job. Back to his office, he spoke 
 of himself, his future and his virtues, as if he were looking for 
 a job from me, not I from him. Soon he told me that he was 
 personally interested in me. Closing time, he asked to take me 
 home. I was puzzled by his attentions. Some of the waitresses 
 in the restaurant were fit for a beauty contest. He had been the 
 manager of the restaurant concession at the World's Fair, where 
 he had employed about two-hundred girls. I thought to myself 
 that I wasn't that good. I took the job with Frank. 
 
 Frank took me home from work. He had been divorced 
 and had no ties. He was about 18 years older than I. I told him 
 about my past. He made no objection. He asked me to marry 
 him. There was much discussion about companionate marriages 
 then. I suggested we try that. We found a small apartment 
 and moved in. He turned over his savings to me. 
 
 Frank showed me every consideration and repeatedly ex- 
 
— 69 — 
 
 pressed his love for me. I did not share his love, but was happy 
 in the thought that we could work and save and make a success 
 of our lives and our union. He was receiving what was then 
 high wages, he had his meals free, and we saved our earnings. 
 
 My companionate arrangement with Frank had its advan- 
 tages. We were free from the "ownership" of each other which 
 sometimes oppress those who are married. Neither needs to give 
 an account to the other. There is less chance of separation in 
 most cases, because they live in separation, a sort of continuous 
 courtship upon mutual consent, and only when the consent is 
 mutual. I am not trying to preach that sort of co-operative liv- 
 ing. I am merely explaining our relationship, and its advantages. 
 I will agree, and preach, that the disadvantages of such a rela- 
 tionship is much greater than the advantages I mentioned. I 
 went out alone a great deal trying to find compensation for this 
 loveless arrangement. I went to the movies to escape the blues. 
 My eyes had improved. I was gripped by a continuous feeling 
 of loneliness. I had my freedom, as I said, but it was a chained 
 sort of freedom nonetheless. In my restlessness I picked up 
 dates, but could not give my address or telephone number, of 
 course. 
 
 I agree that my arrangement with Frank was a mistake, 
 although he was devoted, loyal and affectionate, as I said. The 
 trouble with mistakes is that they lead to more mistakes. In 
 looking for the happiness which was denied me, in forever 
 searching for relief from my loneliness, I often invited atten- 
 tion from young men who became insistent. Frank was working 
 nights, when restaurants are busiest. I met Albert when I went 
 dancing. Albert was handsome, young and ambitious. We 
 had many meetings and went dancing together. Of course, I 
 could not give my address or telephone number, for which he 
 kept asking me. 
 
— 70 — 
 
 Albert asked me to marry him, again and again. I kept 
 putting him off. In my hesitation, I tried to reduce our trysts. 
 He would show up to meet me in the most unexpected places. 
 I commenced to feel a deep affection for Albert, which I couldn't 
 suppress, and which he commenced to suspect. He also sus- 
 pected that I was attached to someone, and insisted on having 
 me tell him. I did. I also told him of my past. In spite of 
 what I confessed, he took me to his home and introduced me to 
 his parents, sister and brother. His mother was frantic in her ob- 
 jections, not that Albert had disclosed my past, but Albert 
 had been turning over most of his salary home, which they 
 dreaded to lose. Albert had a sister of 32 who was unem- 
 ployed by choice. His contribution also relieved his father from 
 obligation, to a great extent. 
 
 Albert insisted that we be married. My earlier marriage 
 with Francis flashed through my mind. Deep into my con- 
 science was the sanctity of parole; that a mere promise imposed 
 a solemn obligation to honor it, even if one's life depended on 
 it. In my marriage to Francis, I saw our pledge sealed in sacred 
 ceremony, with the command "until death do us part-" I saw 
 that great seal, that great bond, all the unforgettable ceremony, 
 witnessed by all who came to bear witness, and to wish us ever- 
 lasting happiness, all attested to by the Priest, in the great cathe- 
 dral. I saw all that cancelled by a slip of paper from the clerk of 
 the divorce court. 
 
 I also had a tear for Frank. I could not comfortably erase 
 seven years of comradship, though without love. I was torn 
 between an obligation to Frank and my ripening love for 
 Albert. I went home to Frank and told him that I wished to 
 marry Albert. With measured sentences Frank spoke of the 
 various possibilities which confront such a step, but finally said 
 he would not stand in my way, ending with, "If you ever 
 
— 71 — 
 
 need me, I will be waiting. For me there can never be another." 
 I could not suppress a sigh as I looked into his large, blue, 
 honest eyes, 
 
 I married Albert after a year of courtship. Nothing con- 
 cerning each of our lives was hidden to the other. Albert's 
 mother and sister were forced to accept the inevitable. They 
 treated me with a show of tolerance. But soon I was due for 
 another shock. Frank called Albert's mother over the telephone 
 and told her of my past, adding synthetic colors, for good 
 measure. That was a signal for carrying on by mother-in-law, 
 real and pretended. It gave her a new lever to break up our 
 marriage. Confronted by his mother and sister with what they 
 had heard, and from a man with whom I had been living with, 
 Albert 'sought refuge in pretending ignorance, as if to infer 
 that he would not have married me if he had known, and in- 
 fering also, that I failed to disclose the unwelcome truth 
 to him. 
 
 Albert's marriage caused some changes in his mother's 
 and sister's mode of life. His sister had to seek employment. 
 His dad, who had been living apart from the family, was forced 
 to return to save the additional expense. But he was made to 
 feel unwanted, and soon he again left them. Frank's inter- 
 ference renewed the hope in Albert's mother and sister that he 
 would dispose of me and resume the surrender to them of his 
 pay check. I was vexed with him that he failed to defy them 
 in a manly fashion, by declaring that I am his wife, and that's 
 that. Albert did not relent in his show of affection to me, but 
 he was torn between his mother's pleadings, pretended "heart 
 attacks," and nagging, and his wish to hold on to me. Yet he 
 was disturbed and he became hard to live with. With a heavy 
 heart, I determined to separate. 
 
 I found myself pounding the pavements again; my destina 
 
— 72 — 
 
 again threw me overboard. The bitter cup of loneliness was 
 again pressed upon my lips and it gagged me as never before. 
 Before I met Frank, then Albert, the struggle to survive my 
 illness and to recover my eyesight and the effects of my opera- 
 tions, to pay my debts and to make myself financially solvent 
 if not secure, all these dulled my sense of values. Now that the 
 pressure of these problems had been lifted, now that I had a 
 taste of real love and marriage, my heartache became more 
 severe from day to day. If only Frank had not poisoned the 
 well of my life! I was too wounded to think of revenge. In 
 fact, I never thought of revenge. Badly as I was hurt, I found 
 justification for Frank. This is a selfish world, after all, and 
 Frank's action was his idea of self-defense. 
 
 I saw Albert from time to time on his bakery truck. It 
 was a new truck with his name in clear lettering. I was eager 
 to see him, but equally eager to avoid having him see me. Seeing 
 him would shock me; it would awaken memories of the only 
 love I had ever felt; I struggled to control my emotions; tears 
 were a strictly forbidden luxury, as I said; but tears came, 
 even as I struggled to control them. 
 
 T IFE in the United States was never dull, even when my life 
 was. Newspapers carried screaming headlines, "Germany 
 Marches into Austria." The second world war was imminent, 
 and talk of war was heard everywhere, on the radio, on the 
 streets and wherever people gathered. A draft of boys for 
 military training was also the leading topic. A method of 
 drafting by means of drawing from a hamper of names was 
 decided upon. The first draft was to be the names drawn from 
 a fish-bowl. 
 
 Then came the headline, "Roosevelt Pulls Fishbowl Num- 
 
— 73 — 
 
 bers." Seeing a crowd around a news stand, I also stopped. My 
 eyes were improving, but I was still forbidden to read, even 
 if I wished to do so. I bought a newspaper to read the headlines. 
 
 The sub-headlines gave the names of the first draftees. 
 There was but one draftee from the Chicago area. That one 
 was Albert! No. 6. This happened when Albert was engaged 
 in a hunt for my whereabouts, as I later learned, and as I 
 was eluding him. I knew that Albert had been trying to find 
 me. What I didn't know was that he had news for me and 
 wished to have me back. I saw him in his uniform. He made 
 a gorgeous appearance. 
 
 Time and again I saw Albert. I succeeded in making my 
 escape. On the very day when the newspapers announced 
 the induction of the draftees, I saw Albert through the window 
 where I was having lunch. I saw him headed for the restaurant. 
 I quickly left my tray and escaped through a rear door. I was 
 less successful in the evening, at another lunch room. There 
 he stood in his uniform as I arose from the table. 
 
 There were tears. Albert explained that in the face of the 
 loss of his income because of the draft, his sister found a job 
 and his dad was invited to return, and that they got along 
 well on their own resources. He said that he had come to his 
 senses when his mother urged him to file divorce proceedings, 
 so that if anything happened to him his insurance would be paid 
 to her and not to me. He gave me all the vows of love and 
 loyalty of which he was capable, and pleaded with me to wait 
 for him. I believed him, I couldn't have done otherwise, yet 
 I felt that the uncertainty of the war, his probable long absence, 
 and his mother's animosity, all would work against our future 
 happiness, his and mine. I never saw him again. 
 
 I went back to Frank. He promised me again and again 
 that he would do everything in his power to make up to me 
 
— 74 — 
 
 for his interference with my marriage with Albert. He said he 
 knew that he had done me wrong and that he was sorry. He said 
 he would spend the rest of his life being humble. I assured 
 him that I would not quarrel or bring the subject up again, 
 but that in my heart I would never forgive him. I also said 
 that although Albert loved me, and he knew I loved him, yet 
 he permitted outside things and people to come between us. 
 
 Frank and I co-operated in the enjoyment of making our 
 home beautiful. Frank continued to work nights, and I went 
 out. I had many acquaintances, but no real friends. This part 
 of my life was indeed an unusual existence, living in two 
 worlds, each apart from the other, each isolated. Many loves, 
 many acquaintances I did have, yet in my heart I knew loneli- 
 ness, intense loneliness. 
 
 %W J E never know when or how we might meet someone who 
 might play a role in our life, for good or ill. I have 
 in mind a young man by the name of Ricks. As precinct cap- 
 tain, he rang door bells, which was the way I met him. He 
 lingered awhile and told me of his political connections, and 
 would welcome any chance to be of service. I didn't know 
 when I might need assistance in my real estate activities, in 
 matters pertaining to housing, building and the various ord- 
 inances involved in maintaining a building. He saw me often 
 and was always obliging. He soon became my secondary com- 
 panion, secondary to Frank. I introduced each to the other, 
 and while doubtful at first, they became quite content. Ricks had 
 a wife and child. I frequently turned our conversation to them, 
 asked him how they were, thereby establishing a friendship. I 
 often reproved him for spending so much time with me, when 
 he should give his attention to his family. "Why don't you 
 
— 75 — 
 
 go home? You're a nuisance," I would say. Such treatment did 
 not seem to discourage him. 
 
 As time went on Ricks commenced to hint about his 
 quarrels with his wife, with implications that their marriage 
 may not last. Such incidents gave me a welcome opportunity 
 to make my position clear to him. I cautioned him to strive 
 to make a success of his marriage, especially where a child was 
 involved and that whatever the situation was at his home, that he 
 must leave me out of any consideration, as I am not in love 
 with him, and that I had no thought of marriage to anyone. 
 
 Evenings alone were long, and I tried to escape from 
 myself and from my heartache, by dancing in one of Chicago's 
 dance palaces, amidst the throng of happy young faces, bright 
 clothes and dim lights, music sometimes thundering sometimes 
 hauntingly soft to waltz rhythm. It was distracting, satisfying. I 
 was lost in a wilderness of strange people, people who neither 
 knew me, nor cared, or so I thought — and wished. I never 
 missed a dance. The boys who asked to dance with me asked 
 for my name, my 'phone number, told stories, spoke about my 
 professional style of dancing, asked if I were in a local show, 
 or in the movies. I smiled in reply. Like the famous movie 
 actress, I felt better when I was alone. In a crowd where I was 
 known I was lonely. 
 
 On a Friday evening late in June, I met Bruce. He also 
 was in the company of many friends. He was celebrating his 
 thirtieth birthday, with boy friends, some half dozen young 
 men of about the same age. Some of the boys met their girls 
 by prearrangement ; others found acquaintance at the hall, as 
 Bruce found me. From dancing we all went to a night club. 
 Bruce took me home and we parted at the door. I parried all 
 his questions by pointing to our short acquaintance. We met 
 again Friday evenings at the dance hall, giving the impression 
 
— 76 — 
 
 that I went there to meet him. We continued the routine, all 
 of us going somewhere after dancing, then dispersing, with 
 Bruce taking me home, leaving me at the door, asking for my 
 telephone number and receiving whatever excuses came to my 
 mind. 
 
 The boys in the group seemed very desirable companions, 
 and I noticed the longing looks of affection for them by the 
 girls. Several of the girls were noticably smitten. I was deter- 
 mined not to fall for Bruce, although he was the more affable, 
 the gayest and the glibbest talker. He tried again and again 
 to break my sphynx-like evasiveness, but I was determined — 
 I had to be. He suggested he would thenceforth call for me on 
 Friday evenings. I replied that he was trying to find indirectly 
 what I refused to give him openly — my telephone number. We 
 compromised by my offer to take his telephone number. I called 
 him to pick me up at a given spot. 
 
 As we continued going dancing on Friday evenings, I 
 noticed the couples were breaking up. The one most smitten 
 learned that her boy friend was married, just as I suspected 
 Bruce might have been, but found that he was not. It seems 
 that many of the boys who go to the great dance halls are mar- 
 ried, and go there for extra-marital romancing. 
 
 Bruce was very good looking, about six feet in height, with 
 dark curly hair, a beautiful skin, with deep dimples. I saw 
 how enviously girls looked at him. Why these boys took such 
 a persistent interest in me is more than I can tell. Frank knew 
 of my meetings with both Bruce and Ricks, Bruce did not know 
 of the others. 
 
 T about this time I purchased a building in Berwyn, Illinois, 
 into which Frank and I moved. From then on. Ricks 
 
— 77 — 
 
 called for me on Friday evenings and Bruce on Saturday 
 evenings, who by then knew my address and telephone number. 
 
 I picked up a set of keys Bruce had dropped. It had a tag 
 with his address. To my surprise I found the address to be 
 the same as Ricks! I had become acquainted with Ricks a year 
 before I met Bruce. Living at the same address, I became con- 
 cerned lest Bruce would learn about my acquaintance with Ricks, 
 as Ricks already knew about my acquaintance with Bruce. I 
 decided to end my dates with both. I started with Bruce, telling 
 him I did not intend to meet him again. He replied, smiling 
 with his dimpling face, "0. K. I won't let you down. I will 
 see you next Saturday." 
 
 In spite of my determination not to become involved with 
 another man, I felt a hankering for Bruce's company, and felt 
 a thrill when I heard his voice, and when he came into my 
 presence. This alarmed me, and I became even more insistent 
 that he discontinues calling for me. Perhaps something I said 
 or did, or my eyes, betrayed my real emotions, because Bruce 
 merely smiled, and said, "All right, all right, Baby, I won't 
 fail you — see you next Saturday." I was angry because of his 
 self-assurance, but becoming more and more fearful that he 
 might take me at my word. Again I got myself into an emo- 
 tional conflict, which I had not forseen. 
 
 r 1 1 HROUGHOUT my meandering with these boys, Frank kept 
 in the background, but his restlessness broke through his 
 studied composure. He commenced losing weight and showing 
 age. I was not wholly unmindful of his feelings, which made me 
 the more eager to separate myself from my unsought boy friends. 
 To Frank I was an open book. Apparently he sensed my long- 
 ings, my emotions and my attachments, whatever they were. 
 
— 78 — 
 
 As I became more attached to Bruce, Frank felt as if the light 
 of his life was fading out. He calld me by 'phone one morning 
 after I had left with Ricks. He asked me if I would come home 
 early; suggested that he might not go back to work, and talked 
 in an unusual manner. I became suspicious, after I thought it 
 over. I asked Ricks to drive me home. Upon returning, I 
 found Frank on the floor, unconscious, with a bottle of poison 
 on the floor beside him. Ricks called the police. Frank was 
 rushed to a hospital, I was too confused to do anything. Ricks 
 followed the ambulance to the hospital. He came back later 
 for me. When I arrived at the hospital Frank was in the 
 operating room. I waited until they brought him out and after 
 awhile I had a few words with him while he was resting in the 
 hospital bed. 
 
 As I said, I had decided to break away from all my boy- 
 friends, including Frank, before the suicide attempt episode — 
 also with Bruce, love or no love. What's another heart-break 
 more or less! I suspected that Frank's suicide attempt, although 
 too close to the real thing to be feigned, was to keep me upset, 
 and to discourage any changes I planned, and which he read in 
 my eyes long before I disclosed them. I was steeled to many 
 difficult situations, yet could not leave Frank in his weakened 
 condition. I decided to break away gradually. 
 
 Just then Bruce's mother told Ricks' wife that Bruce was 
 about to marry a girl in Berwyn. Ricks traced the rumor down, 
 and soon the entire picture became clear to him. Ricks got 
 busy. 
 
 Ricks and Bruce, as neighbors, knew each other intimately. 
 As I explained, Ricks knew all about me, all things Bruce didn't 
 know. Ricks told Bruce — everything. Ricks told about my 
 living with Frank, also about my past, to which he added all 
 the damaging things he could think of, true or false. 
 
— 79 — 
 
 Bruce broke on me with all the passion of a movie scene. 
 He was now playing Armand to his Camille. He didn't ask 
 me to explain. He was the only one hurt. He was pure and 
 righteous. I was not supposed to have any feelings. He did 
 not stop to think that I did not pursue him, that I tried to dis- 
 suade him, to keep him away, that I withheld the information 
 he insistently asked for. Yet I was to blame! What Bruce didn't 
 know was that I had intended dropping him all along, but in 
 view of the impending draft, and that he was to enlist before 
 being drafted, I spared him the aggravation and myself the 
 discomfort of telling him off. I looked forward to a natural 
 separation by his enlistment, perhaps exchanging letters with 
 him while in service, and permitting our relationship to fade 
 out by lapse of time. 
 
 f~\ N the following Saturday morning Bruce telephoned that 
 he was coming over and that I should have Frank there. He 
 arrived along towards noon. Ricks also showed up. Bruce 
 took command. He started by saying, "You all knew about this 
 but me." He turned to Ricks, and continued, "You weren't much 
 of a man to tell me about it, just the same." He then asked 
 me, "What have you to say about this situation?" I said that it 
 didn't matter to me what Ricks had told, but that I disliked 
 him for not letting me take care of my own affairs. Bruce 
 then turned to Ricks, "That lets you out. You have no business 
 here anyhow. You have a wife and baby. Don't let me catch 
 you here again." Ricks took it "lying down," as the expression 
 goes. What Bruce didn't know was that Ricks had been a 
 professional pugilist, and one of the toughest in the ring. But 
 to Ricks' credit I might say that he had the virtues of patience, 
 understanding and control of himself. Ricks looked at me with 
 
— 80 — 
 
 kindliness, and said, "O.K. I thought I had a chance. I was 
 fighting for myself. After all, I have known her four years. 
 But I heard the verdict, and I will abide by it." He walked 
 out, with a smiling "good-bye." I did not see Ricks again. 
 
 When Ricks had gone, Bruce turned to Frank, and said, 
 "I don't understand this kind of a set-up. Do you love her?" 
 Frank said he did. Bruce continued to say, that he did not 
 understand that kind of love, which permits a supposed sweet- 
 heart to go out with another man. "After all, she went out with 
 me for three years. I didn't know about you, but you knew 
 that she dressed and went out with someone every Saturday 
 night." "I can't understand that kind of love. I love her, too, 
 but with me it's all or nothing." He then turned to me and 
 demanded, "What have you to say?" I said that I would have 
 to have time to think. He said he would give me a week, until 
 the next Saturday night. He turned to Frank and said, "Is 
 that alright with you?" Frank replied that he had no choice. 
 On that evening Bruce called for me as usual, but both he and 
 I were solemn. I did not realize that Bruce loved me. I was 
 afraid of such thoughts. I was shut in within myself. What ran 
 through my mind were my earlier marriages and divorces, my 
 panorama of experiences, of the heaven and hell through which 
 I had passed. I held a conference with myself. In fact it was a 
 debate. One part of me said, "You have already lived your 
 life. This is not for you." The other part urged me to keep 
 dreaming, that my life at that age was not over, and that there 
 were joys ahead. 
 
 I reasoned that Frank was content to carry on under my 
 terms, whereas Bruce laid down the law. I would have to 
 enter into a marriage I feared. I remained with Frank while 
 my heart was with Bruce. It took years to cure this new heart- 
 ache. Thus another painful milepost in my life came to pass. 
 
— 81 — 
 
 T7* RANK and I settled down to take up the thread of life 
 which had been interrupted by my boy-friend episodes. My 
 7-apartment building in Berwyn was fully paid for. It was in 
 superb economic condition. The building, my very own, with 
 its lawns, flowers, shrubbery and garden, held many raptures, 
 although I missed Bruce. Frank devoted his spare time improv- 
 ing the building, inside and out, and the garage which jutted 
 from the building at the end of the driveway. Our apartment 
 was regarded as the height of elegance. It had drop ceilings 
 and Craftex walls. Our furnishings were such as shown in the 
 latest home magazines. Furniture was of blonde wood of the 
 latest pattern. It was Spring. Frank and I settled down to 
 make further improvements on my "estate." We commenced to 
 re-seed the garden and lawns, plant shrubbery, attending to the 
 trees, planting flowers, painting and making minor changes and 
 repairs. Real estate agents frequently called with offers to sell 
 my building and left their cards. 
 
 %W 1 HILE Frank was graining outside doors a car drove up and 
 a man stepped out and asked Frank where a grainer, such 
 as he was using, might be purchased. The stores had none 
 because of restriction of war materials. This chance conversa- 
 tion led to surprising things to come. The man introduced 
 himself as Dan. He was the owner of an| apartment building 
 farther down the street, which was the beginning of the town 
 of Cicero. Fronting the Cicero border line was a Parkway 
 running between and parallel to the divided street. Cicero begins 
 where the Berwyn side of the park ends. Dan's building, on 
 the Cicero parkway side, faced the end of the Berwyn side of 
 the parkway, with the two divided sides of the street hugging 
 Dan's building. 
 
— 82 — 
 
 From then on it was Frank and Dan. Later it was also 
 Martha and Camille. 
 
 Frank promised to bring the grainer to Dan's home when 
 Frank completed working with it. A few days later he did as 
 promised. About a week later Dan 'phoned and asked for the 
 grainer again, which he had returned. Someone had scratched 
 the paint off a door. This second contact somehow brought us 
 together. Frank and I took a walk together and met Dan again 
 and his wife Martha. They showed us around their building, 
 which consisted of twenty apartments. Dan was of draft age 
 and received notice from the Draft Board. He was worried about 
 his building. The income was not sufficient to maintain it, 
 especially if a janitor were required. Dan was his own janitor, 
 made repairs, did his own painting and the many things which 
 a large apartment building requires. Now that he was to be 
 drafted he faced a probable loss of his building and his life's 
 savings. They had two children. He spoke about trying to sell 
 the building. Rentals were "frozen" by the Rent Control Board, 
 without any set standard, so that tenants with identical apart- 
 ments paid different rentals. He said, "I don't know where I'm 
 at. With rent control on the one hand, and the draft on the 
 other, I don't know what will happen to the building and what 
 will happen to my family." 
 
 Dan excused himself and went to get his boys who had 
 been playing ball outside. Martha asked us to remain in the 
 living room while she went to the kitchen to prepare some refresh- 
 ments. Alone with Frank I got the idea that I might take over 
 the building, and mentioned the idea to Frank, and asked 
 him if the real estate agents would still be interested in ours. 
 Frank said he had forgotten to mention that one of the realty 
 men had returned the very day stating that he had a client in- 
 terested. Frank insisted that I should not sell mine, nor think 
 
— 83 — 
 
 of buying Dan's. He said he could see trouble ahead; that 
 Dan's building was in very bad repair, that Dan himself is not 
 getting enough revenue out of it to maintain it and that it was 
 therefore neglected. 
 
 My dad's pattern of buying, repairing, paying off the small 
 building as a stepping stone to a larger one flashed through my 
 mind. My Berwyn building was truly in good shape, as Frank 
 said, and I had a sizable balance in the bank. In spite of rent 
 control, the war and restrictions, this was the land of my birth, 
 the land of opportunity. True, life has many pitfalls and trials, 
 but there were also great opportunities to rise, even as I had 
 risen. The challenge offered by this large building, requiring 
 repairs and paying off a mortgage, fitted into the De Rose pat- 
 tern. That's why we are landlords! Being ambitious and thrifty, 
 I was also optimistic. I ignored Frank's warning of "I feel 
 trouble ahead there." I became the landlady. 
 
 With the passing of the deed, we attacked with paint 
 brushes, hammers, saws, spades, seeds, trees, plants and shrubs. 
 There were four entrances, with large entrance halls. I em- 
 ployed an artist who arrived dressed in a white smock, with 
 palette, easel and brushes, and painted murals on the walls of 
 the halls of Hawaiian scenes. Neighbors stood around and 
 watched. Even the police became interested. My dad and brother 
 also came to help, with some money and more ideas. Urns and 
 other outside ornaments were placed on the lawns. I made in- 
 side repairs and inmprovements. My new apartment, larger 
 than the one I vacated, required additional furniture and fur- 
 nishings. The artist also painted murals on the walls of my new 
 apartment. 
 
 The income from the building was insufficient, but I didn't 
 mind. I felt that the war would not last forever, and rent 
 control would be lifted with the end of the war. 
 
— 84 — 
 
 It may be of interest to my readers to get a glimpse into 
 my new apartment. The artist worked on all the walls of the 
 four-room apartment, including kitchen, entrance hall and bath- 
 room. The living-room walls were of white craftex, the ceilings 
 rounded, bay windows looking out to a ranch view of the garden. 
 The murals on the dining room walls were Hawaiian, with a pro- 
 fusion of palm trees and dancing girls, wearing leis and one 
 playing a guitar. Leis and grass bands tied back the yards 
 of sheered curtains, the door-bell chimes hung against the palm 
 trees on the murals of the entrance hall. The bathroom mural 
 showed lilies above glistening white tile walls and floor. The 
 kitchen was something to behold, having a pink tile built-in- 
 sink, matching the coral pink tile walls and floor. Above the 
 tile were murals of Mexican art. I furnished the kitchen with 
 knotty pine Mexican table and chairs, with trimmings, hangings, 
 utensils and kitchenware to match. 
 
 Sitting in my breakfast nook I could watch the birds 
 bathing in the bird baths we had provided. Frank fed the birds 
 and put fresh water in the baths. An autocratic robin daily 
 watched the water being changed, after which he took command 
 and compelled the other birds to wait until his lordship was 
 through. 
 
 f 1 1 HE war ended, yet the cost of materials, wages and services 
 were constantly rising. My building was exposed on four 
 sides, giving my tenants light and air, but on the other hand, 
 the exposure required more coal for heating. Because of rising 
 costs owners of buildings were compelled to curtail their main- 
 tenance and upkeep. I was too proud of my building on the one 
 hand, and optimistic on the other. After all, government officials 
 are rational human beings. War emergencies are bound to 
 
— 85 — 
 
 throw unequal burdens. I also thought that the tenants them- 
 selves would come to realize that they couldn't, and shouldn't, 
 live off the owner of the building. However, rent control was 
 being extended from time to time, as costs of maintenance and 
 cost of coal rose higher and higher. 
 
 Unblushingly, politicians kicked the unconscionable rent 
 control around. As a surface measure, the rent control spoils 
 group offered relief in "hardship cases." I later learned that 
 the hardship cases were largely the landlords which received 
 no relief from the rent office.. 
 
 My early observation regarding corrupt justice in the courts 
 was lost in my optimism and trust that our whole political 
 system cannot consist of human vultures. It did not occur to 
 me to do other than follow the law. If ever there were a 
 "hardship" case, mine was it. I went to my attorney, who was 
 truly honest and ethical. I asked him to prepare my petition 
 and to follow through. 
 
 I presented to my attorney a sheaf of bills, receipts, books 
 of account and memoranda showing my enormous expenditures 
 for maintenance, upkeep and improvements, not charging for the 
 constant work put in by Frank and me. The attorney's fee for 
 preparing the petition was reasonable in view of its length and 
 detail, but it was still an added expense. The petition went in 
 April, 1946. For months and months thereafter there was no 
 reply. I commenced to call the rent control office, personally 
 and by telephone. I was shunted from one official to another, 
 I cooled my heels waiting, I was given evasive answers. Finally,. 
 November 13th, 1946, I received a reply on a printed form 
 headed, United States of America, Office of Price Administration^, 
 with the following typewritten paragraph : 
 
 "The burden of establishing that the landlord in- 
 curred a substantial hardship as a result of a substantial 
 
— 86 — 
 
 and unavoidable increase in operating cost including 
 
 property tax is on the landlord . . ." 
 
 Tighe E. Woods 
 
 (Rent Director) 
 
 The denial of my petition was a severe shock. As 1 walked 
 towards my building, troubled thoughts came to my mind, and 
 forbidden tears to my eyes. The building, and each brick, held 
 all the suffering and travail of my lifetime. I had torn myself 
 away from opportunities to which all girls look forward, mar- 
 riage and love. This I had sacrificed for eventual respectability 
 and security. I felt a compassion for Frank, my devoted com- 
 panion, whom I might have sent away to find happiness with 
 someone who might have given him what I could not. I felt, 
 too, that his patient and continuous toil in the care and improve- 
 ment of the building was being wasted, devoted not to me, but 
 to tenants who had no feeling of appreciation, some who used 
 the money which they saved on rent, for drink and wild parties. 
 
 Yet I snapped out of the doldrums when I heard that hotels 
 
 were being decontrolled. I felt that rent decontrol was on the way. 
 
 # *- *- 
 
 I* could not escape my restlessness. I felt there was more to 
 
 life than just this monotony. And there was. Now as I 
 
 write this, however, I wish I could turn back the clock. That 
 
 I cannot. Somewhere I read that "we only pass this way but 
 
 once." But much happens before the journey's end. 
 
 * * * 
 
 T? RANK and I continued our accustomed routine, working, re- 
 pairing, painting and planting. Frank learned that one of 
 our tenants was about to move. That gave me an idea. I moved 
 all my furniture in the apartment which became vacant. I went 
 out on a buying rampage, buying furniture, furnishings, antiques 
 and a variety of household and decorative items. T sold the 
 
— 87 — 
 
 furniture of the vacated apartment to a new tenant. 
 
 TMfY folks lived within a walking distance. Tuesday was 
 family day when they would congregate in my apart- 
 ment for dinner. On holidays and other occasions we went to 
 mother's. If brother Jimmy would be late getting home, my 
 mother would leave a note, in her crude handwriting, 
 "Jimmy 
 
 Come by Mil for dinner. 
 Mother." 
 
 Jimmy would find the note on his plate where he expected 
 his dinner. 
 
 Frank continued working evenings, which found me alone 
 at home with time on my hands. Time which is as fleeting as 
 it is precious can be annoying, even painful. This went on 
 for three years in Berwyn and three years more in adjoining 
 Cicero. I had made it a habit to have my dinners outside when 
 alone, not wishing to do any cooking for myself. I also formed 
 a habit to drop in for coffee, when strolling, and during my 
 shopping for furniture and curios. Frequently I would get into 
 conversations with other coffee drinkers, male and female. One 
 of my chance acquaintances was a lad by the name of Berny. 
 I was suffering with a rather severe cold on one occasion, 
 when Berny suggested, "What you need is a stiff drink of liquor," 
 and he offered to buy me a drink at a nearby tavern. I never 
 formed a taste for liquor, but did take a drink on occasions. 
 I accepted his offer, and together we went to the tavern where 
 both had several drinks with our conversations. 
 
 Thereafter I ran into Bernie casually, or perhaps it was 
 not so casual on his part. I dropped in at one of several 
 lunch rooms for coffee in the same neighborhood, of course. 
 
— 88 — 
 
 Our acquaintance progressed, and we commenced strolling to- 
 gether. He spoke of having been in business with his father 
 in Kansas until he was drafted. His father was unable to 
 carry on alone, so they sold their business and divided the 
 proceeds. "I didn't know if I would ever come back, so I 
 decided to have a good time with the money. I went out with 
 the boys, sometimes with girls, eating, drinking, night-clubbing 
 and dancing." "The war over, I tried to buy back my business, 
 but the buyer asked many times more than he paid, and I had 
 gotten rid of most of my money. I decided to go to Chicago, 
 get a job, save some money, and go into business again." 
 
 We became more and more accustomed to each other, and 
 you can guess the rest, or some of the rest. Love, which I thought 
 had gone out of my life, seemed to have returned with a bang. 
 I thought again, "This is it." I told Bernie of my situation with 
 Frank, which didn't seem to matter to Bernie. I got up enough 
 courage to bring Bernie to Frank and tell him that we plan to be 
 married. 
 
 ^T^ HE fourteen years Frank and I spent together thus came to an 
 end. I told Frank that it would be best for both, that he could 
 find someone who would give him the affection he was missing. 
 In parting, Frank held out his hand to Bernie, and with tears 
 in his eyes he said, "Take good care of her. I have never 
 stopped loving her, and never will." As Frank left, part of my 
 soul left with him. I married Bernie. Once again I settled 
 down to what I thought would be a happy married life. Bernie 
 had a position of great promise. He had charge of a large 
 establishment, and an income of more than $10,000.00 a year 
 average. But what Bernie did not tell me about himself before 
 ^e married was that during his sprees in Kansas he frequentlv 
 
— 89 — 
 
 drank to excess and that he had become an "alcoholic." I didn't 
 then know there was such a thing as an alcoholic. He had 
 joined the "A. A." (Alcoholics Anonymous) of whom I had like- 
 wise never heard before. During a cold, which he tried to cure by 
 a few drinks, brought him smack into alcoholism, which lasted 
 a week. When he came out of that siege he commenced to 
 attend A. A. meetings, to which I went with him. 
 
 From then on I felt I was living over a powder keg. I was 
 now worse off than before. Before long he again fell victim to 
 drink. I could take it no, longer. My worst fears have now 
 come to pass. A building stands firm and immovable, anchored 
 in solid earth. Yet it was moving away from me through rent 
 control. A marriage with what seemed a responsible human 
 being, solidly anchored in legal sanction and ceremony, rooted 
 in what seemed to be mutual love, that, too, was moving away 
 from me. Is nothing real, nothing steadfast? Is that the destina 
 to which I am bound? Is there no escape? Long I pondered 
 weighing what I had against what I was denied. They didn't 
 balance. My life was in the red. My life was bankrupt. Many 
 had no wealth, no buildings, but they did have happy mar- 
 riages. Was a happy marriage too much to ask for, to hope 
 for? Deprived of love and marriage, finding an escape in strife 
 and toil, was it asking too much to be possessed of the products 
 of a lifetime of toil, dangers, and heartache? I am not envious 
 of the happiness of others, but I was in a position where I was 
 forced, by a predatory law, conspired in by predatory politi- 
 cians, to contribute to the support and happiness of 19 families. 
 Where was my escape? I decided to find one. 
 
 On New Year's eve I decided to close my account in the 
 bank of life. I decided to cash in my chips. I decided I must 
 be a good loser — nothing thus far that I had undertaken ended 
 in final success. I decided to have one thing to my credit 
 
— 90 — 
 
 that was final. I bought two dozen, three dozen, sleeping tab- 
 lets. I was a^one in my apartment. Bernie was out on one of 
 his periodical alcoholisms. To make sure against interference 
 I locked all doors and windows. I latched the chain to keep 
 out anyone who might have a key to my door. I went to bed, 
 with a pitcher of water at my side on the table, the tablets 
 ready. At my side also I placed a large doll which Bernie had 
 bought for me on Halloween night. The doll's name was Eloise. 
 I commenced swallowing the tablets one by one until all were 
 gone. I then hugged the doll. For once in my life, since the 
 charmed days of my childhood, I felt all cares gone. For once 
 I was beholden to no one, and feared none. Not even the rule 
 against tears restrained me, and for the first time my tears 
 flowed freely. What luxury, I thought. 
 
 Through my mind surged the many events of my life, all 
 pleasant. I saw before me my sweethearts, my husbands, in 
 their best moods, I saw their smiling faces. My loneliness which 
 had ever followed me was gone. My dear parents, my brothers 
 and sister passed before me, like a moving picture film. I was 
 on a moving platform, a ship, a train, waving good-bye, asking 
 forgiveness. Gone were all worries, all cares, all ambitions, 
 all passions. What a grand feeling! A dull fear passed through 
 my otherwise peaceful mind, a fear that someone may dis- 
 turb my oncoming slumber. The ringing in my ears which was 
 faint became louder and louder, but not annoying, then fainter, 
 fainter. * * * 
 
 TVT sooner than I lapsed into a deep sleep than I commenced 
 
 to hear voices, faintly at first, then louder, gradually it 
 became light and I began seeing objects which turned out to be 
 faces. I was in a hospital. As I regained consciousness, I was 
 told that I had been in a coma for several days. The only one 
 I saw upon awakening was Frank. I later learned what had 
 
— 91 — 
 
 happened in the interim. Needless to say, I was deeply disap- 
 pointed in coming out of my sleep. I had a taste of real peace, 
 whch was oh, so soothing. I lost again, even in my rendezvous 
 with death! Even death tossed me back. 
 
 On the morning following my suicide attempt, my mother 
 told my dad that through the night she heard my voice calling 
 to her. Dad scoffed at her superstition and said that she over- 
 ate, or had too much wine and it was disturbing her sleep. 
 But mother persisted. She called my number on the telephone, 
 but after considerable ringing she received no response. She 
 became alarmed. She said, "Millie never leaves home that early, 
 even on ordinary days." They hurried to my apartment. Dad 
 had a key. Upon opening he found the chain latch fastened 
 which could only be fastened from inside. They broke a win- 
 dow. They found me unconscious. They summoned the police. 
 Chief Konovsky hurried to the scene and personally took me 
 to the hospital.* 
 
 By a strange premonition, also, Frank called by long dis- 
 tance. He came by train to the hospital, where I remained 
 about two weeks. When I recovered sufficiently to be taken 
 home, Frank lifted me in his arms and into a taxi and took 
 me home. Meanwhile my mother took charge of my apartment 
 and locked it against Bernie. They told him of their disappoint- 
 ment with him. 
 
 I now felt that I was again tossed into a world of strife 
 and unrest. I had failed to break loose from the chains which 
 shackled me, and was thrown back to carry on the struggle. 
 Bernie was one of the chains. I told him our relationship must 
 end. Frank offered to come back. I refused. I again told him 
 
 * Chief Konovsky mentions this incident in his defense to a suit against 
 him in the Federal court. 
 
— 92 — 
 
 that such a relationship, as we had before, would be unfair to him 
 as well as to me. They left. Later I sued for divorce from Bernie. 
 Again I went into action. Without Frank or Bernie, I was 
 now free — alone, but free. Free to resume my battles — my bat- 
 tle with life, and my battle to save my building which rent 
 control was destroying. I went to work in and around the 
 building, scrubbing floors, cleaning walls, and working daily far 
 into the night. 
 
 HP HROUGH Bernie I had met Ray, with whom we spent many 
 a pleasant hour. Ray was deucedly handsome in his rugged 
 sort of way. He had plenty of schooling, but his powerful 
 physique showed his inclination to the rough-and-tumble kind 
 of pastime. He liked foot-ball, wrestling and boxing. His 
 hands were large and tough. Yet he was gentle and sympathetic. 
 He never failed when we needed some work which required 
 muscle. With Bernie gone, I commenced to learn to drive my 
 car. I got myself into an accident and had to get the car to a 
 garage for repairs. Ray was a machinist, with a rare talent in 
 the use of tools. He could repair almost anything mechanical. 
 I telephoned to him and asked him< to help me with the car. 
 He came promptly and took care of things. Later he taught 
 me to drive. As time went on, we were drawn together more 
 and more. I continued to put in many hours of scrubbing and 
 working in and around my building, which made it the more 
 desirable to find a few hours of relaxation. 
 
 At such times Ray was welcome. I was as welcome to him. 
 as he didn't appear to have any girl friends. He was not a 
 ladies' man. As I said, his interests leaned toward athletics. 
 Our conversations were the usual type, politics, sports, news- 
 paper headlines and such. As time went on we met more and 
 
— 93 — 
 
 more often. He commenced to call while I was working and 
 he would oblige by offering to help and to make minor repairs. 
 
 He asked me to marry him. At first I did not take him, 
 or myself, seriously in that particular. He persisted. On an 
 occasion when I consulted my attorney regarding eviction of a 
 tenant, I mentioned that I might marry again. The attorney 
 cautioned me about permitting my real estate to become involved 
 under the laws pertaining to dower. He suggested that before 
 marriage I should have my fiance sign a pre-nuptial agreement. 
 
 When the subject of marriage came up again, I told Ray 
 that I would prefer a trial marriage, for at least a year, so we 
 might have a chance to see if our marriage would work. He 
 agreed. For a time Ray was an ideal companion. He did all 
 the janitor work, made repairs, brought his pay home, and all 
 seemed well. As time went on Ray commenced to fret about 
 his position with me, and wished to get married. I mentioned 
 a pre-nuptial agreement, and he didn't look upon it with favor. 
 
 When he brought the subject of marriage again, we spoke 
 of the legal effect on the building against which my attorney 
 warned me. Ray resented entering into any contracts and became 
 quarrelsome. He had previously shown a readiness with his 
 fists, not against me, of course. On more than one occasion 
 he was quick to slap and strike someone who made remarks to 
 or about me, and once struck a man when he thought the man 
 touched me. Alone with him, it seemed that something I said 
 displeased him, and he responded by administering a resounding 
 slap. I was flabbergasted. I became frightened. I dared not 
 provoke him further. I kept silent, but my silence itself was 
 threatening. He made profuse apologies, and fervent promises, 
 but I made no reply. I was too scared. 
 
 The next morning I called a locksmith and had the lock 
 changed. I packed his clothes and belongings, took a taxi and 
 
— 94— 
 
 brought them to his sister. From his sister's home I telephoned 
 to him at the shop. I said, "Hello, honey. I am at your sister's. 
 You will find your clothes there. You and I have parted." "I'll 
 meet you at home right away," he replied. "No, you won't, 
 dear. You don't live there any more." "Wait where you are," 
 he said, "I'll be right over." "I'm leaving now, so youi won't 
 find me. Just mail me your key." "No, I won't," he said. 
 "You needn't, then," I said "I've changed the lock on the door. 
 Good by." "But why won't you meet me, so we can talk it 
 over?" "I'm too scared to do that, after what happened last 
 night. Good bye, dearie." 
 
 After that episode, he drove by quite frequently. He was 
 as cordial as if nothing had happened. So was I. 
 
 As I look back I suspect the trouble was that my sense of 
 justice was too keen, as was my sense of responsibility. There 
 was an almost inviolate sense of rhythm in the household of my 
 childhood. With all my violation of set conventions, I was still 
 struggling for the firm earth of convention. My violations were 
 the price I paid to gain or regain a decent standard of life. 
 I was not seeking things which were beyond attainment. There 
 are frustrated women who demand things which are not to be 
 had. Like trying to find the 5th Ace in a bridge deck. I was 
 content to forego what all women dream of, love. I did not 
 break with Frank because there was no love, but because there 
 was not a proper balance in our companionship. 
 
 With Frank as with others, love or no love, they failed to 
 grasp the other oar, the other paddle. I had to take over both. 
 True, Frank, and Bernie, and Carroll, and Albert, were willing 
 to carry pails, mop floors, and follow the routine provided for 
 them, but none went forth on their own initiative, nor did they 
 
— 95 — 
 
 take their end of any activity I organized. Frank was a willing 
 slave, but he had no independent interest whatsoever. I was his 
 only interest. We had nothing to talk about. When Percy showed 
 up, I thought, at last, I have someone to talk to me, even if I 
 could not talk to him. He was a Chicago lawyer! 
 
 Percy lost no time in proposing marriage. I was flattered. 
 I overlooked everything in the rosy prospect of being the wife 
 of a lawyer! At last I will have standing and respectability. 
 More. I will no longer have to worry about the many legal 
 problems. I will have a lawyer in every room in my house. 
 What a prospect! I accepted. The warning regarding dower 
 rights in my property didn't hold. I didn't mention a pre-nuptial 
 agreement. Percy was high up in the 50's, probably more than 
 twenty years older than I. We had a three-day honeymoon. 
 
 Back home Percy began to show his teeth. For settling a 
 slight family quarrel he charged my mother $150.00, which I 
 later learned was more than he earned in six months. In a 
 matter involving my building which he did not wish to handle, 
 we engaged a local attorney, who charged $200.00, and had 
 to give Percy a secret rebate of $50.00. He nagged me to sell 
 my building and to take a trip to Hawaii. He didn't wish to 
 live in Cicero. It was beneath his dignity. He was English 
 and spoke with a Cockney drawl, of which he was proud and I 
 was annoyed. He was allergic to clients. His office was as 
 quiet as a country cemetary. One of my great joys in my mis- 
 spent life was to get rid of my husbands. I soon got rid of 
 Percy. We had a New Year's party, and when the party was 
 over, I said, "That's all there is, my love, that's all there is." 
 
 I was enjoying being relieved of Percy when I received a 
 letter from the Internal Revenue Department. I was pinching 
 pennies and doing the work of three washwomen around the 
 house. I don't know how to keep books and couldn't employ a 
 
— 96 — 
 
 bookkeeper. I kept my bills, paid and unpaid, in an orderly 
 manner in a box. The letter, all such letters of a legal nature, 
 gave me the willies. They require the services of a lawyer, for 
 which the income of my building was not sufficient. But I had 
 no choice. I employed an Attorney who accompanied me to 
 the Department. The government attorney asked for my books. 
 I said I didn't have any; that all I had was the box of bills. He 
 didn't like the idea. I turned the box over to him. Then fol- 
 lowed a conversation between the two lawyers, with some murabo- 
 jumbo. After weeks of investigation and figuring it was found 
 that I had overpaid, and I received a refund. 
 
 But for three days we argued about $600.00 I paid for a 
 new sidewalk, which I had deducted from my income tax. The 
 government attorney insisted it was not an expense but an invest- 
 ment. "Look, mister," I said, "The town officials threatened 
 me with penalties and forced me to remove the old sidewalk and 
 put in a new one. I had to pay for it. I didn't make an invest- 
 ment in the sidewalk. I don't own it. If you want it, you can 
 have it. Come and get it. All the people in Cicero walk on it. 
 I can't sell it. The money I paid for it I can't get back. You're 
 giving me a hard time." He finally relented. 
 
 don't wish to become monotonous by again referring to my 
 eyesight, which had improved considerably. Also, it may 
 have had something to do with a man whom I am about to name 
 — a Negro attorney. His name is George C. Adams, with an 
 office in the Chicago Loop. I met him by accident, as I will 
 soon relate. I did not have the slightest notion that he was a 
 Negro. If his complexion is of a dark texture, it was as light 
 if not lighter than that of many white men. His features were 
 that of a white man. 
 
— 97 — 
 
 I had been repeatedly advised by friends and even my 
 attorney to file a petition to the Rent office for an increase in 
 my rents, and I had often thought of so doing. But the subject 
 of rent control was for years a political football, and it was 
 being kicked around. Hardly a day but that newspapers an- 
 nounced the end of controls. I had one experience in filing such 
 a petition, which took two months to prepare and to file by my 
 attorney, then seven more months before the Rent Office acted 
 upon it, then denied it. 
 
 The Town of Cicero will go down (not up) in history for 
 more than one reason. It is unique as a tiny commonwealth. 
 It enjoys what is known as "home rule." It is governed under 
 an exclusive town charter, by eight trustees, a Town President^ 
 Vice President, Secretary, Attornev, et al. The chief issue in 
 Cicero's political campaign was Freedom vs. Rent Control, when 
 candidates denounced the loss of freedom and loss of property 
 by owners, under the rent control system. Everywhere the 
 promise of turning back rental property to owners was heard. 
 Speakers spoke of the great progress this country has made 
 under our system of free enterprise, and denounced the socialistic 
 concept of taking away the property from one class of American 
 citizens and giving it to another and more numerous class, as 
 bribery for their votes. 
 
 Meetings were called by the town officials in the Cicero 
 Town Hall where the subject of control and decontrol was dis- 
 cussed. Facts and figures favored decontrol. It was pointed 
 out that owners of property were in a hopeless situation if the 
 question of their ownership and control of their property were 
 in the hands, not of owners, but in the hands of politicians and 
 their constituents who do not own the property. Is there any- 
 thing wrong with such logic? I am supposed to own the build- 
 ing. I must pay taxes and expenses. The politicians are not 
 
— 98 — 
 
 paying for my building, but I am paying for the politicians. 
 I am not complaining. Running a government takes money. 
 I am happy to pay my share. I do complain when my building 
 is taken over by the politicians and turned over to those who 
 have no right to it. Under what is called "rent control," if my 
 ownership and conduct of my property is to be voted upon by 
 strangers to it, I have but one vote against forty or fifty adults 
 who live in my building. They can vote that I should contribute 
 to the cost of their drinking parties, to their expensive clothes, 
 to their high-priced automobiles and to their fur coats and 
 extravagances while I scrub the halls and do their janitor work 
 because they won't pay for such services under "rent control," 
 and while I spend sleepless nights to find means of paying for coal 
 to keep them warm, and stand in constant danger of losing my 
 building. 
 
 The meetings at the Town Hall went on and on, and 
 promises by the Cicero Town officials were repeated again and 
 again, for almost the entire year of 1950. Meanwhile towns 
 and cities throughout the United States were being decontrolled. 
 Yet Cicero procrastinated. 
 
 Years before I had any thought of myself as owner of a 
 big building, those carefree days before we faced the facts of 
 life, before the spirit of European dictators had reached this great 
 free country, I debated world politics with my dad. I knew 
 very little about politics. I only knew what I had learned at 
 school, and from my then daily experience. In a general way 
 I knew something of the life in other countries. Neighbors, 
 even my dad, would tell stories of the countries they left. Pride 
 of our country, of its flag, of its freedom, of the opportunities, 
 was the core of our thinking. Yet because of discrimination 
 against Italians those days, with the rise of Mussolini in Italy, 
 and the build-up in the press, my dad would show enthusiasm 
 for the New Deal in Italy. 
 
— 99 — 
 
 I could not understand my dad's viewpoint. To me, Mus- 
 solini meant arrogance, injustice, disorder and strife. Now 
 that we were caught in the concentration camp of rent control, 
 I blamed Mussolini for the pattern he had set for the New 
 Deal here. 
 
 This is a country of many peoples, all in one nationality. 
 Our language has borrowed from all others. Before rent control 
 a landlord was respected. He was patrone di casa* That was 
 the term applied to little me, as mistress of my splendid "estate," 
 commanding majestically the frontier, where Berwyn ended and 
 Cicero started. The New Deal hurled me from my perch. 
 
 * •» 
 
 |" N my building there were, in all, fifty-one people, not count- 
 ing myself. For their benefit, not for mine, I lived with 
 Frank. Frank was a slave to my building. He worked without 
 pay. His devotion made him dull, or was it because he was dull 
 that he had that devotion? I was torn between my obligations 
 to Frank, my rebellion against dullness, and the needs of my 
 building with its restricted rent control income. I weakened to 
 the insistence of Bernie, and sent Frank away, not without an 
 aching conscience. I married Bernie, who, in his insistence, did 
 not realize that in taking me he also took on, without pay, fifty- 
 one tenants. It was a case of "Love me, love my tenants." And 
 some of my tenants looked down upon me. I was the wash- 
 woman. I married Bernie who was a member of the AA, but 
 had quit drinking for two years. But the incessant toil on the 
 building without pay drove him to drink again, and I was again 
 left to struggle alone with the work. 
 
 * * 
 
 I 
 
 began to get weary of the double-talk of Cicero officials. I 
 heard the Property Owners League over the radio. They 
 
— 100 — 
 
 promised assistance to landlords. I went to a meeting. I was 
 given a membership card, which I signed, and paid ten dollars 
 for membership. Attorney Adams was called upon to address 
 the meeting. He spoke deliberately and fluently. He spoke of the 
 sorry plight of the landlords. 
 
 "Rent control was ushered in along with other wartime 
 regulations," Attorney Adams said. "They called it a war 
 measure. The war has ended years ago. In some towns the 
 control is ended. But not in Chicago and Metropolitan Chicago, 
 oh, no, And why? Because of politics and corruption. It is up 
 to us to put a stop to rent control. Wisconsin is free. Why 
 aren t we t 
 
 At the close of the meeting the President introduced me to 
 Attorney Adams, who gave me his card, which I put into my 
 purse without examing it. Adams said, "My office is just a few 
 feet away, at 64 West Randolph. The property Owners League 
 hold their meetings here, at 32 West Randolph Street." I asked 
 him if he were a lawyer. He said, "Yes, for over thirty-two 
 years." "Do you specialize in real estate?" I asked. To which 
 he replied, "You bet I do. The need was never greater than it 
 is now. If you have any friends who are landlords, send them 
 in to see me." 
 
 Thereafter I continued to attend the meetings at the Cicero 
 Town Hall and the Property Owners League alternately. I be- 
 came more acquainted with Adams with the attendance at those 
 meetings. The meetings bolstered my confidence. I began to 
 make plans for further improvements on my building. 
 
 Some came to the meetings to "blow off steam," some to 
 learn the latest news about decontrol, others to get sympathy. 
 It was pointed out that some politicians claimed to hold on 
 to controls as a measure against inflation. Inflation happens 
 when there is more money in circulation than products to buy 
 
— 101 — 
 
 with it, so that buyers compete for the products and force prices 
 upward. It seemed clear, then, that tenants who are permitted 
 to withhold part of the rent due landlords have that much more 
 money to spend and thereby bring about inflation. 
 
 I don't wish to weary my readers with seeming repetitions 
 about my building, controls and decontrols, and meetings. I 
 was myself weary of such meetings. I longed to go dancing and 
 to an occasional movie. I will therefore ask the reader to bear 
 with me a little further if I seem to repeat, for these seeming 
 repetitions will lead to the heretofore untold facts regarding the 
 Cicero "race" riots, the destruction of my building, the strange 
 behavior of the courts, my involvement with Negroes, my im- 
 prisonment, confinement in a mental institution, and the chain of 
 events which followed. 
 
 Nor do I wish to wave the flag, as they do in vaudeville, to 
 get applause. Yet I do wish my readers to follow my trend of 
 thought. We all admire landscapes, beautiful trees, flowers, 
 architecture and the colors of the skies. The endless miles of this 
 vast country gladden our eyes and hearts. But you do have a 
 greater attachment for the one tree you planted, for the rose 
 bush you nourished, for the one spot where you were born, for 
 the home you built. My building which bid welcome to all 
 who entered Cicero had its imprint on many birth certificates, 
 perhaps of some who would rise to fame and power. 
 
 I learned a lot about politics, things which affect your daily 
 life, dear reader. I have neither the patience to explain, nor 
 would you probably have the patience to read my explanation. 
 But in the case of Cicero, its very existence depended upon the 
 
 tolerance of its politicians. 
 
 * * * 
 
 ^ ugust 28, 1950, I went to the Cicero Town Hall, the final 
 meeting when the fate of Decontrol was to be announced. The 
 
— 102 — 
 
 hall was crowded, with every inch of space taken. Both land- 
 lords and renters assembled. The atmosphere was tense as the 
 chairman came forward to the rostrum and announced: 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen: I have been commissioned to read 
 and publish the Resolution passed by the Town Board governing 
 the much-debated question of Rent Control. I have before me 
 a copy of the resolution which I am reading." 
 
 The chairman then read the following resolution: 
 
 RESOLUTION 
 AUG. 28, 1950 
 
 We the duly elected Officials of the Town of Cicero, 
 chosen by our people to administer local affiairs and charged 
 "with the duties and responsibilities of meeting and solving 
 all local problems are now confronted with the duties and 
 responsibility of passing judgment on the problem of rent 
 controls which were created by the Congress and President 
 of the United States as a war measure originally and continued 
 for more than five years after the war in violation of human 
 rights contrary to the spirit and letter of the American Con- 
 stitution. 
 
 First, this Board wants to go on record that it was 
 unfair of Congress to create a problem that unbalanced Ameri- 
 can economy, then turning over that uncontrolled situation to 
 local Officials for an ultimate solution. 
 
 Second, we feel that the greatest natural wealth, the 
 most precious possession of man, is the earth. For thousands 
 of years before Christ, man's security and safety from hunger, 
 •from fear, from the ravages of weather, was land and so it is 
 today. The thousands of people in Cicero have dedicated 
 their life's work and their life's savings so that they might 
 possess a small plot of land so that they might build a roof 
 over. their head, so that they might overcome adversity in their 
 old age, by renting a part of that roof and enjoy the fruits of 
 their labor and their savings. 
 
 For almost two hundred years the Constitution and the 
 Government of the United States has given our people that 
 privilege, that inducement, that reason to work and save, plus 
 the privilege of doing what they wanted with that home and 
 charging whatever rent they felt they had coming to share 
 their home and children with others. 
 
 During the last war, this privilege was taken from the 
 
 
— 103 — 
 
 people, but nobody could explain because salaries were frozen, 
 food commodities, except rents and even in this respect, controls 
 were taken away from the store, office rents, furnished apart- 
 ments and new home units. Thus, everything reverted to free 
 enterprise 1 the system that has made America great and pros- 
 perous, except that piece of ground that our Americans saved 
 and bought and chose to share with their neighbors. 
 
 Since that time and even before that, the cost of living 
 has increased, the cost of operating a home or rental unit has 
 doubled and tripled. It is no secret today that our dollar is 
 worth only 30c of its 1938 value. The cost of government has 
 increased, too. Our police and firemen cannot live on $150 a 
 month that they were paid then. We cannot buy gasoline for 
 lie a gallon, trucks for $1200, or pick up our garbage at the 
 'costs of 1938. Although the salaries of your Town Officials 
 remain the same, all other costs have increased and, in most 
 instances, have doubled. 
 
 How are these costs paid? By taxes. Who pays the 
 taxes? The Landlord and landowners. Can he arrange to 
 ishare these increases with the tenants? As long as we have 
 Federal controls, the answer is "NO". 
 
 We recognize too well that there are more tenants than 
 landlords; we appreciate the fact that it would be positively 
 expedient to get more votes by stringing along with the tenant, 
 yet, we cannot help but recognize that we were elected and 
 sworn in to perform our duties and always distinguish between 
 right and wrong and protect the American way of life. We 
 recognize also that rent controls have lasted too long, that there 
 can be instances where unscrupulous landlords might attempt 
 to gouge their tenants by charging excessive rentals. Such 
 conditions should not be tolerated nor left unpunished. We 
 feel that if the Congress of the United States was sincere in 
 turning the responsibility of rent controls to local government 
 so that we might administer them, that such instances of un- 
 scrupulous landlords would most certainly be heavily punished, 
 but Congress chooses to administrate rent controls through a 
 Housing Expeditor whose poor judgment has caused thousands 
 of unfair cases to exist in this metropolitan area. We urge, 
 with all sincerity that the Congress which created rent controls 
 shall pass legislation to eliminate the possibility of unscrupulous 
 landlords from taking advantages of their tenants and go on 
 record together with the thousands of other municipalities in 
 the United States who are voting to decontrol that Congress pass 
 such legislation as quickly as possible. 
 
 Therefore, Be It Resolved by the President and Board of 
 Trustees of the Town of Cicero that Federal rent controls end 
 
— 104 — 
 
 within the Town of Cicero on December 31, 1950, unless other- 
 wise provided for by legislation of the Congress of the United 
 States. 
 
 Be It Further Resolved that a copy of this Resolution be 
 forwarded by the Town Clerk to the President of the United 
 States, the United States Senators from Illinois, to the members 
 of Congress from the 6th Congressional District and to the 
 Office of the Housing Expeditor. 
 1. 
 (Public Law 880 - 81st Congress) 
 (Chapter 1139 - 2nd Session) 
 (SJ. Res. 207) 
 JOINT RESOLUTION 
 To continue for a temporary period of certain provisions 
 of the Housing and Rent Act of 1947, as amended: 
 
 Resolved By the Senate and House of Representatives 
 of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That 
 Section 204 (.!).. of the Housing and Rent Act of 1947, as 
 amended is hereby amended by striking out "December 31, 
 1950" in each place it occurs therein and inserting in lieu 
 thereof "March 31, 1951." 
 
 Sec. 2. Section 204 (j) (3) of the Housing and Rent 
 Act of 1947, as amended, is hereby amended by inserting before 
 the period at the end thereof a colon and the following: "Pro- 
 vided Further, That as used in this Act the term Resolution 
 shall not be construed lo be limited to ordinances or other 
 legislative acts, and any Resolution heretofore adopted by any 
 •local governing body is hereby declared to be effective for the 
 purport of tiiis Section 204 (j) (3) or Section 204 (f) (l) r 
 whether or not such Resolution was legislative in character; and 
 no suit or action shall be brought under Section 205 of this Act, 
 or any other provision of law, on the basis of any administrative 
 decision of any court that the Resolution described in this Act 
 must be a legislative Act." 
 
 Approved December 20, 1950. 
 
 Pandemonium broke out. I screamed with excitement! The 
 applause, stamping, whistling and shouting lasted several minutes, 
 I continued to shout, but no one heard me. 1 waved my hands 
 and cried I am again patrone di casa. Soldiers in uniform 
 shouted "That's what we fought for!" I forgot to mention that 
 decontrol was not opposed by Cicero renteis. They knew that 
 rentals were far below maintenance standard. Were it not for 
 
— 105 — 
 
 the prohibitive law of rent control they would have paid a higher 
 rent willingly. Renters looked forward to a reasonable attitude 
 on the part of the landlords. 
 
 At last landlords were emancipated. The bitterness which 
 I often felt against the politicians who enslaved me, and which 
 at times spilled over to my tenants, left me with the blessing 
 of freedom granted by the decontrol resolution. Tlie freedom 
 which was so precious I was determined not to abuse. That 
 precious freedom was a sacred trust. My ownership of a parcel 
 of the United States, symbolic of freedom, was also a trust to be 
 exercised according to American tradition. I did not rush back 
 to impose hardships on the tenants in retaliation for the hardships 
 I had suffered. I did not intend to follow the path of vote- 
 hungry politicoes. I took my tenants into my confidence, not 
 because I feared they might move. Heavens, no! There was no 
 shortage of rental property in Cicero other than was caused 
 by rent control. On the other hand, my constant improvements 
 of the building, in and out, resulted in a long waiting list 
 of renters. I asked each tenant how he or she felt about in- 
 creases. I did not increase those who were paying $65.00 per 
 month, although decontrolled apartments of comparable effi- 
 ciency and value brought twice that amount. One tenant was 
 worried about the increase. He thought his rent would be 
 doubled. His increase was but $4.37 per month. An increase 
 to another large family was $5.00 per month. The apartments 
 were equalized to $65.00 per month. 
 
 At last! The building which I struggled to take care of has 
 been set free to take care of me! 
 
 Ownership of multiple rental units involves employment of 
 an attorney. My attorney in Berwyn was honest, reasonable 
 and efficient. Had I no further experience beyond this stage, 
 in writing this, I would not have used the word "honest." In 
 
— 106 — 
 
 specifying that my attorney was honest, I am implying that there 
 are some who are not. I looked upon an attorney as trustworthy, 
 learned and dignified. In the hands of lawyers the very lives of 
 their clients are often placed, as much so as we place our lives 
 in the hands of doctors. My Berwyn lawyer guided me in 
 placing my tenant-landlord relationship on a legal basis. 30- 
 day notices were required, which my attorney prepared and 
 sent to my tenants to indicate the effective date of the new 
 schedule of rents, as of January 1st, 1951. 
 
 The Cicero resolution decontrolling rental property was 
 discussed in Chicago and surrounding towns. The Free Enter- 
 prise, a newspaper published by The Property Owners League, 
 printed the full text of the resolution. I continued to attend 
 meetings of the League. I asked Attorney Adams what he 
 thought about the Resolution, and he replied, "That's fine." 
 
 Headlines in Chicago and suburban newspapers announced 
 
 Cicero's decontrol resolution; radio announcers reported that 
 
 rent control ended in Cicero. 
 
 * * * 
 
 T> EFORE the effective date of my notices, there was a rumor 
 
 that the rents were not decontrolled in Cicero. I telephoned 
 the Cicero town attorney, but he had left for Florida on vaca- 
 tion. I called my Berwyn Attorney and he was out of town. 
 
 All tenants but one paid the increase. 
 
 The rumor about Cicero not being decontrolled persisted. 
 I became worried again. I telephoned to Mr. Sandusky, the 
 town's president, at his home. I asked to see him at his office. 
 
 He consented to see me. I arrived at his office before he did, 
 and waited. He soon arrived and talked to me sitting on the 
 rorrmr of his desk. The following was the conversation: 
 
 T: Mr. Sandusky, I hear rumors that Cicero is not de- 
 controlled. 
 
— 107 — 
 
 Sandusky: Is that so? 
 
 I: Don't you know? 
 
 Sandusky: I didn't read the resolution. (He was in the hall 
 when it was read. — The resolution was under his signature as 
 president). 
 
 I: This is serious, Mr. Sandusky, I own a 20-apartment 
 building in this town, which is not paying for itself. 1 must 
 know whether or not the rent is decontrolled. 
 
 Sandusky: Why don't you ask a lawyer? 
 
 I: Is the Town Attorney in his office? 
 
 Sandusky: No, he is on vacation. 
 
 I: When will he be back? 
 
 Sandusky: In about six or seven months — may be a year, 
 who knows? (enter a rough-looking character). 
 
 I: What was that hullabaloo about the resolution announc- 
 ing that Cicero was decontrolled? 
 
 Character: You heard what the man said, ask your lawyer. 
 
 I: Mister, I'm not talking to you. 
 
 Character: You're asking too many questions. I will get 
 the FBI after you. 
 
 I: Are you a trustee or official of Cicero? 
 
 Character: Who's asking who? 
 
 I: Then mister, I have an appointment with Mr. Sandusky. 
 Get going. 
 
 Sandusky: That's a $64.00 question — The Federal govern- 
 ment is bigger than we are. 
 
 I: But Los Angeles is decontrolled. 
 
 Character: Then why don't you go to Los Angeles? 
 
 I: I am not talking to you, you had better get out of here, 
 (to Sandusky) You stalled us a year, and we're worse off than 
 before. 
 
— 108 — 
 
 I then left the office. I rushed to Chicago to consult a 
 lawyer, one who had been recommended. Arriving, I was in- 
 formed that he had not come down bcause of illness. I felt 
 defeated, as so many times before. The Property Owners League 
 didn't then come to my mind. Out of the building, I walked 
 along benumbed mentally. Someone said, "Hello, Miss DeRose." 
 I looked up at Attorney Adams. I told[ him I came down to 
 find out about decontrol in Cicero, that I wished to obtain an 
 official decision. He asked me to follow him to his office, which 
 I did. 
 
 At the office, Attorney Adams assured me that Cicero was 
 decontrolled; that he had been following such matters closely; 
 and that I had nothing to worry about. I then explained that 
 all but one tenant in my building paid the increase. Adams 
 said that he would serve her notice and bring the tenant to 
 terms. I cautioned Adams that I am eager to follow all rules, 
 all laws, all regulations, however severe, because I didn't 
 wish to invite more trouble than I am having; that he should 
 take no steps which would bring me into a clash with the Rent 
 Office or the Cicero authorities. He assured me again and 
 again of his knowledge, experience and his awareness involving 
 rent control laws and regulations. He said: 
 
 "That's my specialty. I am Vice President of the Property 
 Owners League. I am a lawyer for 32 years. Leave everything 
 to me, I will keep you out of trouble, not getj you into any." 
 He told me, also, that to get action from the rent office I must 
 have the right lawyer. This statement registered with me. I 
 knew of apartments in Chicago which brought over $100.00 per 
 month against similar apartments held down to no more than 
 $45.00. I knew of owners in Chicago who somehow got raises 
 again and again from the rent office, while others got nothing, 
 nowhere. An investigation into the rent office in Chicago would 
 
— 109 — 
 
 bring out interesting facts. However, I did not wish to jockey 
 with the rent control law. I wanted justice, not for myself 
 only, but for my tenants as well. I knew from my pavement- 
 pounding days that one lawyer could open doors that another 
 lawyer could not. But I now had reached a level of respectability, 
 even of dignity. I had come a long way in my climb to the 
 summit. I didn't wish to slip back to violations, any violations. 
 If the law itself was wrong, I wished to be right — -even with a 
 wrong law. I felt that the lawyer who had the in to get more 
 than the law allows, could surely get less than the law allows 
 If Cicero were really decontrolled, I felt Adams would know, 
 from his connection with the League; and if not decontrolled, 
 he could properly file a "hardship" petition and have my peti 
 tion approved. 
 
 At his request I gave him the name of the uncoooperative 
 tenant, stating that I had served her notice of the increase to 
 $65.00 per month, as to the rest of the tenants. He prepared a 
 letter to the tenant which read, in part, as follows: 
 
 "You are hereby notified that your tenancy of the apartment 
 which you occupy at 6141 West 19th street, Cicero, Illinois, will 
 terminate on the 28th day of February, 1951. 
 
 "Should you continue %o occupy said premises, the rent for 
 said use and occupancy will be $90.00 per month." 
 
 I called to Mr. Adams attention the error in the amount 
 of rent. Mr. Adams said that by raising the rent higher it 
 would make it easier to get her out of the building. Also, while 
 the letter was being typed I reasoned with Mr. Adams that it 
 might be better to take the matter up with the Rent Office to 
 avoid any possible proceeding. He said that landlords have no 
 standing in the rent office, and any request by a landlord 
 is ignored and may take months before it is acted upon, if 
 at all. * '■• 
 
— 110 — 
 
 T became even more skeptical when I sensed a studied silence 
 
 on the part of my tenants. Determined to avoid trouble, 
 I made my way to the rent office unbeknown to Attorney 
 Adams, while at the same time I called at his office almost every 
 other day to inquire about a response to the letter he had sent. 
 At the Rent Office, I went from floor to floor inquiring about 
 Cicero rent control. The first three rent office attorneys said 
 that Cicero was decontrolled. A fourth one said it was not 
 decontrolled. On the next floor as many said yes as no. 
 
 I had a premonition that all was not well. When I re- 
 turned to Attorney Adams' office, he sensed my indecision. I 
 suggested to him that he should ask some of the other lawyers 
 about my situation with my tenants. I also asked about his 
 nationality, his experience and if he would give* me some ref- 
 erences. That provoked a flood of words with which he pinned 
 me down. 
 
 He said he was 62 years old, 32 years a lawyer, and that 
 he was "creole," or French and Indian, and that he was a 
 grandson of President John Quincy Adams, and he played in 
 the White House when a child ; that he served during the second 
 world war on the peace time draft, located in Washington, D. C. 
 where he personally knew the late President Roosevelt. He showed 
 me two citations hanging on his wall. 
 
 Attorney Adams said that he owns an insurance company, 
 his own newspaper, and large real estate holdings. Also that 
 he employs three attorneys to assist him in his work. In my 
 presence he telephoned to high public officials, and as I called 
 from time to time, he introduced me to an Alderman and other 
 important people. Surrounding Atttorney Adams, in and out 
 of his office, were both colored and white. 
 
 My next shock was a letter from the Housing Expediter 
 accusing me of violations. During my frequent visits. Attorney 
 
— Ill — 
 
 Adams made various suggestions for what he advised would 
 protect my property, and increase my income, which I will 
 enumerate, namely: 
 
 That I should 1 incorporate the building and sell the indiv- 
 idual apartments to the tenants. I would thereby get my money 
 out and yet have control of the building. 
 
 That I should place a; mortgage on it, and that I could 
 make more by investing the money than I could in any real 
 estate. 
 
 That I should put the title of my building in trust, so that 
 if the Housing Authority were to obtain a judgment against 
 me for violations they would be unable to collect; and that I 
 could somehow be in better shape with reference to income tax. 
 
 He showed me files and envelopes on his desk with stocks, 
 bonds, mortgages and deeds. He said that my building was 
 a small holding in comparison with his holdings and that he 
 would show me how I could make money on investing my 
 mortgage money. 
 
 These suggestions were confusing. I felt I didn't know 
 where such steps would lead me to. On the other hand, true 
 or false, Mr. Adams' promises were pleasant to listen to in 
 contrast with the discouraging things which were happening 
 to me. 
 
 I rushed to Mr. Adams' office with the Housing Expediter's 
 letter. Mr. Adams examined it and said it didn't mean anything. 
 That he would take care of it, but that as I get so upset by 
 such trifles that I might just as well sell the apartments on the 
 co-operative plan he suggested. After some hesitation and further 
 visits, I consented to do so. Mr. Adams wrote letters to the ten- 
 ants offering to sell the apartments to them. The tenants held a 
 meeting and decided against buying. That was understandable, 
 as they were enjoying very low rental, without responsibility. 
 
— 112 — 
 
 T cannot put in writing the tread mill I was on. To my dis- 
 tress over insufficient income of my building, and the physical 
 distress over insufficient income of my building, and the physical 
 toil which shackled me, I now was embroiled with my tenants 
 and with the government housing authority. Attorney Adams 
 represented me in those matters. I now had to add to my 
 labors going to Attorney Adams' office, going to courts, to meet- 
 ings and to Cicero officials. The Chicago weather was cold and 
 forbidding. It inflicted harsh punishment on all who ventured 
 out of doors. Attorney Adams gave me assurances on the one 
 hand, but kept injecting suggestions of desperate steps to be 
 taken to avoid the consequnces of those matters — to turn my 
 building over to a bank in trust; to place a large mortgage on 
 my building; to make investments. A large mortgage would 
 help my petition for increases because I could show I was paying 
 interest. Meanwhile I could increase my income by investing 
 the mortgage money. By placing my building in trust it would 
 be out of reach of judgments or penalties. Thus, on the one 
 hand he held out the unimportance of the government's pro- 
 ceedings against me, while on the other he made significant 
 suggestions how I could avoid the consequences of such pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 In the midst of this confusion, with the nee4 of urgent 
 dental work which I dreaded, I received a long distance call 
 that Frank was in critical condition and was asking for me. I 
 recalled that he was the first to rush to my side in the hospital, 
 and I told Attorney Adams that I must leave everything and 
 take a train to a town in Wisconsin. But it was not to be. 
 Attorney Adams kept me coming to his office, from day to day. 
 Soon I received another phone call that Frank had died. 
 
— 113 — 
 
 Dying is a daily event. Death never takes a holiday, except 
 in a play. Death notices in the newspapers cause no excite- 
 ment. But Frank meant fourteen years of my life. In my struggle 
 for happiness I didn't find anyhow, I was tolerant with frank. 
 I steeled myself against a rush of mingled emotions. Then 
 I thought that his troubles were at an end whereas mine had 
 no end. 
 
 For one thing or another, I had to interrupt my work 
 to keep going to Mr. Adams' office. I was wracked by doubt. 
 A change had come over the tenants. They were hostile and 
 insolent. The Rent Office violation suit hung over me. Mr. 
 Adams was collecting the rent. In response to his letters, 
 some of the tenants, for curiosity, went to Mr. Adams' office 
 to pay. They learned sooner than I had that Mr. Adams was 
 a Negro, probably because of his association rather than from 
 his appearance. 
 
 Mr. Adams spoke sympathetically. He said, "This persecu- 
 tion will give you an idea what the Negroes have always had, 
 It is new to you, but we are accustomed to it." He said that 
 I should follow his advice to protect myself. To place a mort- 
 gage on my property, to show the added expense for interest. 
 That if I later so decide I can pay off the mortgage, so what 
 have I got to lose? Then, by placing my building in trust, the 
 suit against me for violations will be automatically dropped. 
 Then I can have a better income from the mortgage money than 
 from the real estate. 
 
 The mortgage idea did not appeal to me, but I felt that I 
 had no alternative; and the assurance that the violation case 
 will be dropped automatically and my increases granted, would 
 relieve my mind, as I had a dread for such things. I wanted 
 to be at peace with the world. 
 
 Mr. Adams also explained the advantages of forming a 
 
— 114 — 
 
 corporation. When I finally consented to the mortgage, Mr. 
 Adams gave me the name of a mortgage company, whom I 
 telephoned, and whom I asked to consult Mr. Adams. Mr. 
 Adams later went with me to the LaSalle Trust & Savings bank, 
 where I received a check for $65,000.00 minus commission 
 and expenses. At the same bank and at the same time the trust 
 arrangement was made. 
 
 Returning, Mr. Adams said, "Well, now that's settled and 
 we can go ahead. We have $65,000.00 to invest." I replied 
 that I didn't wish to tie ur> that money, that I wished to think it 
 over, that I thought we should wait until the rent increases 
 are allowed. I called to his attention that I had already sustained 
 a loss in the cost of making this mortgage, and that I had 
 wanted to keep the building unencumbered. 
 
 'TP HERE was not a day but something happened to disturb my 
 
 peace of mind. The very next morning I answered the door 
 bell. Two plain-clothes policemen appeared and showed their 
 police stars. Suppressing my dismay, I asked, "What's the 
 trouble?" 
 
 "Are you Camille DeRose?" 
 
 "Come in," I said. 
 
 "We have a complaint against you that you are employing 
 a Negro lawyer. There are plenty of white lawyers, and right 
 here in this town, and you had better employ them." 
 
 I replied that my Berwyn attorney was out of town, and 
 that the town attorney had left for Florida, so I had been told. 
 That the town attorney went where he cannot be reached by 
 the Cicero landlords, but I can't run away from my problem 
 as he did. I am stuck — I didn't create the problem. 
 
 "Well, we don't like rent control either, lady, but the Feder.il 
 
— 115 — 
 
 government is bigger than we are," replied one of the po- 
 licemen. 
 
 "The Federal government doesn't seem to be bigger than 
 the city of Los Angeles or the state of Wisconsin," I remarked, 
 "besides, rent control is not a police problem, but a legal 
 question for 4 my attorney. I will tell him you called." One of 
 the men went down stairs to a tenant. The other, in the familiar 
 gangster fashion, said: "I have a message from the chief, either 
 you change your lawyers, or get out of town." I got up some 
 nerve and told him that he should be doing his police work 
 to protect the public, not go around threatening. He said, "Lady, 
 our job is to run you out of town, with your Negro lawyer. The 
 chief wants me to tell you that you had better look for a 
 better climate. It ain't healthy for you here." 
 
 I said that if the chief had anything to say to me that he 
 should come and say it himself. He left with the remark, "0. K. 
 lady, don't complain that we didn't warn you." 
 
 The officer left and went down to meet the one in the 
 lower apartment. As I was about to leave the building the door 
 to the apartment opened and the visiting mother-in-law of the 
 tenant came out and asked to talk with me. I asked her to 
 come up to my apartment. Apparently they made the complaint 
 to the police, although this woman denied doing so. She said 
 that her daughter-in-law was very sick because Negroes may 
 come into her apartment to collect the rent, and that the 
 daughter-in-law was pregnant. I replied that I was not respon- 
 sible for the pregnancy, and that if she is afraid of people she 
 should be afraid of becoming pregnant so often. I also told her 
 that the Negroes she refers to are well-behaved, well-dressed 
 and responsible people. The lady replied that if her daughter-in- 
 law should lose her baby that she would hold me legally re- 
 sponsibel; that she fears the baby will be marked. "Besides, my 
 
— 116 — 
 
 daughter-in-law would collapse even if a Negro looked at her, 
 
 not to mention walking into her home, God forbid! She 
 
 continued, "You can't expect to pay rent and to get a receipt 
 
 from a Negro. They might touch a person's hand — their hands 
 
 are black. Why, I shudder to think of touching the hand of a 
 
 Negro," and nervously touched my hand with her finger-tips 
 
 and withdrew them as if shocked. 
 
 I said, "Mrs., you're an older woman and should know 
 
 better. At any rate, you are not a tenant here. If you will go 
 
 home and think over what you said to me, you will realize that 
 
 you are stupid and disgusting." 
 
 * * 
 
 A ROUND the latter part of February, newspaper headlines 
 
 read : Cicero Landlady Violates Rent Control. I was named as 
 the violator. I was flabbergasted. I telephoned to Attorney 
 Adams. He laughed and said it was nothing to get excited about 
 and that he would take care of it. On that day I was served 
 with a summons and a lengthy court document charging me with 
 violations and calling for payment of thousands of dollars in 
 penalties. I again telephoned Adams. As far as I can recall, 
 the following were his words: 
 
 "I have a very close friend at the rent office, and I have 
 been practicing law for 32 years. When they hear that Attorney 
 George C. Adams is at the rent office, they know I mean business. 
 This is still a free country and the people in Washington are 
 my friends . . ." 
 
 He continued mentioning his personal acquaintance with 
 F. D. R. and what action he will take in the morning. 
 
 That night brought another one of those fitful nightmares. 
 That which was to bring independence, security and contentment 
 now turned me into a criminal, pursued by the government for 
 which I sang and raised and waved flags! I dreamed that my 
 
— 117 — 
 
 house was turned into a prison; and in that dream I went 
 through a panorama of the things which did happen. For in- 
 stance, it was no dream that I went through the experience of 
 mixing my own cement, coming into the house with my hands 
 scratched and bleeding, my nails broken. All the worries of the 
 past were re-enacted in this nightmare. Even in my dream I said 
 to myself, "It can't be true, I must be dreaming." I was dream- 
 ing, but my fears seemed too true. I awoke during the night. 
 I again 'phoned Attorney Adams past midnight. I woke him 
 out of his sleep. He said cheerfully, "I know all about it. Stop 
 worrying. Bring the papers to me in the morning. I will take 
 care of everything." 
 
 I felt reassured. I prayed, "Thank the Lord, my redeemer 
 liveth." I slept more contentedly. 
 
 /^k N the day of the trial I went to the court house with Mr. 
 Adams. I was too unnerved to go into the court room. 
 I asked Mr. Adams if I could not remain in the hall outside. 
 He said I was not required, as it is a legal question, with the 
 facts admitted. I waited as if I were waiting for a jury to 
 come out with the death penalty. The door of the court room 
 swung open and shut as lawyers entered and left. The tenants 
 were huddled together, some inside and others in the hall. They 
 looked at me as if I were to be shunned, some with a sneer. 
 As the doors opened and shut I heard some of the argument. 
 The fact that the Cicero Board announced decontrol, that the 
 newspapers so announced, that the rent office so informed me, 
 all have no bearing on the issues. The only issue was that 
 Cicero was not decontrolled, and that a violation is a violation. 
 I heard Mr. Adams argue otherwise, in fragments. Finally the 
 arguments ended, and the rent control attorneys, the tenants 
 
— 118 — 
 
 and Mr. Adams emerged. From the vengeful faces of the tenants 
 I sensed that I had lost. Soon I was so informed by Mr. Adams. 
 "It's an outrage," he said. "I will appeal, even if I have to 
 pay for it myself." He then suggested that he would take over 
 the management of the building, and would teach the tenants 
 and the town a lesson they need. 
 
 "What would have happened if I had won? Would Cicero 
 have been held to be decontrolled for all landlords?" "of 
 course," Adams said. "Then," I said, "I am fighting not alone 
 for myself, but for all others, without their help. And now 
 that I lost, they can sit by and profit by what happened to me, 
 at my expense!" To which Adams replied, that nothing can be 
 done when property owners take it on the chin without fighting 
 back. Someone must show some spirit. 
 
 would like to take the reader through just a few of the in- 
 cidents which lead to the riots which may well be a pivotal 
 point in the history of human relations. The event was made 
 an international issue. Stalin seized upon it to show the world 
 that such racial strifes are part of the "American way of Life." 
 It stirred the dark races throughout the world. It should be 
 worth while to my readers to become familiar with the simple 
 facts which brought about such unwelcome results. From what 
 follows here it will be clearly seen that this tragic event in- 
 volved a conspiracy in the rent control office to single out a 
 lone woman for destruction on the one hand, and a counter- 
 conspiracy to create an incident in race relations, on the other. 
 I will therefore try to set down; these preliminary facts which 
 brought about the destruction of my building and at the same 
 time the suspicion of a billion human beings against this 
 country, our country, whom the rent control office pretended to 
 
— 119 — 
 
 serve. 
 
 By now, both tenants and landlords have some knowledge 
 of the meaning of rent control, which was brought on as 
 a war measure. You have very likely also heard or read of 
 decontrol. New rental units, built since the controls went into 
 effect, were not subject to controls. Under some circumstances 
 units under control become decontrolled. In some parts of the 
 country all apartments have been decontrolled. 
 
 Under date of July 17, 1948, I received a letter from the 
 rent control office which, in part, read as follows: 
 
 "Please be . . . further advised that the subject 
 unit, under this type of lease, became deecontrolled 
 as of January 1, 1948. 
 
 (Signed) Norman B. Shogren 
 Area Rent Director." 
 The Area Rent Director was and is the highest authority 
 on rent control, at least until his authority is reversed. Doubt- 
 less my readers had heard or experienced violations wherein 
 landlords took secret bonuses, or, openly or secretly, charged 
 higher rentals than allowed by the rent office. This I was deter- 
 mined not to do. A law is a law. It was hard going under that 
 law, but much as I would strive to have the law changed, I would 
 resist with all my strength any violation. Inasmuch as the rent 
 control office itself was undecided on many of its rules and 
 decrees, had first decontrolled certain units then repented, 
 changed, "rolled back," and gave conflicting reports, and lawyers 
 differed on interpretations, I made no move without first con- 
 sulting an attorney, even after calling upon and telephoning to 
 the rent office. Therefore, upon receiving the above letter, I 
 called upon the rent office to discuss it with them, requesting a 
 special certificate or something to make certain the ruling con- 
 tained in the letter. "What more do you want?" my attorney 
 
— 120 — 
 
 would say, "Can it be made more certain and more plain?" You 
 can take this lettetf to the Federal Reserve Bank and borrow 
 money on it," one rent office attorney remarked. 
 
 The "subject unit" referred to was apartment C-2 in my 
 building. It was being occupied by Mr. & Mrs. Pratt, at $48.87. 
 In 1947, the Pratt's came to me with an urgent request. Mrs. 
 P's mother was made homeless by a fire, in Kansas. Sh© was 
 80 years old. She had nowhere to go. Would I permit them 
 to take her to live with them. They were willing to .pay a higher 
 rental. I asked for $57.50, and they agreed. Taking in a sub- 
 tenant, under the rent control laws, had the effect of decon- 
 trolling the apartment. I told the Pratt's that before issuing a 
 new lease that I would consult my attorney. My attorney pre- 
 pared the new lease, which was signed. The P's received a copy 
 of the Area Rent Director's letter stating that their apartment 
 was decontrolled. 
 
 During June of that year an apartment on the lower floor 
 (B-4) became vacant. That apartment was so arranged that 
 the dining room could be used as a bedroom. I thought of the 
 hardships of the Pratt's. In C-2 there was but one bedroom. 
 Grandma had to retire early, Mr. P. worked and read late into 
 the night. They had to sleep on a daybed. A more important 
 feature was that B-4 was on a lower floor. Grandma was be- 
 coming more and more feeble, mentally and physically. Both 
 Mr. and Mrs P left the apartment early for their respective 
 employment, leaving grandma alone. She flooded the kitchen, 
 on one occasion; she almost burned down the house at another 
 time. In addition to all other chores, I had to watch grandma 
 steadily. Grandma had her own money, and contributed to the 
 Pratt's. My share was the few dollars above the original 
 $48.87 — a few dollars per month. Under decontrol Pratt's 
 apartment could command a high rental. Yet I did not wish 
 
— 121 — 
 
 to bring about any inequality between the tenants. 
 
 Mr. Pratt was an editor of a local newspaper, was of high 
 standing in the community, in the town hall, and had ample 
 income. Mrs. P. was a registrar of nurses of a large hospital. 
 They had no children. 
 
 I mentioned to the Pratt's that I would permit them to 
 move into the vacated apartment. They were joyful over the 
 idea. They thanked me profusely, and paid me many compliments 
 for my thoughtfulness and generosity. I realized that the move 
 required expense for decorating the apartment they were to 
 leave, not to mention the additional work in cleaning and re- 
 paring for a new tenant. The Pratt's couldn't help much, as 
 both were employed. I helped them move. I bore all the ad- 
 ditional expense. I did not apply for a "hardship" increase of 
 rent of the apartment, with rumors of the end of rent control. 
 The old lady passed away during the time meetings were held 
 at the Town Hall and the confusion regarding rent control. 
 She had been in my building over four years. 
 
 Apartment C-2 now being vacant, I decided to furnish it. 
 I consulted my attorney if I could do so. In my* presence he 
 telephoned the rent office. They replied that I could do anything 
 I wished with it. I bought inlaid linoleum, Venetian blinds 
 and did a thorough job in decorating. I also bought a custom- 
 made 4-sectional living room set, upholstered in hand blocked 
 linen print, a dark-green fabric with huge reversible cushions, 
 blond desk, blond dining table and kitchen suite, also a blond 
 holly wood bedroom suite, also lamps, draperies, all furnishings 
 and accessories to match. I worked late into the night cleaning 
 closets, washing windows and directing the decorators. I also 
 bought new sheets, blankets, bedspreads and decorations. I 
 received little help from my husband as he was drinking. The 
 joy I had from the beauty of the apartment was mixed with 
 
— 122 — 
 
 the pain of being married to an alcoholic. 
 
 The work finished, I realized that the furniture was too 
 expensive to rent as a furnished apartment. The janitor then 
 told me that a mere single furnished apartment would convert 
 the entire building to the category of a furnished apartment 
 building and a higher wage standard for the janitor. I placed 
 an ad in the "Cicero Life" to rent the apartment and furniture 
 for sale. A Mr. Turk came in response to the ad. We agreed 
 upon the price and rental, and Mr. Turk gave me a check for 
 $300.00 deposit and asked for a receipt which I gave him. 
 
 N a day or two Mr. Turk returned stating that he had 
 stopped payment on the check and how much would I pay him 
 for the receipt. At first I was confused by what he said, 
 but he didn't keep me so, for long. He bluntly said that he had 
 trapped me into a violation and threatened to use the receipt to 
 prosecute me. That I could buy back my peace by paying 
 for the receipt. I replied that he had trapped himself as the 
 apartment was decontrolled, and that I would sue him for the 
 amount of the check. I was alone with him in the apartment 
 and didn't know what he had in mind beside blackmail. I 
 acted bravely, but was afraid. I managed to get him out of 
 my apartment. 
 
 My attorney filed suit against Mr. Turk. The issue hinged 
 upon the question of decontrol of the apartment. It was de- 
 cided in my favor and I obtained a judgment against Mr. Turk. 
 To make doubly sure, before selling the furniture and renting 
 the apartment. I again spoke to my attorney, and he again tele- 
 phoned the rent office, and I was again assured that the apart- 
 ment was decontrolled. 
 
 Several days later a Mr. Willy applied for the apartment 
 
— 123 — 
 
 C-2. I sold the furniture to him at a price based upon the sales 
 slips I showed him, not charging for a variety of small stuff. 
 I fixed the rent at $65.00, again wishing to keep the rents 
 equalized. 
 
 The constant toil, running to attorneys, the attempt at 
 blackmail by Mr. Turk, my domestic trouble, all made it the 
 more necessary for periods of recreation. I made visits to my 
 folks from time to time. Steaming coffee and cake went on 
 the table upon my arrival. There I met smiling faces. I was 
 a child again! Brother Jim took me to his pigeon house, with 
 more than a hundred birds. He called each by name. I marveled 
 at his memory when most pigeons looked so much alike. Soon 
 the interval was over and I went back to my building. I often 
 wondered if I owned the building or if the building owned me. 
 
 The Willy's gave the apartment a hard time. A baby was 
 born to them. I visited them and brought the baby presents. 
 They drove spikes in the walls, did their washing and drying 
 in the apartment and carried on some sort of traffic, using 
 chemicals in the bathtub and damaging the plumbing. The apart- 
 ment in which I had done so much cleaning was becoming 
 deteriorated. 
 
 We now return to the Pratt's in the B-4 apartment. When 
 the old lady passed away she left some money. With that 
 they were refurnishing their apartment. I don't wish to burden 
 the reader with details, but to understand the storm which 
 followed it is important. I could then have applied for a ruling 
 holding the apartment decontrolled, or at least for an increase 
 because of the joint occupancy. I did not do so for two reasons, 
 one because the end of controls seemed to be imminent, the 
 other because of my confidence in human nature and the seem- 
 ing gratefulness of the Pratt's for permitting them to exchange 
 apartments and for looking after the old lady in their absence. 
 
— 124 — 
 
 Another seemingly unimportant feature was that I made a mis- 
 take and charged them a rental of $52.50 whereas the rent 
 office had registered that apartment (for two and not for an 
 additional sub-tenancy) for $51.75, a difference of 75 cents. This 
 was later held to be a major violation. It was the only error 
 in the building. In fact, I had applied to the rent office to 
 permit me to level off the uneven amounts, so that where the 
 amount was $60.37, I charged $60.00 even, and in another case 
 where the rental was, for instance, $48.87, I made it $49.00. 
 The rent office said, "Why bother to ask questions about a few 
 pennies one way or the other? Those are not violations." 
 
 When the rent office commenced the vicious prosecution 
 against me, the Pratt's joined the Indian dance around the 
 fire. The rent office set aside their decontrol order of apartment 
 C-2 which was granted under the signature of their director. 
 They claimed three violations (1) the sale of the furniture, (2) 
 raising rent under the decontrol letter, and (3) raising the 
 rent under the Cicero decontrol resolution. The prosecution 
 against me brought into question the cost of furniture and all 
 other expenditures, of which I had to supply proof. In my 
 frantic search for them I found that bills and records had been 
 left in my apartment which I had left in a hurry. I promptly 
 called at the office of the firm where I bought the greater part 
 of the furniture. I then learned there had been an explosion 
 which destroyed their warehouse and the owner and two other 
 persons were killed. They knew that I had made large purchases 
 there and gave me a letter so stating. Mr. Adams presented 
 that letter to the attorney of the rent office. He brushed it 
 aside. To the rent office it proved that I was in distress regard- 
 ing my proofs, which was to its adavntage. I didn't ever realize 
 that a government agency would find means of deliberately 
 harrassing a citizen. 
 
— 125 — 
 
 T71R0M time to time the rent office had been allowing me 
 $2.00 and $3.00 increases, indicating as a reason "improved 
 garden" and "improved heating," whereas they disallowed such 
 raises on other apartments although all enjoyed the same im- 
 provements. For example, for identical apartments, the rentals 
 were respectively, $49.45, $50.60, $60.37, $48.87, $51.25 and 
 $57.50. 
 
 In the war-whoop of my tenants each vied with the other 
 for portions of my scalp. One claimed she had given $250.00 
 to Frank, who had since died. That claim was allowed in the 
 $12,000.00 finding against me. When I noticed it, I "hit the 
 ceiling." I ran back to Adams' office. He telephoned the rent 
 office stating the claimant had no proof of such payment. Again 
 I was on an extension telephone. The reply was, "What's 
 the difference? In $12,000.00 an item of $250.00 doesn't make 
 much difference. Give the woman the $250.00." 
 
 I took what I thought was special care in selecting tenants 
 for my original apartment with the murals an artist had painted, 
 and of which I was so proud. It had cost me hundreds of dollars 
 and I was informed that the work could not have been done 
 for many times what I had paid. I talked seriously to the 
 tenants before I rented them the apartment. I asked them for a 
 deposit of $300.00 to secure the care of the art work, as an 
 additional measure, which they paid. During the confusion, I 
 had occasion to go into the apartment to turn on the thermo- 
 stat. To my horror, I found they had covered the art work 
 with a cheap wall paint. The rent office held that taking the 
 $300.00 deposit was a violation, which I had to repay, with 
 penalty. I asked that the tenants be compelled to restore 
 the art work, but the rent office said they had no control over 
 tenants. 
 
 I continued going over the list of violations charged against 
 
— 126 — 
 
 me. Each item felt like a knife thrust into my flesh. But the 
 greater surprise was to find the Pratt's on the list. I ran back 
 to attorney Adams. "What's this? The Pratt's had all the 
 advantages, in addition to a subtenant without charge." Again 
 Mr. Adams "phoned to the rent office, and again I was on an 
 extension." 
 
 Mr. Adams called to the rent office attorney's attention that 
 the item showed the rent of apartment B-4 rolled back to 1947, 
 disallowing the 15 per-cent increase on this apartment only, 
 when the increase was for the entire building. The attorney 
 replied, "That may be so, but she will have to go through the 
 courts to gain her point. We will throw the book at her. We 
 want to get her out of Cicero. She is hobnobbing with Negroes 
 and I understand she has employed a Negro lawyer." 
 
 It should be observed that the rent office attorney had 
 spoken to Mr. Adams many times in their office, and that the 
 attorney did not know that Mr. Adams was the Negro lawyer 
 he was objecting to. 
 
 At that point I watched Mr. Adams' face. He turned 
 pale. He replied, "There is nothing wrong with Negroes." The 
 rent office attorney answered, "But not in Cicero." I felt 
 sorry for Mr. Adams but more sorry for myself. I felt that 
 we were fighting a common cause. It should have been under- 
 stood, even by the rent office, that if I had intended to commit 
 violations that I would not have constantly applied to the rent 
 office and to attorneys to help me in following the rent laws and 
 to avoid violations. I realized, that if anything I did were 
 held to be violations that it was the fault of the attorneys who 
 made them. I did not. 
 
 I called to the attention of the rent office that one of my 
 tenants sold his furniture for $1,400.00 to buyers who took over 
 the apartment, and that what the buyer bought was not the 
 
— 127 — 
 
 furniture but a low rental apartment, for which the furniture 
 was a prohibited "tie-in." The rent office attorney said such 
 a sale was not a violation, and that only landlords could com- 
 mit a violation. The law did not apply to tenants. 
 
 f 1 1 HE aftermath of the court's decision were almost constant 
 conferences in Adams' office, most times upon his insistence. 
 In his office he kept me writing and repeating lists of furniture 
 in the apartments, lists of improvements, and a variety of things 
 which he impressed upon me were important. He also spent 
 hours explaining legal matters and the application of law to the 
 many sides involved in my matters. I repeated again and again 
 that I could not understand these refinements of the law. He 
 said he could appeal and reverse the whole thing. He also 
 kept assuring me that nothing could be done against me, now 
 that the title to my property was in trust, and that there was 
 also a mortgage on the building. He could ask the court to 
 set the rental. 
 
 He also said that my situation, as far as he was concerned, 
 was a minor matter, because he owned miles of land and many 
 buildings, also oil wells, and he showed maps of his holdings. 
 I was impressed, but not too confident. I called to his attention 
 that he had assured me of a favorable outcome of the rent 
 violation case, which had gone wrong. He was peeved by that 
 observation and made no reply. 
 
 During one conversation he received a telephone call. From 
 what I overheard I knew that I was the subject of the con- 
 versation. There was some mention of causing my arrest or of 
 placing me in a mental institution. I heard Mr. Adams say, 
 "They can't do that — mental tests — nonsense." He hung up say- 
 ing the Cicero police might arrest me. After all, a white woman 
 
— 128 — 
 
 with a Negro attorney must be crazy. 
 
 I asked, "Can they do that?" He said that they could not. 
 Then he said, "Why don't you let them arrest you? I could 
 sue for $100,000 for you for false arrest." I replied that I 
 didn't wish to sue anybody; that all I wished was to save my own. 
 He replied that many people would wish they had a chance 
 to get $100,000.00. I asked, "What if you fail?" He said he 
 was sure, and I again mentioned that he was sure about the 
 decontrol. 
 
 Mr. Adams was now in charge of my building. Tenants 
 kept coming to his office to pay rent, and he sent colored men 
 to look through the apartments, for appraisal of the furniture 
 and for a number of other things. The tenants became increas- 
 ingly uneasy and rebellious. Among the men who called was 
 a Negro by the name of Scott, who later came to notice in the 
 riot incident, and what followed. 
 
 i^kN one occasion while I was waiting in Mr. Adams' reception 
 ^~^ room a Cicero real estate dealer, accompanied by a woman, 
 entered. Seeing me, he asked, "Are you Miss DeRose?" 
 
 "Are you here regarding my building?" I asked. 
 
 "I'll discuss that with Mr. Adams," he replied. "Is the build- 
 ing for sale?" he continued. 
 
 "We will discuss that with Mr. Adams, also," I replied. 
 
 When Adams arrived a few minutes later, he said, "Hello," 
 to the real estate dealer, "won't you come in?" The real estate 
 dealer and the woman went in first, while I quietly asked if I 
 should also come in. Adams said that I should not, as I be- 
 come agitated, and that he would dispose of them quickly. I 
 did not go in. 
 
— 129 — 
 
 A DAMS again and again suggested that I would be better off 
 to sell my building. Such an idea was furthermost from my 
 mind. It had been my life's ruling ambition to become the 
 owner of such a building, and now that I had attained my great- 
 est dream, with so much grief and travail, a sale was unthink- 
 able. Yet Adams kept repeating, from day to day, the advant- 
 ages I would have in selling, holding out possibilities of greater 
 income. Owning and operating real estate is not for a woman. 
 They're putting landlords in jail nowadays. That law is a slow 
 process. I was puzzled because all along he had kept) assuring 
 me that all would be adjusted in thirty days. In those thirty 
 days, in sixty days, the complications increased. Now the law 
 is slow. I felt like Eliza in Uncle Tom's Cabin, running on 
 dangerous ice-floes, pursued by snarling hounds. In despera- 
 tion, I asked Adams, "What if I do sell the building?" He 
 replied, "Oh, the rent case is automatically dropped." 
 
 He then said that he had two buildings, clear of mortgages, 
 each of the value of $50,000.00 or $55,000.00; that he had 
 thought of selling both and buying a larger building; that I 
 already had $65,000.00 out of my building, and that he would 
 give the balance, $38,000.00 in cash. I replied that even before 
 I had improved the building, and as far back as 1947, I was 
 offered $110,000.00, which I had refused. He then said that 
 the building is in difficulty, but that he would buy it for $103,000. 
 I indicated that I might sell, to get relief from a mountain of 
 troubles which are piling up. In my presence he called over 
 the 'phone what he said was a real estate man who was to sell 
 his building, and finished the conversation by "Well, do you 
 think the deal will go through in two weeks?" Leaving the 
 'phone he said he would be ready to take over my building by 
 paying cash $38,000.00 in two weeks. Later on, he suggested 
 that in the meanwhile, if I were anxious to throw off the trouble 
 
— 130 — 
 
 I am in, that he would give me a second mortgage on my build- 
 ing for the $38,000.00, which he would liquidate when his 
 building would be sold. I consented, and he drew up a second 
 mortgage and note, with interest at the rate of four per-cent. 
 I called to his attention the low interest rate, and he said that 
 inasmuch as he will soon take the note up, the four per-cent was 
 immaterial. 
 
 He prepared documents which I signed. I was desperate 
 to find relief from what I had undergone and what was still fac- 
 ing me, and I felt that Mr. Adams was my only refuge. The rest 
 of the world turned against me, and I was determined not to 
 burden my parents. I did not wish to bring darkness into 
 the atmosphere of what I still considered my home. 
 
 f^ N March 20th, 1951, I signed an assignment to Mr. Adams 
 ^-* of my beneficial interest to the title to my building. He told 
 me not to mention anything about the transaction to anyone. 
 "It is better if no one knows anything about it," he said. I 
 inquired about the rent control proceeding, and he said that 
 from then on he would take all responsibility, if there were any. 
 I did not go through with the transaction as readily as the 
 above paragraphs would indicate. My mind rolled between 
 thoughts of the troubles which hounded me and the loss of 
 my building. I was now disturbed about the $38,000.00 note. I 
 kept asking Mr. Adams about the security value of the note. 
 After all, Adams had my building without any investment what- 
 soever. I kept asking him. He said that the note was backed 
 up by the LaSalle Trust & Savings Bank, who were the trustees, 
 and that they would be responsible for the payment. He again 
 and again called to my attention that I wanted a safe; invest- 
 ment, and that the security of the building and the responsibility 
 
— 131 — 
 
 of the bank should convince me that I am in no danger. Besides, 
 "I am a lawyer, and the Bar Association is responsible for every 
 lawyer." 
 
 I said that I didn't doubt his intention, but what if some- 
 thing happened to him? He then said that he would order an 
 insurance policy and would deliver it to me, to cover the mort- 
 gage of $38,000.00. 
 
 After signing the assignment of my beneficial interest, he 
 put the document in his pocket and said he would also have 
 his wife sign it. When I later saw the document I noticed the 
 name of Jewell Young. I asked who Jewell Young was. He said 
 that Jewell Young was his wife's maiden name, and that it 
 would be better not to let anyone know who had purchased the 
 building. 
 
 He said that he would move into the building. I called to 
 his attention the objection to colored people in Cicero. He said 
 that neither his wife nor he can be identified as colored, and 
 called my attention to the fact that he is generally regarded 
 as white. He also said that even if they learned 1 that he was 
 "mixed," that while they might show some resentment at first 
 that they would soon become friendly and exchange courtesies. 
 That had happened before. He had moved into white neighbor- 
 hoods and had that experience. 
 
 HP HINGS were moving rapidly, and with each change I faced a 
 new problem. I did not wish to remain in the building as a 
 
 tenant, even without threats. I had invested some $3,000.00 in 
 
 furniture, and had to dispose of it, as I had nowhere else to move 
 
 into, and I had no time to look. 
 
 On the last Sunday in March, 1951, Adams called bringing 
 
 with him a Negro man, wife and sister whom he introduced 
 
— 132 — 
 
 as Mr. & Mrs. Chas S. Edwards — and mentioned the name of 
 the other woman whieh I missed. Mr. Adams was very cheerful, 
 but I was close to what I thought was a heart-attack. Mr. 
 Edwards was noticeably like Adams in features, height, and 
 mannerisms, although of darker skin. Edwards acted imper- 
 sonally, they spoke to each other as Mr. Edwards and Mr. 
 Adams. Adams showed Edwards and the women the apartment 
 and the furniture. 
 
 I had to steel myself to the occasion. Those only who had 
 a similar experience will understand my emotions. I am now 
 to leave my home and turn over my furnishings, which I got 
 together the hard way, to people who take over with the great- 
 est of ease, while I wonder where I might find shelter, and wha^ 
 is awaiting me. Edwards said nothing about the furniture, 
 after inspection. Adams had changed his mind about moving 
 into my apartment. He said that he had too much furniture, 
 books and effects to make a sudden change. He said Edwards 
 was a smart real estate man and could take care of the building. 
 Edwards said he would let Adams know what he would decide. 
 
 Edwards made no reply regarding the furniture by March 
 28th. On that day Adams and I got together to pro-rate the 
 taxes, rent and expenses. He drew up an agreement, which both 
 he and I signed, whereby he undertook to pay one-half of the 
 accrued real estate taxes, amounting to about $728.00, in pay- 
 ment for my furniture. He said if he would sell the furniture for 
 more he would give me the difference. Again I had no alter- 
 native. I had no apartment to move it into. Then came the 
 usual coincidence — a 'phone call. He hurried out of the office 
 in the midst of the prorations. Nothing was accomplished ex- 
 cepting the agreement on the furniture. 
 
 * * 
 * 
 
— 133 — 
 
 i^ OMMENGING about the 28th of March, with the help of 
 my brother I went back and forth taking my personal things 
 from my apartment. The tenants watched with curious interest, 
 peeping through their curtains. The Berwyn and Cicero police 
 could be observed cruising about my building. A young man had 
 invited me to a Cicero night club on the evening of March 
 31st, which gave me an interval of rest. We returned about 
 twelve midnight. A police car was parked in front of my en- 
 trance. Police calls came over the radio loudly. The hall light 
 in the entrance was on in full brightness. I went to another 
 entrance, unobserved, and found a bright light also on. T used 
 my pass key to enter the connecting corridor, and I tiptoed 
 through the court. The inner door was usually open, but I 
 found it locked. I continued to step lightly so I might not be 
 heard by the tenant below, my apartment being on the third 
 floor. Reaching my apartment, I opened the door and tiptoed 
 across, without turning on the light. I watched through the 
 blinds. The night was stormy which helped me to elude the 
 tenant below me, who was on the watch, and who might have 
 heard me under calmer weather. From time to time I overheard 
 police call to each other. I watched all through the night. About 
 six in the morning I heard one say, "She isn't home yet. The 
 blinds didn't move and the lights weren't turned on." Another 
 voice said, "0. K., boys, knock off for breakfast." There were 
 probably eight or nine men in the cars in the middle of the 
 street. At about nine A. M. one of the men said, "She's got 
 to come home some time. We'll get her." 
 
 T called Mr. Adams by telephone soon after I reached my 
 
 apartment. Adams advised me to stay in, not to go out until 
 
 about nine in the morning when he will come out. I called 
 
— 134 — 
 
 him again in the morning. I told him that I was frightened, 
 that I heard someone in the hall listening at my door. Later 
 I called again. I was becoming more and more alarmed. I saw 
 the janitor strutting around the building like a conquering 
 general. The tenants were going in and out, sometimes as if 
 they were going to a picnic, and at other times as if they were 
 going to have a hanging party. The janitor kept going in and 
 out of the police cars, exchanging cigarets and chatting triumph- 
 antly. I was uneasy. What if Adams failed to arrive? What 
 if he did arrive and was taken in custody? I did not dare to make 
 coffee, but I thought I would quietly let the water run to wash 
 my face. Walking to the bathroom the floor squeaked slightly. 
 The tenant below must have heard and gave the alarm. Quickly 
 the police and neighbors sprung into action. 
 
 At that moment Adams and Edwards arrived in a car. 
 The detectives got out of their cars to meet them. I saw them 
 talking to each other and waving their hands. Then Adams 
 walked toward the building while Edwards remained outside, 
 apparently because Edwards was identified as a Negro. I opened 
 the door and watched Adams come up stairs. When he entered 
 the apartment I asked him what the detectives said. He said 
 that no Negroes may enter the building. I was ready to leave. 
 I asked Adams if the police can stop me. He said that he 
 doesn't think they dare, that they had no legal rights to stop 
 me. Adams helped me with my bags going down. When we 
 reached the sidewalk a policeman took hold of my arm and 
 said, "The Chief wants to see you." We walked towards Edwards 
 with the policeman following. 
 
 Adams gave the suit cases to Edwards, then came between 
 me and the policeman, releasing his hold. Another officer fol- 
 lowed us. The first officer and Adams were talking to each 
 other. 1 interrupted and asked Adams, "Do 1 have to go?" 
 
— 135 — 
 
 He looked at me and said, "No, not if you don't wish to." I 
 quickly said, "I don't wish to. I would like to go to my mother's 
 home and say good-by to her." 
 
 Adams resumed his conversation with the officer. I heard 
 him say, "I would like to meet your chief. We will drop Miss 
 DeRose at the home of her parents, and I will go with you 
 to Town Hall." Then, turning to me, said, "I will then come 
 back for you." We all got back into the car with Edwards 
 driving, and drove to my parents home. They left me there and 
 drove away. 
 
 Adams and Edwards soon returned, because the Chief was 
 away from his office. 
 
 "D ATHER than wait at the Town Hall, they decided to return 
 to me and wait. I asked Adams if he thought it safe to 
 return to my apartment for more of my personal things. Adams, 
 Edwards and my brothers thought that together they would not 
 be likely to have interference. We all got into my brother's 
 car and drove to the building. 
 
 Arriving, another officer grasped my arm and said, "The 
 Chief wants to talk to you." Again Adams intercepted and said, 
 firmly, "Miss DeRose is under no obligation to go to your Chief. 
 Merely as a matter of courtesy I am willing to talk lo him in 
 her behalf, but we are within our legal rights to refuse." How- 
 ever, we went to the Town Hall, to the office of the Cicero Chief 
 of Police. Chief Konovsky cleared the office of policemen who 
 had come in. There were present Chief Konovsky, Town Attor- 
 ney Berkos, Attorney Adams, Edwards and I. Both Chief Konov- 
 sky and Attorney Berkos were flushed, nervous and excited. In 
 contrast, we three were calm. Attorney Berkos spoke first, stam- 
 mering, "You know me, don't you, Miss DeRose?" I said I did. 
 
 Both the Chief and the Town Attorney offered me a chair 
 
— 136 — 
 
 together, as if they were amateur actors badly rehearsed. They 
 kept standing, while we were calmly sitting. Edwards took 
 out a cigarette and both the Chief and Berkos rushed to give 
 him a light. Berkos hand, with a light, shook so violently that 
 he had to hold it with his other hand. 
 
 Still standing, the Chief and Berkos spoke together, out 
 talking each other, "You can't do this to us!" "You can't bring 
 Negroes here!" Berkos raised the palms of his hands as if 
 pleading, while Chief Konovsky kept running his fingers through 
 his hair. They kept talking and stammering. 
 
 They finally became more calm. They said that there would 
 be bloodshed; that there never had been any Negroes in their 
 town; that they were called to the homes of some Cicero res- 
 idents who said they were armed with shot-guns and baseball 
 bats. 
 
 Adams finally spoke up and said, "Well, why didn't you 
 put them under arrest?" 
 
 "You can't arrest a man for having a gun in his home," 
 the Chief said. 
 
 "They were threatening, weren't they?" 
 
 Berkos and Konovsky kept talking excitedly, their faces 
 becoming pale at one time and red at another. Finally, Berkos, 
 also running his fingers throught his hair, said, "You just can't 
 bring blacks into Cicero." 
 
 A feeling of sea-sickness began to grip me. 1 asked to be 
 excused. Adams opened the door and I went outside. They 
 remained arguing for about an hour while I sat waiting nervous- 
 ly. When the conference ended I heard Berkos say, "You can't 
 come into Cicero, that's final." Adams replied, "I'm sorry, 
 sir, we are coming in." 
 
— 137 — 
 
 T turned my back on Cicero, or so I thought. At long last, the 
 barking dogs of rent control have become silent. The pro- 
 secution against me will die "automatically," so my "redeemer" 
 attorney Adams assured me. Did I lose my building, my castle, 
 toward which I had strived? Did I lose my furniture which I 
 had selected and paid for? Yet, in losing those I was free of 
 violations. "United States of America versus Camille DeRose!" 
 Those are words of terror. But, I keep telling myself, you can't 
 cry — doctor's orders. Now that's all over, "automatically." 
 Adams, bless him, took over the building and with it my guilt 
 as violator, my hostile tenants and a thousand and one worries. 
 Were it not for the wounds, I could laugh! But, as Abraham 
 Lincoln was quoted, saying, "I am too old to cry, but it hurts 
 too much to laugh." 
 
 Adams, again, waits upon me. He drove me to the LaSalle 
 Hotel where I registered in. A bell-hop took me to my room. 
 It was furnished with a bed, dresser, reclining chair, desk and 
 chair, a picture on the wall, closet and bathroom. My window 
 faced a brick wall. My rent was $6.00 per day, which was the 
 cheapest they had. For 31 days, that makes $186.00. That is, 
 $6.00 per day per person per room! I am now a tenant! Rent 
 control, which dictated a rate of 9 cents per day per person 
 per room for my tenants, permits a charge of $6.00 per room 
 per day for me, looking out on a bleak wall, not a garden of 
 evergreens, flowers and foliage! There is no moral to my story. 
 Nor does 1 it make sense. 
 
 Within the four walls of my hotel room I tried to shut 
 out the police and the mob which growled in Cicero. Yet I 
 thought there was something wrong with me. The whole world 
 can't be wrong! My parents bought buildings, improved them, 
 sold them, moved from one neighborhood to another, and never 
 ran into trouble. And my dad was* a foreigner. He also had 
 
— 138 — 
 
 to run — from the Turks! But he was not a Turk. He was not 
 born in Turkey. I am an American, born in the U. S. A.! 
 Do I hear right? Or is it a bad dream? United States of 
 America against Camille DeRose! I am Camille DeRose, and the 
 
 land of my birth, the land of which I am so proud, is now 
 officially against me, sealed with the great seal of this great and 
 just government! 
 
 Remember, my dear reader, I did not fight rent control. 
 I did everything in my power to comply with it. I asked 
 lawyers, even government lawyers, to tell what I may and 
 what I may not do, and the Rent Area Director, representing 
 the government, did not answer my question. Is it possible 
 that I could be prosecuted for following the written Resolu- 
 tion of decontrol? Mamma, mia! 
 
 The rent control office threw me to the wolves. I fled for 
 my life! Into the shelter of an elderly Attorney at Law, a man 
 of learning, a member of a profession bound by its ethics. At 
 this point in my story, I felt a great relief in having myself separ- 
 ated from my building, and from thousands of dollars' worth 
 of furniture. Now the burden shifted to attorney Adams, under 
 whose advice I went on. He was a lawyer. He could assert 
 his rights. He explained that the "persecution" of which he 
 relieved me, and to which I had been unaccustomed, was the 
 steady lot of the Negro; and, it seems, or so he inferred, that 
 in addition to the unspecial persecution which he endures as a 
 citizen of "mixed" ancestry, he now had taken over the additional 
 persecution by the rent office, by taking over my building! 
 
 Yet, in such Negro persecution, he need not fight alone. 
 For instance, there is the Illinois Interracial Commission, to 
 which he applied. During my various visits at his office, in the 
 early part of April, 1951, Mr. Adams introduced me to a 
 
— 139 — 
 
 Mr. Bailey, of that Commission. Mr. Adams prepared a letter 
 to the Commission, which he asked me to sign. It reads, in 
 part, as follows: 
 
 On account of the above condition, I arranged to 
 sell my furniture and to lease my apartment to Mr. 
 Charles Edwards who is a World War II veteran with 
 an honorable discharge, a law student, his wife and 
 baby. He has been engaged in the real estate business 
 for sometime. He and his wife are very decent, res- 
 pectable persons, and well educated. They would add 
 dignity and credit to any neighborhood in which they 
 lived. 
 
 I had been signing documents prepared by attorneys with- 
 out reading them. I did it again and again. I would commence 
 to read such documents and would soon get lost in the legal 
 terms. I also felt that my lawyers knew better than I what I 
 should sign. I thought that if I knew better than they I should 
 be their lawyer, not they mine. In fact, after some unfortunate 
 experiences, when I did try to look through such documents too 
 carefully, the lawyer looked offended, as if to say, "Don't you 
 trust me?" And, one lawyer did say, "Why pretend reading it 
 when you won't understand what you are reading, anyhow?" 
 
 April 5, 1951, I called at Adams' office while he was in a 
 conference with Mr. Bailey. Adams had typed the letter to the 
 Illinois Interracial Commission and asked me to sign it, which 
 I did without reading it. In continuing the conversation, Adams 
 spoke about Edwards buying my furniture, and mentioned some- 
 thing regarding my owning the building. I interrupted and 
 said, "Why don't you tell him the truth— that you own the 
 building?" Adams paled and answered, "That doesn't make any 
 difference." Having signed the letter, I now commenced to 
 read what it said about my ownership of the building. He took 
 
— 140 — 
 
 the letter from me and said that he would change the first page 
 and that I should leave my signature stand. I did not insist 
 upon seeing the change, as I didn't then understand its import 
 until after Adams' full design unfolded. 
 
 The letter had many weasel statements which I do not wish 
 to quote here. I quote the above paragraph merely to show 
 that the original "dummy" to spearhead for the pretended mov- 
 ing into Cicero was to have been Edwards, not Harvey Clark. 
 Clark was later decided upon because of his war record and 
 detachment from scandal. Edwards would be less convincing, 
 especially as he was in the real estate business and did have 
 an apartment and furniture. 
 
 A T Mr. Adams office I heard telephone conversations with the 
 Janitor of the Cicero building. Laughingly, he asked, 
 "Are the cops still selling hot dogs on the corner?" I learned 
 that some of the evergreens had died, that repairs were being 
 neglected ,and that the building did not have the full care and 
 attention. True, I had "sold" the building to Mr. Adams, but 
 Mr. Adams had made no cash investment, not a dollar! I held 
 his mortgage in the sum of $38,000.00. I grieved to learn that 
 the building wasn't receiving good care. I called it to Adam's 
 attention. For that, as for all things, he had an evasive answer. 
 
 A DAMS continued to show a fatherly interest in me. He kept 
 assuring me that he would see to it that I would have a 
 good income. The deal on his building would soon go through 
 and he would give most if not all cash for the $38,000.00 note. 
 Meanwhile he called to my attention that the $65,000.00 wasn't 
 earning revenue for me; and suggested that he would take back 
 
— 141 — 
 
 a $12,500.00 first mortgage on the building he was selling, that 
 I might have. He said that his building was clear, was worth 
 $50,000.00, all taxes paid. I withdrew that sum and turned it 
 over to him for a mortgage. I was to receive 6% interest. The 
 note read 4%. He explained that it was a typographical error 
 by the typist, and that he would adjust it. 
 
 Days were passing and we somehow didn't get to the pro- 
 rating which had been interrupted by a telephone call. J called 
 it to his attention from time to time, and he kept promising to 
 take a couple of hours to get together for that purpose I had 
 paid for $100,000.00 fire insurance, for public liability and to 
 finance the mortgage for his benefit. That prorating a as never 
 done. I did not wish to put on too much pressure, as he was 
 having difficulty with Cicero, or so I then believed. 
 
 r 1 1 HE routine of going back and forth to Adams' office became 
 monotonous, to me if not to him. I mentioned that I was 
 badly in need of a vacation and thought of going to Los Angeles. 
 He replied, "Why don't you go to Mexico? Then the government 
 would have to drop your case." "But," I asked, et You said 
 that the case was dropped; that by placing the building in 
 trust, that the case would be dropped automatically?" To which 
 he said, "Well, I've got to show those fellows some law," and 
 said he would have the suit dropped when he got around to it. 
 From time to time, Mr. Adams kept asking me when 1 would 
 go to Mexico. He spoke of the greater possibilities in Mexico, 
 and gave glowing descriptions of various parts of the country. 
 I decided to go. Mr. Adams prepared a nine-page affidavit, which 
 he had me sign. He kept chuckling that this will be the big 
 joke on the rent office and the court, that Judge Campbell would 
 have to enter an order dismissing the case. This he kept re- 
 peating. This Mexico idea was the best yet. Now that my 
 
— 142 — 
 
 affairs are in good shape, in the hands of a conscientious and 
 capable lawyer, I could go for a trip with not a care on my 
 mind. In my absence he would take care of everything for 
 me, as if it were his own, so he boasted. 
 
 I signed the affidavit without reading it. The following 
 paragraph which it contained had significance which later came 
 to light. It read: 
 
 "This affiant became disgusted and discouraged as a 
 
 landlord and has sold and disposed of her interest in and 
 
 to the property. 
 
 "I now have an airplane ticket ready to leave the 
 
 United States for the time being, hoping to find better 
 
 conditions for ambitious persons who wish to own property 
 
 somewhere else. 
 
 "This affidavit and the material submitted thereto is 
 
 done upon my own insistence and against the advice of 
 
 my attorney, but I feel that the court should know the 
 
 real facts although I expect to be away for some time and 
 
 may never return to the U. S." 
 
 The statements in the affidavit were obviously false. No 
 such thoughts could enter my mind. It would mean that I would 
 forever leave my dad, mother, brothers and sister. Also that 
 I would leave what money I had left, or thought I had, in the 
 "securities" obtained from Adams. I could not "own" property 
 in Mexico without money, and whatever money I had was in the 
 
 United States. 
 
 * * 
 
 Tl/T OTHERS' DAY falls in the balmy month of May. To 
 some extent I was carefree. I had shopped for dresses, ac- 
 cessories and luggage for my trip to Mexico, and for an appropri- 
 ate present for, oh, such an indulgent mother as I have. I could 
 say that I had never caused her any trouble, were it not that 
 
— 143 — 
 
 when I stub my toe her foot hurts more than mine. Fresh from 
 the beauty shop, my hair a new blond shade, and dressed in one 
 of the outfits of my new wardrobe, I sauntered into the home of 
 my childhood. There was a feeling of gaiety by my inspiration. 
 I was again myself. I was their princess. It was a fitting 
 prelude to my trip. 
 
 The next morning I went to the airport — alone in a cab. 
 All seats in the plane were filled. It was my first air trip. My 
 seat was at the window and I had a clear view. As the plane 
 rose, I saw the town of Cicero again from the plane. Time went 
 rapidly, soon lunch was served, my fellow passenger opened a 
 conversation, other passengers moved around and talked sociably, 
 the speaker announced the locations and points of interest we 
 were passing over, the stewardess came around with coffee, and 
 in due time dinner was served. Not a dull moment. 
 
 Arriving in Mexico City, the names of the passengers were 
 being called for immigration inspection. My name had been 
 called a number of times in the tuneful Mexican Spanish before 
 I recognized they meant me. This was not only my first plane 
 trip, but the first time I was out of the U. S. A. 
 
 A cab man came forward, and from then on it was Senorita 
 this and Senorita that. "You will like it here, Senorita," the 
 cabman said. "All who come from the States like it here." 
 
 I found the Mexicans quite sociable, and it seems that 
 Americans in Mexico are likewise. I was bewildered by the 
 color variety of clothes, of the buildings and of the scenery. 
 English is spoken everywhere in Mexico. Talking to the clerk 
 when I arrived at the hotel, he informed me that there were 
 no rooms available. Such a declaration by a Mexican hotel clerk, 
 I felt, was but a challenge. I explained that I had just traveled 
 thousands of miles, from a friendly neighboring country known 
 as the U. S. A., where the hospitality of Mexicans had been 
 
— 144 — 
 
 highly praised, and that I am a lone woman, and he couldn't 
 turn me out — or could he? A young man standing within 
 hearing joined the conversation, then whispered that he had 
 special influence with the manager of the hotel. He did. My 
 room overlooked a park. The young man later asked me to go 
 dancing. 1 did. He was very gallant and his behavior was 
 perfect. That was uppermost in my mind. 1 was the burnt 
 child, remember? We crave that which had been denied us. 
 The blind appreciate sight. The lame wish to run. 
 
 I spent the greater part of my first day in Mexico, window 
 shopping, which I did with absorbing interest. There was one 
 shop which showed bamboo furniture of many types. 1 tried 
 to fit the various items into an imaginary home. There were 
 so many things to admire that it would have required a moving 
 van to carry all the things 1 mentally selected. 
 
 Toward evening 1 returned to the hotel and here was the 
 young man again. He bowed politely. He asked me to accomp- 
 any him to a night club. 1 accepted the invitation. At the club 
 I was dazzled by the pretty Mexican girls, many with strap- 
 less gowns, their white arms and shoulders contrasting with 
 their dark hair with red roses, and flashy dark eyes. They 
 danced with their dates caressingly. My escort spoke of his 
 interests in the States. He had been an official of a bank and 
 was then engaged in the mortgage loan business. That was a 
 signal to speak of my investments, of which I did not go into 
 detail, yet gave a brief outline of my recent transactions. His 
 comments disturbed me not a little, although he tried not to 
 do so. He did say that upon my return 1 should lose no tune 
 to investigate the securities back of my notes and mortgage, 
 and that I should also consult a banker or an attorney to in- 
 vestigate rny present attorney. 
 
— 145 — 
 
 tried to control my fears. We returned rather late that even- 
 ing, but my doubts kept me awake. When I did fall asleep 
 I dreamt that I was pushed off a high embankment and that 
 1 was falling, falling, and woke with a suddenness which made 
 the bed-spring vibrate. I was determined to return. I could 
 have no further peace of mind until I made the investigations 
 as the young man suggested. There were no plane reservations 
 to be had on any of the lines. I took advantage of a cancellation 
 on a plane to Texas. The return flight was routine. Coming down 
 the plank many of my fellow passengers waved to their await- 
 ing friends, wives, husbands. No one knew of my return. 1 
 returned to the LaSalle hotel and checked in. From there I 
 went to mother's. 
 
 I walked through the apartment, the familiar six rooms — 
 neatly kept. The large living room — my statues — the peasant 
 girl I valued, oh, so much, was on a table by the windows. 
 
 Mother looked at the statue and said, "Since you are gone, 
 [ think of the times I came to your house; the times we talked, 
 and now I talk to the Doll," meaning the statue. 
 
 Then she said, "I don't know if you are satisfied, but it 
 doesn't seem right somehow. Suddenly, you are gone; your 
 Doll is here, but it is not the same as having you near. I could 
 walk over and ring the bell; your things are everywhere. 
 Scattered. Lost." 
 
 "That building; I liked that building. Why don't you 
 come back and see if you can't get your home together again. 
 I walk and look at the building. Tears come to my eyes. It 
 seems deserted now that you are gone. People are talking. 
 Everyone asks, what has happened, and I do not know what 
 to tell them." 
 
 My appearance at mother's is the signal for the coffee pot 
 — and running for cake to go with it. My sudden return sur- 
 
— 146 — 
 
 prised them. I speak of my mother, dad, and brother, the one 
 who made a hobby of pigeons. 
 
 I had to describe my plane trip and Mexico, and they 
 were wide-eyed with wonder. Little by little mother broke the 
 news that police had been looking for me. I dismissed the 
 matter by saying that the Chief still wants to ask questions. 
 "No," my mother said, "these were from the government, they 
 asked if I had been receiving mail from Mexico, and searched 
 the house." I said that she should not permit anyone, even 
 a policeman, to search her house, unless he showed written 
 authority. I said they were probably snooping, but that I would 
 report the matter to Mr. Adams. 
 
 Upon returning to my room I pondered the race question. 
 Did I bring all this trouble on myself? Did I do wrong in 
 employing Mr. Adams as my attorney? Of course, I didn't 
 know he was "mixed," as he calls it. Ought I have dismissed 
 him when I discovered he was a Negro? How deep is this race 
 conflict? I will not attempt to answer these questions, even to 
 myself. But one episode brings forth two "social" problems, 
 which are often discussed, and heatedly. One is, should a land- 
 lord rent an apartment to families with children? The other is 
 the Negro-White question. Both questions are reflected in this 
 episode. 
 
 /"CHILDREN are an awful problem to the landlords. During 
 early infancy, they cry at night and disturb the sleep of 
 tenants who must rise for their work in the morning. Children 
 increase the use of washing equipment, and diapers are also 
 washed in the bathtub and sinks. I paid a bill of $400.00 for a 
 stopped-up sewer due to washing diapers. Older children deface 
 walls, break windows and disturb the childless families. Under 
 
— 147 — 
 
 freedom, when apartments are available, children drive other 
 tenants out of the building and cause losses by vacancy. Under 
 socialism, such as rent control, the landlord cannot retrieve the 
 additional cost of housing children. With these preliminaries, 
 which do not tell all, by any means, I will briefly tell the story 
 of the Moticka family, to whom a child was born during their 
 tenancy in my building. The child was sickly and often screamed 
 through the night. I tried to help, brought presents for the 
 child and showed my sympathy. It was a pretty, dimpled girl, 
 but had an ominous scar on her face. There was a suspicion 
 of cancer. They took the child from one doctor to another 
 until the child was nearly five years old. I got to love that little 
 girl, and would eagerly await reports from specialists who 
 treated the child. 
 
 One day the cloud lifted from Mrs. Moticka's face. She 
 had heard of a colored doctor who specializes in skin diseases 
 and had taken the child to him. The colored specialist said that 
 the scar was not malignant, as both she and her former special- 
 ists had feared, and that the scar could be safely removed, 
 without any scar tissue remaining. Within a few months the 
 colored specialist removed the scar and the child was completely 
 cured. I was as happy over it as were the child's parents, who 
 thanked me profusely for my kindness and attention. 
 
 There would have been a moral to the above story if the 
 Moticka's from then on would have had a kind word for 
 Negroes and if they would not have forgotten their gratitude 
 which they had showed for what they said was my kindness. 
 But life is full of surprises, and disappointments. 
 
 The Moticka's were among the first to join the hanging 
 party. They were the ring leaders in their fight against Negroes 
 coming into Cicero, and in hungrily awaiting the spoils from 
 the unholy prosecution against me by the rent office. 
 
— 148 — 
 
 This episode and its implications crowded my mind while 
 waiting for the morning to consult Mr. Adams. 
 
 WHEN I arrived at Mr. Adams' office in the morning, he 
 was speechless with surprise. He said there was hardly time 
 to disembark in Mexico. He knew I was there, as I had sent 
 a post-card which he had received. He remarked that I looked 
 very well and asked if I had seen my mother. 
 
 I said I did see my mother and that she told me about 
 police having called there looking for me. I asked him if he 
 knew anything about the reason for the police wishing to see 
 me. He said, curtly, "Oh, that's nothing to worry about." 
 
 There was the usual interruption of the telephone. I wond- 
 ered if I were not doing him an injustice by suspecting him. I 
 studied his contour as he was talking on the phone. I noticed 
 that his hair was growing black, where it had been an auburn 
 shade. The dark hair made his skin look darker. The 'phone 
 conversation over, he again turned to me and said, smilingly, 
 "I missed you. You sure grow on people." 
 
 Mr. Adams talked and talked about everything but what I 
 wished to know. He talked firmly, sometimes casually, but chal- 
 lenging any doubt or opposition. Whenever I opened my mouth 
 to bring up anything he suspected that he wished to avoid, he 
 kept talking until either the telephone rang, to take him sudden- 
 ly out of the office, or I was detoured to another matter and 
 thereby lost my purpose. But the search by the police had me 
 worried. I was determined not to be put off. I was becoming 
 angry. I finally pinned him down. "Just forget it," he said 
 sharply. "They are just trying to snoop into your business. We 
 will tell them nothing. They asked for a fight and they're getting 
 a good one." 
 
— 149 — 
 
 "What about the rent case?" I inquired. 
 
 "I have them where they are embarrassed, and they're 
 dropping it," he said. 
 
 "Why don't you get it in writing?" I asked. 
 
 "Law is a slow process — and they hate to admit they're 
 wrong — but I'll get it over with," he said. 
 
 I was not satisfied with Adams' answers. About the police 
 looking for me, I knew no more than I did the night before. As 
 to the rent case, which was to be "automatically" dropped, he 
 now says that law is a slow process. From day to day I knew 
 less and less. The greater part of the time was taken up by 
 a flood of words about his oil wells, his securities, his news- 
 papers and his real estate, also his powers in the courts. 
 Telephone conversations also took up considerable time. My 
 purpose to get an answer to a simple question would get me 
 into a featherbed of boasts, sermons and opinions. When I would 
 finally get a specific answer, or what seemed specific, it would 
 prove to be incorrect, and would bring me back to Adams' office 
 the next day. 
 
 To evade further questions, he suddenly said he was tired, 
 and that he would go to lunch across the street, and asked me 
 to go with him. I thought 1 would take advantage, not of the 
 lunch, but of the interval when he would not be interrupted 
 by the telephone, nor by visitors at his office. At lunch, when 
 Adams stopped to take a breath after talking streaks about 
 Mexico, and that he would make the trip, I said. 
 
 "Mr. Adams, I think you should find out what the police 
 wanted of me, why they called at my mother's." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha," he laughed. "You are nervous — you make 
 a mountain out of a molehill, a big thing out of nothing." 
 
 "What would have happened if they had found me at 
 mother's, would they have arrested me? " I asked. 
 
— 150 — 
 
 "'No, no, no," he insisted "they would probably only bluff 
 you." He continued to insist that he had the rent case licked, 
 that he would appeal to higher courts, and that they won't trifle 
 with George C. Adams. 
 
 I was determined to stick to my guns. I insisted that he 
 telephone the Cicero police, which he did. He did not report 
 what was said. He then telephoned the Sheriff's office. When 
 he completed the conversation with the Sheriff's office, he said, 
 casually, "They have a writ of ne exeat against you." I asked 
 him what that was. He replied, "Oh, nothing important. I know 
 the Sheriff. We won't bother about it."* 
 
 I felt relieved that Adams was shouldering all respons- 
 ibility, and thought nothing further of it — for the moment. 
 
 * * 
 
 T called at Adams' office for any message from my mother, 
 who would call me there. I thought it best not to engage in 
 private conversations through the hotel switchboard. On one 
 occasion I asked him what he intended to do with the vacant 
 apartment. He had said, all along, that he intended to move 
 into the apartment. Now he said that a young veteran would 
 move in with his wife and two children. I asked if the police 
 were still patrolling the building. He said the police were just 
 putting on a show, but that they cannot bluff him. They cannot 
 do anything by legal process. Continuing he said, "Edwards 
 brought several people out there, but the police frightened them 
 away. A psychiatrist may take the apartment. I still think 
 I will take the apartment myself, although I would have to wait 
 until I sell the building I'm living in." 
 
 Adams made mention of "spiritualism" quite often which 
 did not "register" with me. It was entirely out of my line of 
 thought. At any rate I was having my hands too full of material 
 
 *I now know that Adam's telephone call was phoney been use the 
 writ of ne exeat was issued by the U. S. Court, and the Sheriff had 
 nothing whatever to do with the matter. The U.S. Marshal had the writ 
 
— 151 — 
 
 things to fuss with spirits. But one remark about it frightened 
 me. He said he had an Indian guide in spiritualism who had 
 described me to Adams five years before he met me. The 
 spirit guide had told Adams to "watch for the blond woman 
 you will meet in a crowd," and to join groups and crowds 
 to meet the woman. "This woman will be your opportunity to 
 rise to prominence and wealth. When that woman materializes, 
 use her!" I shuddered at those words, as they seemed to have 
 an ugly meaning. 
 
 ^ OME ONE remarked that "we dislike the unlike," to ex- 
 race discriminations and conflicts. I never gave 
 much thought to such things. The memory of "shush-shush" in 
 my early childhood about "Italians moving into the neighbor- 
 hood," made me tolerant of all unlike people. Then, I thought 
 that while groups, classes, nationalities are unlike in some res- 
 pects that they're not too unlike "under the skin." I had no 
 acquaintance with Negroes, Mexicans and orientals. But on 
 street cars and in public places I overheard their conversations. 
 They seemed to have identical problems with the rest of the 
 people, black, brown or white. I will try to touch upon this 
 later. I mention it here because some readers, especially such 
 as have a keen prejudice against Negroes, and Negroes who 
 entertain an equally keen prejudice for whites, will wonder 
 why I permitted myself to become involved with Negroes, or 
 why the Negroes had become involved with white people. Whether 
 or not I would have employed Mr. Adams as my attorney had 
 I known him to be "mixed," is beside the point. I didn't know 
 he was "mixed." Neither did the attorneys in the rent office. 
 That Mr. Adams later brought into the atmosphere other Neg- 
 roes, that, too, was not my doing. Oh, yes, I heard it over 
 
—152 — 
 
 and over again, that "She brought the troubles on herself. She 
 had no right to meddle with Negroes." But, as I said, we will 
 enlarge upon this feature later. 
 
 A Cicero real estate man was pointed out to me at Mr. Adams' 
 office. He came in from time to time dickering with Mr. 
 Adams regarding the building, which he said he wished to buy, 
 and regarding which he later gave a report to the newspapers. 
 Tenants were hoisted into the position of masters by the rent 
 control gimmick. They could do no wrong. Whatever they 
 did, if they broke windows, flooded their bathrooms, drove spikes 
 into the walls, stuffed the plumbing, kept whining dogs, ruined 
 the lawns and trees, all were defended by the rent control buz- 
 zards. The landlord was the whipping boy — unless! Unless 
 he knew the right boys from among those buzzards. The real 
 estate dealer later disclosed that he had a meeting with my 
 tenants, to take over my building on a "co-operative" basis. 
 He didn't think it was necessary to consult me! I was only the 
 landlady, not patrone di casa, but a mere worm. 
 
 The point I wish to make is that Mr. Adams did negotiate 
 with that real estate dealer. What he didn't know and what Adams 
 intended he shouldn't know was that Adams had no intention 
 of selling the building, as he told me after such conferences. 
 Said Mr. Adams, "Let him keep coming. I bought the building 
 and I mean to live in it. If I don't get into this apartment, I 
 will move into the next. They're not going to buy me off because 
 I am mixed." Adams never referred to himself as a Negro, though 
 he was belligerent when speaking of civil rights of the Negro. 
 
 ■3f * * 
 
 r~T^ HE idea of anyone carrying on negotiations and taking up 
 the time of the real estate dealer, knowing that he (Adams) 
 
— 153 — 
 
 did not intend to sell, had a depressing effect upon me. The 
 sober manner in which he carried on such negotiations also dis- 
 turbed me. I couldn't define why I was disturbed excepting 
 that it seemed to be a horrid violation of a parole. While it 
 was not actual fraud, I felt it was close to ilfc. I also felt that a 
 man who can treat one person that way can do so to another. 
 I began to suspect that if not in all matters, he might be han- 
 dling me in the same manner in some of my matters. Then came 
 another blow to my sense of security. 
 
 Adams had introduced Edwards as a real estate man and 
 in urgent need of an apartment. My first thought was that a 
 real estate man would be in a good position to know of a 
 vacancy. Then Adams seemed to have forgotten himself and 
 said that Edwards was living in a six-room apartment, and that 
 he owned an apartment building under a co-op plan. I wavered 
 between a feeling of distrust and of a possibility that I had 
 misunderstood. Meanwhile, the fact that Adams was the owner 
 of my building without one dollar investment by him was on 
 my mind, and that I had to see to it that my security for the 
 $38,000.00 note would not deteriorate. 
 
 I therefore checked up on the income, expenses and condition 
 of the building. The Clark family was to move into the un- 
 occupied apartment. I was also concerned about my furniture 
 which was to be sold. I had that agreement with Adams to 
 pay one-half of the accrued tax bill for the furniture. But that, 
 also, was a future promise. I had received nothing for what had 
 cost me thousands of dollars. Adams said the Clark's had their 
 own furniture, and that he would store mine, or put it in into 
 another apartment when one became vacant. 
 
 Because of the attitude of the Cicero police and officials, 
 I was naturally in a quandary about the Negroes moving in, but 
 the nervousness of Chief Konovsky and Mr. Berkos, their weak 
 
— 154 — 
 
 position, and the law which gave the Clark's the right to move 
 into the apartment, and the assurance of Mr. Adams that the 
 police cannot interfere, all this gave me confidence that the ob- 
 jections would be mutterings and nothing more. 
 
 I also felt that I was thrown out of Cicero, and now Adams 
 was also being thrown out. Adams showed me letters from 
 anonymous Cicero citizens bearing Cicero, Illinois, post-mark, 
 calling him ugly names, and I felt that he was suffering doubly. 
 
 Adams kept saying that the Clarks' were on the way out to 
 Cicero. I asked if he thinks that all would come out all right. 
 Adams said it had better come out all right. I told him I was 
 very nervous about the whole matter. 
 
 He said, "Forget it. You worry too much. There's nothing 
 too big for Adams to handle. If they get too tough, I'll make 
 those bastards pay plenty." To his credit, I may say that Adams 
 seldom lost his composure and that was the first time I heard 
 him use a coarse word. I had never seen him so agitated. He 
 did not appear frightened, but aggravated. Probably because 
 of those letters. With a toss of his head, he said, "I am not 
 worried." 
 
 It wasn't the best time to quarrel. It was a tense interval. 
 Yet I couldn't withhold making the remark that he had no 
 money in the building. At such "digs" Adams' face would 
 darken and he remained silent. 
 
 T T was the 7th day of June, 1951, an eventful day. I wa? 
 tense, but Adams, while not as even-tempered as usual, did not 
 share my agitation. Come noon, Adams suggested we go 
 across the street for a sandwich and coffee. I did most of the 
 talking because I feared there might be a clash. Adams was 
 composed and less talkative. Lunch over, we went back to 
 
— 155 — 
 
 the office. Adams sprang into action. The offices adjoining 
 Adams' office were deserted. The receptionist was also away. 
 Adams placed the classified telephone directory on his desk and 
 commenced calling all newspapers. To each he repeated, "There 
 is a riot in Cicero." He then 'phoned to a private party. I 
 heard Adams say, "Get started right away, I will meet you 
 there." 
 
 Without wishing to become repetitious, I wish to explain 
 just what happened on that fateful day. I arrived at Adams' 
 office at about 11:30 A.M. Adams said the caravan with the 
 Scott's, Edwards, Clark's and Mrs. Adams had left, or were 
 supposed to have left, at about 10:30 that morning. Adams 
 made the 'phone calls at about 1:00 P.M., by which time the 
 entourage should have arrived in Cicero. However, after his 
 calls to the newspapers, repeating, "There's a riot in Cicero," 
 he dialed a number, and I heard him shout, "What! they didn't 
 leave yet? The truck broke down?" and continued to give 
 instructions to "get going." I interposed, "You reported a riot 
 when the people aren't there yet." 
 
 Adams explained that the last call was to Mr. Scott, a fur- 
 niture dealer, who was to move the Clark's to Cicero. He said 
 the Clark's were to have been there several hours earlier, but 
 there was some trouble with the truck. The call to the news- 
 papers was to get reporters there, and to have people gather, 
 "as there is safety in numbers." He said that Mrs. Adams 
 would also be on the scene. I asked why he would have his wife 
 take an unnecessary risk, to which he replied that if anything 
 were to happen to her they would have to "pay plenty." 
 
 He then called the janitor, and also spoke to Edwards. The 
 police halted them by pretending a permit was necessary to 
 move furniture into Cicero. Adams called the Cicero Town 
 Hall. He then hung up the 'phone and called the janitor again. 
 
— 156 — 
 
 He left for Cicero. I refused to go with him. I said that I had 
 sold the building because I didn't wish to fight the rent office, 
 nor the tenants, nor Cicero. I went to my room. 
 
 T kept calling Mr. Adams' home number throughout the 
 evening. I received no response until 11:15. He said they had 
 lots of trouble there, that the Cicero police wouldn't permit the 
 Clark's to move in, that they were jostled around and handled 
 roughly. 
 
 As I wasn't present, I knew only what Mr. Adams and others 
 reported. It was summed up in the newspapers, from which I 
 quote briefly, the following from a bulletin: 
 
 "On June 8th, Charles S. Edwards, the rental agent, went to 
 the apartment with Mrs. George C. Adams. At 2:30 p.m. a moving 
 van with Mr. and Mrs. Harvey E. Clark drove to the building. 
 They had rented the apartment that week. Two plain-clothes- 
 men stopped the truck and said the furniture could not be moved 
 into the building without a permit. The two women went into 
 the apartment. Mr. Edwards was later ordered to go into 
 the building and bring the women out. Mr. Edwards said he 
 was followed by a policeman with a drawn revolver who said, 
 'All of you get out of here right away — we are all going out.' 
 They left the building with the officer following with a drawn 
 revolver. The attorney checked with Cicero authorities and was 
 told that no permit to move furniture was ever required. Follow- 
 ing is an affidavit from Charles S. Edwards describing subsequent 
 events : 
 
 " 'About 6 p. m. the Chief of Police of Cicero rushed 
 out of the alley nearby followed by about twenty men and 
 rushed up and grabbed my arm. The police in the cars out 
 front got out of their cars and rushed up toward us. The 
 
— 157 — 
 
 chief said to me, 'You should know better — get going — get out 
 of here fast. There will be no moving into this building. I'm 
 not going to endanger the lives of 19 families for the likes of 
 you.' During these statements, the chief held my left arm with 
 his strong left hand and he kept hitting me in the back with his 
 right fist, especially at my right shoulder and on my right side 
 below the shoulder. He hit me about eight times while he was 
 pushing me ahead of him toward my car which was parked 
 across the street. I was trying to walk, but he was trying to 
 make me move faster. When we reached my car, I opened the 
 door and the chief shoved me inside and said, 'Get out of Cicero 
 and don't come back in town or you'll get a bullet through 
 you. There were 3 or 4 officers with the Chief ... I have not 
 been back to Cicero since and my clients the Clarks have not 
 been allowed to move into the apartment which is theirs.' " 
 
 * 
 
 (L. to R.) Attorney George C. Adams, Harvey E. Clark, Jr., Miss DeRose 
 and George N. Leighton. 
 
— 158 — 
 
 ^k N Saturday following I again called at Adams' office, to 
 ^-^ learn how everything worked out, hoping to take up the prora- 
 tions and to inquire about the rent case, which was heavy on 
 my mind. I found the office teeming with activity. Adams was 
 proudly posing for news photographers. Later he introduced 
 me to Mr. Harvey E. Clark and George N. Leighton. I do not 
 recall the names of the other men, who soon left. 
 
 A suit was being prepared against the Cicero town officials 
 for $200,000.00, which was later filed in the Federal court. 
 There was considerable strutting, talking and dictating to the 
 stenographer. The suit was filed by Ulysses S. Keys and Mr. 
 Leighton, attorneys for the National Association for the Advance- 
 ment of Colored People, as I was later informed. 
 
 When the atmosphere turned calm, and the attorneys and 
 others left, Mr. Adams again asked me to go to lunch with 
 them, which I accepted as before. With us came Mr. Edwards, 
 Mr. Clark, and a white man who was introduced to me as Mr. 
 Sandwich. The chief conversation was beween Adams and 
 Sandwich. 
 
 Adams said he would like to be counted in with Sandwich 
 on an oil deal. Sandwich said he had 47 wells which were pro- 
 ducing and was drilling many more. He said he did not wish 
 to sell any of his holdings. This offer by Adams and refusal by 
 Sandwich went back and forth. Clark and Edwards did not 
 participate in the conversation. Adams said his investments in 
 leaseholds and wells were not great, yet he had been getting 
 checks every month for years. He asked me if I had any oil 
 property or shares in any. I said that I never had, and was 
 unfamiliar with such things. He said that an investment of 
 about $20,000.00, would make me rich. Adams said that as he 
 was my counsellor on investments, he would advise me to take 
 advantage of an opportunity. He said, "if you are looking for 
 
— 159 — 
 
 a large income, this is it." I said that I would not wish to invest 
 $20,000.00. He then said, "Well, take less. After you see the 
 money rolling in, you can then look for further opportunities." 
 Adams again spoke up and said to Sandwich, "How about giving 
 both of us a break. I don't blame you for not selling a large 
 interest. How about giving Miss DeRose half of what you are 
 willing to sell, and give me the other half?" 
 
 Back to the office, Adams continued to "insist" on Sandwich 
 to part with $10,000.00 worth of oil stock. Adams made out 
 a check to Sandwich for $4,750.00, to pay for his portion of the 
 stock. It was finally agreed that I would receive a "debenture" 
 or some legal document of the face value of $4,500.00 for 
 $4,000.00 cash. I said that I could not produce the cash until 
 Monday. On Monday I brought the $4,000.00 check. Taking 
 my $4,000.00 and giving me the note, there was a running 
 conversation beetween Sandwich and Adams, Adams insisting 
 that he be permitted to purchase a "working" interest in an oil 
 well. He rushed me to come in with him and I later brought 
 the additional $750.00 
 
 A DAMS did not appear to have many clients nor much 
 
 legal work.. He did have many telephone calls, which he 
 
 often kept busy answering. I neither have the right nor the 
 
 space to discuss the nature of those conversations. I do have 
 
 the right to report such goings-on as affected me. 
 
 Adams was now almost entirely preoccupied with the Cicero 
 affair. He was now the center of activity involving Civil Rights 
 organizations, the National Association for the Advancement of 
 Colored People, the Urban League, the Interracial Commis- 
 sion, the Chicago Council Against Racial and Religious Dis- 
 crimination and similar groups and committees, including 
 
— 160 — 
 
 churches. The following headlines appeared in the Chicago 
 newspapers : 
 
 VET SUES CICERO FOR $200,000.00 CHARGING BIAS. 
 
 FORCED FROM APARTMENT, BEATEN BY POLICE IN 
 
 CICERO, VET CHARGES. 
 
 VET SUES CICERO FOR $200,000 — STARTS FIGHT 
 
 TO SAVE HIS HOME. 
 
 COPS BAR VET FROM HOME. 
 
 TO SAVE HIS HOME COPS BAR VET FROM HOME. 
 
 ANGRY JUDGE BLASTS CICERO OFFICIALS OVER 
 
 NEGRO FAMILY. 
 
 CONTEMPT CHARGE AGAINST CICERO OFFICIALS. 
 
 I am anxious to throw a spotlight, so to speak, on a control- 
 ling feature in the Cicero case, a feature which the public, the 
 press and the courts missed. Reading the story in the press, even 
 the private reports of interested groups, the conclusion would 
 be that the entire fracas simmers down to race discrimination or 
 race conflict, only. 
 
 That is a view which I wish to correct. 
 
 Let us first concede that colored people were not invited 
 into Cicero. But the facts were and are that colored people 
 were and are present there, and that their coming and going 
 receives no restraint nor objection. The Cicero affair had, indeed, 
 another motive and other implications. 
 
 Long before the Clark incident the tenants assembled and 
 "decided," as they shouted, "Let's get together and throw the 
 landlords out." I wish to avoid repeating the words the tenants 
 used in their clamor to throw me out. The smell of the fury 
 of the rent control law (and the more furious buzzards who 
 were ready to go to all excesses to destroy the landlord's in- 
 vestment) whetted the appetites of the tenants to feast upon the 
 landlords. "It's time we got rid of the landlords," cried the 
 
 
 
— 161 — 
 
 assembled tenants. "We have the law with us — what are we 
 waiting for?" 
 
 I was on the list for crucifixion. I was an American "kulak" 
 to be liquidated. Not being guilty of any violation didn't mat- 
 ter. Violations were invented. I was forced out of my building 
 by my tenants and the rent office. 
 
 I felt that whatever I might salvage from the building from 
 which I had to flee would reduce my loss. I felt that Adams, 
 a strong man physically, armed with a knowledge of the law,, 
 might fight more successfully againsl the dictatorship of the 
 kholsoi, or whatever it is called behind the iron curtain. 
 
 What the press and the courts overlooked was that I, as 
 owner, was compelled to house tenants who were hostile, ten- 
 ants who were destructive, some who became obnoxious — these 
 I was compelled to maintain and serve largely at my expense.. 
 I could not choose those I desired as my tenants, although 1 
 owned the building. But my tenants could, and did, choose 
 their landlord. They decided to be rid of me as landlady. They 
 then assumed to dictate who might take my place when rid of 
 me. They decided that Adams was not acceptable as their land- 
 lord, and later that Clark was not acceptable as a tenant. 
 
 I championed Adams, not because he was a Negro, but 
 because he took over on his shoulders the wrath of the white 
 tenants against a white landlord. I became "possessed" as if 
 dedicated to a cause, and as if Adams were the Moses to lead 
 me and others equally abused from bondage and from the 
 wilderness. 
 
 HP HE $200,000.00 suit was filed in the Federal court on the 
 ground that the Cicero officials had violated the consti- 
 tutional civil rights of the Clark's, Edwards, Mrs. Adams, andi 
 
— 162 — 
 
 Maurice Scott, Sr. and Jr. Scott Sr. was the furniture dealer, 
 and Scott, Jr. was an attorney associated with Adams. By 
 "coincidence" practically all suing were either related or asso- 
 ciated with Adams. As an incident of the suit for damages, a 
 petition for an injunction was filed to restrain interference of 
 the Clark's in moving into the apartment. Federal Judge Barnes 
 was emphatic in his demand that Cicero authorities and Cicero 
 residents comply with the injunction, warning that "If you 
 don't obey the order you are going to be in serious trouble." 
 
 At the hearing before Judge Barnes the court room and 
 the corridor leading to the court room were crowded. A group 
 of people wore large medallions with the inscription "Keep 
 Cicero White." The Judge ordered the medallions removed. 
 
 Newspaper photographers' cameras flashed and clicked. 
 Adams played the leading role in the extravaganza. The news- 
 reels and television took shots. Adams granted interviews. 
 Representatives of civic groups were there to give support to 
 civil rights. 
 
 I was not among those persent, by Adams advice. I was 
 a refugee from a writ of ne exeat. Adams advised me for my 
 protection and well-being. However, my picture appeared in the 
 newspapers the next morning with the other principals in the 
 drama. Meanwhile the newspapers carried reports about my 
 rent control violations. I felt like a hunted animal. Like one 
 charged with treason hiding from the gestapo. United States 
 of America against Camille DeRose! I escaped from the angry 
 Cicero mob. I am now escaping from the wrath of the rent 
 control office, and the government is tracking me down to 
 prevent me from leaving the country. 
 
 Adams went on the radio and told the audience of the race 
 conflict in Cicero and of the outrage against Harvey Clark, a 
 war veteran, and his fight to regain his apartment; and invited 
 
 
— 163 — 
 
 the listeners to read the full story in the Chicago World, a news- 
 paper circulating among the colored people, then controlled by 
 Adams. The NAAGP and the Negro Press kept up a barrage of 
 publicity throughout the nation, organized mass hysteria, con- 
 ducted "rallies" and whipped up a frenzy of Negro nationalism. 
 
 T VTERSPERSED with this activity Adams kept reminding me 
 that his fight was as much for me as for him, even more so 
 for me, and that he has my well-being at heart. He had men- 
 tioned a mortgage on one of the many buildings he had been 
 managing. The building was occupied as a rooming house, 
 which I did not favor as an investment. He insisted that it was 
 a first-class investment. Meanwhile he counseled me that I 
 must have insurance policies to cover all my securities for which 
 he is arranging, and that he might as well include the new 
 mortgage which he insisted I should purchase. He said he had 
 an appointment with another client who wished to buy that 
 mortgage, if I would hesitate. In the midst of the conversation, 
 Adams' secretary announced that "the tenant from Washington 
 boulevard is here with the rent.' He commenced making out 
 a receipt and said, "See, the rents now come in directly to 
 me. I will have the payments made payable directly to you. 
 You can go to Mexico or elsewhere on a long vacation, the pay- 
 ments will be mailed or deposited as you direct." I asked if he 
 would guarantee the mortgage, to which he replied, "My, my" 
 (as if he were surprised at such a question) "I am a lawyer. 
 I have to account for my actions. I couldnt be a lawyer for 
 over 32 years if I were not cautious. I am more careful with 
 my client's money than I am with my own." He continued, 
 "Haven't I taken care of you — even taking the building when it 
 became too hot for you to handle?" 
 
— 164 — 
 
 I went to the bank and soon returned with a certified check 
 lor $8,500.00. He said, "Oh, doggone it, the people wanted the 
 cash. Checks are a nuisance — oh, well, they will have to take the 
 check." As I gave him the check, I repeated that I wanted some 
 guarantee, or security. He replied, "Why, this mortgage is as 
 good as gold. I will show you how good I think it is, I will 
 give you my personal note for it." 
 
 I" aim to describe the so-called Cicero race riots, the 
 principals involved, and the motivating causes underlying 
 them. I do not wish to make a case for the Clark's nor against 
 Cicero, beyond what the facts imply. I don't wish to dress 
 Cicero in the robes of Simon Legree, nor the Clark's in the 
 costume of Uncle Tom. Truthfully, the Cicero story has no 
 resemblance to that famous fiction. 
 
 Late in June, Adams called a Cicero number and spoke to 
 a Cicero real estate dealer. Adams told him that the Clark's 
 would not move on July 1st as has been planned, because of 
 fire crackers in the hands of the kids, and that ft had been 
 decided to have the Clark's move into the building on the 10th 
 of July. Soon thereafter a return call from Cicero came in, 
 from the Cicero Chief of Police. Adams confirmed that the 
 Clark's would move in on the 10th of July at 11 A.M. 
 
 TWT E now come to the "second coming" of the Clark's. We 
 find them driving behind a truck on the road to Cicero. 
 They proceed triumphantly, confidently and hopefully. They 
 are to take possession of their apartment. They were halted 
 in their first attempt by irresponsible ruffians and by misguided 
 police officers. But such intrusion was in the nature of a 
 
— 165 — 
 
 trespass which might occur anywhere to anyone, white or 
 black, and which are restrained and punished by law. Not only 
 is Clark armed with rights under the constitution and the laws 
 of sovereign states and communities, but he is additionally armed 
 with the People's Writ of Injunction, under the great seal of 
 the United States of America, enjoining all who may think of 
 molesting them, to keep their peace, and directing the guardians 
 of peace to enforce law and order. To intercept the caravan 
 of the Clark's is equal to an insurrection against the government 
 itself, something unthinkable. Then, Clark is doubly, even 
 trebly, fortified. He was born here, and both he and his wife, 
 are descended from a long line of ancestry of Americans, both 
 black and white, has served with American forces, and has a 
 certificate of honorable discharge. His two brothers are both 
 fighting in Korea, one recently wounded. I quote from a re- 
 port: 
 
 THE CLARKS 
 
 Mr. Harvey E. Clark, Jr. who so far has been prevented 
 from moving in the apartment he rented, is 29 yeas old. He 
 was born in Mississippi. After finishing high school, he 
 entered Fisk University in Nashville, where he majored in 
 political science. While there he married a fellow-student, 
 Johnetta, now 26 years old. They were married 9 years 
 ago and have two children, Michelle, aged 8, and Harvey 
 III, aged 6. Clark left Fisk to join the Army Air Force in 
 1942 and was assigned as an aviation instructor at Tus- 
 kegee Institute in Alabama. He served there and in two 
 other southern fields until he was discharged in 1945. He 
 returned to Fisk and finished his education under the G. I. 
 bill of rights, graduating in 1949. He played baseball and 
 was a member of the university debating team. 
 
 After he graduated, Mr. Clark brought his family to 
 
— 166 — 
 
 Chicago. He first got a job as an insurance agent. A year 
 ago he began work as a bus driver for CTA. They lived 
 for awhile at 6725 South St. Lawrence Avenue in a crowded 
 apartment at $56.00 a month. They rented the Cicero 
 apartment for $60.00 a month. Previously Clark had to travel 
 24 miles daily to and from work; if he lived in Cicero, this 
 distance would be greatly reduced. Clark has two brothers 
 in Korea, one recently wounded. He said he didn't write 
 them as to what had happened because he didn't want to 
 destroy their morale. 
 
 f 1 ^ HE Clark's could now carry out their plans. They would 
 have a place for the piano, where the gifted Michele might 
 do her studying and practicing in peace. There was room for 
 the sewing machine, where Mrs. C. might continue to do the 
 family sewing, in which she is said to have attained skill, so 
 that her little Michele may enjoy well- fitting pretty dresses. 
 
 Here in Cicero the children would receive a good education, 
 which is the privilege all Americans enjoy. 
 
 But the Clark's had a rough awakening! Discrimination was 
 not a new experience to them. All colored and many white 
 citizens were subject to it at one time or another. But the 
 Clark's ran into a cloudburst. On their first attempt they were 
 met with the ugly manifesto by the police: "You Niggers have 
 no moving permit." They were then met by a haphazard gather- 
 ing, not quite a mob. Now the force was organized. What 
 the Clark's didn't know, and what the press, the courts and the 
 public didn't know was that the so-called race discrimination 
 was a minor and not the chief motivating cause of the resistance 
 to the Clark's. Whatever the undercurrent of race hatred, much 
 or little, the majority of the tenants were determined to hold 
 
— 167 — 
 
 on to their apartments and the low rent. They suspected that 
 the building was under new ownership, as it was under new 
 management, and they knew that a new owner had priority 
 rights to any apartment he might chose. They suspected, also, 
 that a co-operative ownership, to which they were invited, and 
 which they rejected, might challenge their occupancy. They 
 therefore let out a war-whoop when they learned that a Negro 
 was to move into one of the apartments. The loose organization 
 of tenants which was successful in routing the white landlord, 
 was now solidified to rout a colored tenant, landlord or no 
 landlord. The Co-op letters were part of the plan to arouse 
 the tenants, which later became apparent. 
 
 ^ OMETHING impelled me towards Adams' office again. I 
 said to myself I'm sure everything is under control. Yet 
 I wanted to make sure. The urge to know the truth went over 
 and over in my mind. Walking, thinking, I soon arrived at 
 Adams' office — not worried, no — just to make sure everything 
 was alright. I could see if the Clark's had moved in yet. Open- 
 ing the door to his office I saw another confusion — Adams on 
 two telephones, talking first at one, then the other. The Con- 
 fusion was on again. In between his ringing telephones, he 
 made outgoing calls, shouting, "There is a big riot in Cicero." 
 Picking up the classified telephone directory he again dialed 
 many numbers. The conversations kept on and on. "An enor- 
 mous riot in Cicero!" A little later he telephoned to Edwards — 
 more lengthy talks. He seemed thrilled. He dialed again. 
 "Attorney Adams talking. Hundreds of people gathering in 
 Cicero," and "A big riot in progress — get your newsmen out 
 there." Laughing, he said to me, "This is it — the big show." 
 
 I marvelled at his endurance — for a man of 63. The 
 
— 168 — 
 
 excitement which didn't seem to affect him, caused me a head- 
 ache. The noise, the drilling and banging on the adjoining 
 construction work left me exhausted. "Ah, me!" I sighed within 
 me, how can he take all that! How glad I am that I sold the 
 building, I thought. I could not have withstood all that con- 
 fusion. It was just seeming to fan out in all directions. Adams 
 said he would wait until it got hot enough before going out — 
 as if he looked forward to making a grand entrance. "Let those 
 cops out there have their fun," he declaimed, "I have to take 
 care of things here. When I'm finished I'll go out there and 
 put a stop to this nonsense. Those cops are acting like a 
 bunch of kids on the 4th of July on a picnic." 
 
 Adams continued to make calls while incoming calls 
 were ringing. Between answering incoming calls and dialing, 
 he kept declaiming: "I'll get a crowd out there so fast, those 
 cops won*t know what hit them. . Niggers, indeed, as if they 
 are a superior lot — huh!" Strutting, he continued, "Doggone 
 it! I'll show them." .. 
 
 As for me, a few more aspirins, I left, felt ill. The talking 
 the noise — wow — I just couldn't take it. I was always easily 
 exhausted. 
 
 When the Clark's arrived in Cicero they were met by a 
 small crowd. They felt reassured by the presence of Cicero 
 authorities to keep order, if disorder were threatened. Members 
 of NAACP and other protective groups were also present. Yet 
 the Clark's were puzzled by the presence of the crowd, small 
 though it was. They were not free of misgivings for the safety 
 of their children. They therefore decided to return to Chicago 
 to remain there until they might feel more confident. They 
 soon left the apartment, carefully locking the doors, and returned 
 to the home of the Edwards on the South Side of Chicago. 
 
 *I later learned, the moving was to be kept secret, but Adams 
 had other ideas. 
 
— 169 — 
 
 JULY 10th, 1951. 
 
 In the evening a crowd gathered in the front of the apart- 
 ment. Sheriff John Babb arrived and made a gesture to dis- 
 perse the crowd. It was reported that he told the crowd that he 
 was on their side, but that they couldn't do anything by violence. 
 In defiance, a man identified himself as a lawyer living in the 
 community replied that there were no legal remedies. He im- 
 plied that violence was their only weapon. 
 
 I kept in close touch with the happenings, at Adams' 
 office, as he was making and receiving telephone calls. I watched 
 the newspapers and listened to the radio. I lived it from hour 
 to hour, day to day and throughout the nights. What was hap- 
 pening in Cicero was happening to me. One newspaper carried 
 the followng description. 
 
 "He (Sheriff Babb) counselled the crowd to disperse. 
 Cheers greeted the vandals who threw stones into the 2nd 
 and 3rd floor apartment windows." 
 
 The Sheriff talks to the mob: "Go home. I order you to 
 break up and leave." The mob boos the Sheriff, so the Sheriff 
 goes home instead of breaking up the mob. 
 
 Before the crowd dispersed by 2 A. M. considerable damage 
 was done to the building. No arrests were made by eight Cicero 
 policemen and six Cook County deputies on the scene. In the 
 meantime, the Clark's heard of the violence and did not return 
 to Cicero. 
 
 Chicago newspapers went hush-hush and printed very 
 little. Out of town radio commentators were pounding away 
 about the Cicero race riots. Out of town news reporters were 
 rushing to the scene. * * * 
 
 WEDNESDAY, JULY 11th 
 
 Nine whfte families in the building moved out and put 
 their furniture in storage. Sheriff Babb said Cicero police told 
 
— 170 — 
 
 him to withdraw his men from the scene, since they could 
 handle the situation by themselves. Lieut. Lester Connerty of 
 the Cicero Police Department said his men could handle the 
 situation and there was no need for the Sheriff to deputize 
 Chicago policemen. When NAACP officials saw Sheriff Babb 
 to ask him to call on the Governor to mobilize the national 
 guard, he was reported to have told them that it was a terrible 
 thing to call on state troops and that he was "neutral" in this 
 kind of a case. 
 
 An observer from the American Civil Liberties Union 
 made this report of what he saw that evening: 
 
 "When I arrived at 7:30 p.m. a crowd of 800-900 
 people were gathering. By dusk it had grown to 4,000-5,000 
 people. There were people of all ages, many women and 
 children. The most active were teen-agers, some in gangs. 
 Police did nothing to break up the gangs." 
 
 T read in the newspapers of a description by an eye witness 
 on the scene, which was also reported over the radio. A 
 man picked up a stone and gave it to his child. "You get three 
 throws. If you hit the target, if you break a window, you get 
 a nickel," the man said to his child. The child first misses, 
 then makes a strike. The crowd roars as the crash of glass 
 rings out into the night. Soon a hail of anything and every- 
 thing is thrown at the building from the crowd. The crowd 
 roars with the sound of crashing glass. The mob, now number- 
 ing 5,000, surges forward and into the building, bringing havoc 
 and destruction. Tenants were dragging their possessions one 
 by one, trucks and cars taking them from the scene. Some of 
 the tenants remained, hoping to hold on to their apartments. 
 Where else can they find such cheap rentals? They escaped the 
 
— 171 — 
 
 hail of rocks and falling glass by lying on the floors. But they, 
 too, were disappointed. The mob found them, abused them 
 and threw them out. 
 
 Newspapers described a large pile of stones on a lot across 
 the street of the building. That was puzzling as it was significant. 
 The owner of that lot was meticulous about the lot and always 
 kept ifi clean. Also the ruling against dumping is strictly en- 
 forced. Police patroled and did not permit any stones, rocks 
 or other objects to remain on the lots adjoining this building 
 or any building. 
 
 When I left my building the lots were entirely clear. The 
 Cicero Police had added a 24 hour patrol at the building since 
 April 1st. 
 
 A documented report was later issued by the Chicago 
 Council Against Racial and Religious Discrimination which 
 reports tersely, that — 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 On July 10-12, 1951, mob violence broke out over the 
 occupancy of an apartment by a Negro veteran and his family. 
 Law and order broke down so completely that Cook County 
 Sheriff John Babb requested Governor Adlai Stevenson to mob- 
 ilize the National Guard. This was done and 24 hours later 
 an uneasy calm rested over Cicero. This was the first time in 
 almost three decades that troops were used in the Chicago area 
 to quell racial disturbances. 
 
 This description of the riots and the events leading up to 
 them is prepared for use by the organizations affiliated with the 
 Chicago Council Against Racial and Religious Discrimination. 
 
— 172 — 
 CICERO 
 
 Cicero is a separate, incorporated municipality located 
 west of Chicago. It begins at 4600 West and runs to 6200 
 West, extending from 39th street on the South (bordering Chi- 
 cago and Stickney) to 12th street (Roosevelt Road) on the 
 Nofth (bordering Chicago and Oak Park). Its almost 70,000 
 residents comprise more than 20 nationality groups, with a 
 predominance of second-generation Americans of Czechoslovak, 
 Polish, Italian, and Dutch ancestry. There are nine large 
 Roman Catholic churches and eleven Protestant churches in 
 the town. One estimate is that there are 28,000 Roman 
 Catholic church members and 10,000 Protestant church mem- 
 bers. There is no synagogue, although almost a thousand Jews 
 live within Cicero. It is said that no Negroes now live within 
 the limits of Cicero, although one or two families have done 
 so in years past. Thousands of Negroes enter Cicero daily to 
 work in its industrial plants. Several Mexican-Americans also 
 live in Cicero. 
 
 A large proportion of Cicero's wage-earners work for the 
 Western Electric Company (telephones) located in Chicago just 
 outside Cicero. Other large employers include Hot Point stoves, 
 Thor washing machines, and Sunbeam mixers. Cicero has had 
 a reputation of being Al Capone's town. Although it is said 
 that he never lived there, he had large gambling and beer supply 
 interests there, and his brother, though living in Florida, now 
 owns several firms in Cicero. 
 
 The municipality — officially a "town" — is governed by an 
 8-man board of trustees, with Henry Sandusky as town president. 
 He was first elected in 1944. The chief of police, Ervin Konov 
 sky, was appointed by the town president in 1944. 
 
 Berwyn, just west of Cicero, shares responsibility for the 
 
— 173 — 
 
 disorders, for they occured at the northwest corner of Cicero 
 just across the street from Berwyn. This is solely a residential 
 town of some 70,000 inhabitants. 
 
 * * # 
 
 The "race issue" has long been a convenient tool for Cicero 
 politicians (and for those of Berwyn). In November, 1948, 
 when some civic reformers in Cicero tried to overturn the present 
 political machine, they were defeated by the stratagem of dist- 
 ributing to every house the night before election a fake notice 
 reading: " Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves, but there is no 
 freedom of the colored race until the American public gives to 
 us a freedom of movement and a right to chose where we live. 
 The town board of Cicero has denied to us the American right 
 to live in the town of Cicero for more than 80 years. Stand for 
 equal rights. Fight for equal rights. Vote for a City Government 
 (the reform group) next Tuesday so that we colored people 
 may enjoy the privilege of living in the town of Cicero, near 
 our place of employment, near good schools, so that our children 
 can enjoy the comforts of a good home and fresh air. You 
 will discover that colored people are excellent neighbors. Vote 
 YES for a City Government next Tuesday so that we may enjoy 
 the same rights we have in the city of Chicago and the city 
 of Evanston." 
 
 There was a large pile of stones in a lot near the apartment 
 and later in the evening police watched women pass stones from 
 a rockpile back to throwers in the crowd and they made no 
 effort to stop this. The police for the most part were in a 
 jovial mood, cracked jokes with the crowd, and some made 
 Jim Crow remarks. By dark the ropes were cut by the gangs 
 and the crowd came close to the apartment. Stones were thrown 
 in the windows on all three floors, with increasing intensity on 
 the south side of the building. There was one feeble effort by 
 the County Police to rerope the area, but this was soon aban- 
 
— 174 — 
 
 cloned. Fire crackers were thrown and one man, said to be a 
 plainclothesman, went up to the group of kids and was heard 
 to say: "Cut out the firecrackers. In case you're searched, don't 
 have any on you. We don't care how many stones you throw, 
 but get rid of the firecrackers." 
 
 Rioters showing defiiance to law enforcement. 
 
 By 10:30 p. m. the frames of windows were being knocked 
 out. Then a gang climbed into the apartment building from 
 first-floor windows and kicked out sections of the windows. They 
 went upstairs and vandalized apartments and turned on water 
 and gas. One came out saying: "get back, maybe there'll be 
 an explosion." They threw Clark's furniture out of the window 
 and this was burned by others below. By 11:30 p. m. the gang 
 was in the basement tearing up the plumbing. Then one boy 
 rushed outside and said that they were being held downstairs. 
 A large gang then moved into the basement and police used 
 tear gas, which seemed to be effective for ten minutes. Later a 
 loud speaker announced that Mr. Clark said he would not return 
 to the apartment. 
 
 There are conflicting accounts of the reason none of the 
 vandals were arrested There is one report that part of the mob 
 took one policeman as hostage and refused to release him until 
 
— 175 — 
 
 the police freed the youths in custody for vandalising the 
 building. 
 
 A similar first-hand account of Wednesday night appears 
 in the Friday Chicago Sun-Times, written by reporter David 
 Anderson. It was estimated that 30 Cicero policemen and 20 
 of the Sheriff's deputy policemen were on the scene. One police- 
 man was hit in the head with a brick and hospitalized. Sheriff 
 Babb said he was disappointed at the degree of cooperation 
 received from Cicero. His deputies asked the Cicero firemen to 
 connect hoses and keep the crowd back, but they wouldn't do it 
 except with an order from their lieutenant and he couldn't be 
 found. The chief of police of Cicero was reportedly unavailable 
 both on Tuesday and Wednesday evening. The president of the 
 town council was out of town on Wednesday evening, sum- 
 mering at Antioch, Illinois. 
 
 Early in the morning on Thursday, young men even pulled 
 down a half dozen 25-foot-high poplar trees in front of the 
 apartments. As each tree ripped, there was a crackle — and 
 cheers. Although late in the evening it was announced by police 
 loudspeaker that the Clark family agreed not to return to the 
 apartment, this report was labeled false by NAACP. Clark's 
 attorney on Thursday said: "He (Clark) doesn't believe Cicero 
 residents can afford to deny him his civil rights after he made 
 such a sacrifice and helped to win the war and to establish the 
 safety of those who live in Cicero.* 
 
 Mr. Edwards and Mr. Clark brought this matter to the 
 attention of the NAACP and other defense agencies. It was 
 decided to bring criminal prosecution against the civic author- 
 ities of Cicero under the United States code — the civil rights 
 
 * Truthfully, Harvey Clark saw no combat service, and had never left 
 this country. He later was "taken care of" by the government under GI 
 bill of rights free tuition. On the other hand, I was forced to contribute to 
 my tenants by way of low rentals, and did not receive free schooling. 
 
— 176 — 
 
 statutes — for conspiring to deprive citizens of their right of 
 freedom of movement by force and violence and under authority. 
 They also filed a $200,000.00 damage suit against the town. 
 
 On June 26th, Federal Judge John P. Barnes heard the 
 appeal for a preliminary injunction restraining the town of 
 Cicero from stopping Mr. Clark and family from moving into 
 the apartment. Cicero Attorney Nicholas Berkos, representing 
 Cicero Police Chief Ervin Konovsky, argued that all the ac- 
 cusations were denied by town officials. Judge Barnes issued 
 the temporary injunction warning: "If you don't obey the order, 
 you're going to be in serious trouble. I'll tell you what you are 
 going to do. You are going to exercise the same diligence 
 in seeing that these people move in as you did in trying to keep 
 them out." When Joseph Lustfield, attorney for the town 
 trustees, interrupted to say that there has been "some trouble" 
 about the ownership of the building, Judge Barnes said: "You 
 don't need to worry about who the owners are. From now on 
 you are going to treat these people like anybody else." The 
 order restrains the town, its president, its chief of police, and 
 other officials and agents from "shooting, beating and other- 
 wise harrassing" Mr. Clark and his family. Judge Barnes set 
 September 11th for a hearing on the permanent injunction and 
 the $200,000 damage claim. He refused to order hearings by 
 a master in chancery and said : "I want to hear this case my- 
 self.** Later the Clark's appeared before U. S. Attorney Otto 
 Kerner for questioning to determine if the case should be 
 presented to a federal grand jury for possible action under the 
 1870 civil rights law, originally an anti-Ku Klux Klan measure. 
 
 With this temporary injunction, the Clark's prepared to move 
 into the apartment, with the date kept a secret. The Illinois 
 Interracial Commission, the Chicago Council Against Discrim- 
 ination, and other groups tried to do what they could to pre- 
 
— 177 — 
 
 pare the community for the move-in. For example, on June 
 28th, the Church Federation of Greater Chicago sent a 
 communication to all Protestant ministers in Cicero and Berwyn, 
 asking them to make a statement from their pulpits on July 1st 
 to help maintain peace and order. They enclosed a statement 
 written by a pastor in a similarly disturbed area in Chicago. 
 TUESDAY, JULY 10th 
 The move-in date was a closely -guarded secret and NAACP 
 attorneys did not notify Cicero police that the Clark's would move 
 until 9 a. m. When observers arrived in the neighborhood before 
 11 a. m., it was common knowledge in the community that they 
 would arrive — as they did — at 11 a. m. (?) 
 
 The "bon-fire" mentioned in the reports presented a witch- 
 burning pyre scene. The pictures of my furniture tossed on the 
 pyre,* my clothes which I had no time to . remove from the 
 apartment, my rent office records, furniture bills, various books 
 and documents and personal mementoes, all gone, never to be 
 replaced. With the crackling of burning valuables, and the 
 shouting with each object thrown on the pyre, one man shouted : 
 "Look what I found! A marriage license. The niggers were 
 married! Here goes their marriage!" 
 
 Chicago newspapers no longer withheld the news. They 
 burst into blaring headlines. A lengthy description headed: 
 "How Mob Took Control From Police, Sheriffs men stand by." 
 I quote: 
 
 "A business man, who later refused to give his name 
 to reporters, said: (I hire Negroes in my business,) led a 
 flying wedge of youths into the building doorway. The 
 police feebly tried to block them, then gave way. The 
 hooligans surged in, shouting, yelling, setting off strings 
 
 *The Clark's, moved in some of their belongings, but the bulk of the 
 furniture destroyed was mine, not Clark's as Adams had not paid for it. 
 
178 — 
 
— 179 — 
 
 of fire-crackers. The chortling mob, stamping on the 
 grass, cheers them on. Bricks fly, windows crash. One 
 policeman gets conked on the head and other police take 
 him to a hospital." 
 
 "Upstairs on the third floor — where the Clark's had 
 moved their furniture and clothing into their flat — the mobs 
 storm troopers, who by days are high school athletes, 
 students, shipping clerks, begin chopping with clubs and 
 slashing with knives. 
 
 "The broken furniture begins sailing out of the window?- 
 Now and then a picture ripped from the walls hurtles down. 
 
 "Newspaper photographers, TV men, are unlimbering 
 their cameras and set up powerful flares, to light up the 
 crowd. The mob yells: 'take our pitchers.' Men and women, 
 their arms around each other, grimace against the bright 
 lights and wave and cheer." 
 
 Newspaper reporters interviewed some of the adults in the 
 crowd and I believe it is worth while to mention the comment. 
 A 60-year old woman explains: 
 
 "It's not that we are against the colored people. Sure 
 they gotta right to live too. But we don't want 'em here. 
 Our property would be ruined." 
 
 Another elderly woman commented about the boys throw- 
 ing broken furniture on the fire — 
 
 "They're doin' exactly right. They're only protecting 
 our homes." 
 
 One woman with glasses and a housewife's apron, re- 
 marked : 
 
 "It's a shame. Our boys are fighting and dying in 
 Korea for democracy and look what's happening here. Is 
 
— 180 — 
 
 this civilized? How does it look to the rest of the world?" 
 
 Cries were heard from the crowd, "We don't want 
 
 niggers here," and "Throw Judge Barnes on the fire, too." 
 
 * « 
 
 T rushed to Adams' office. "You must do something about it," 
 I kept urging him. Adams is on the telephone constantly. 
 Leaders of the NAACP and of other civic organizations assemble 
 in his office. "We will wire the governor," one of the men says. 
 Then they continue to talk back and forth, and keep talking, 
 talking, talking. 
 
 Reports of the Cicero "Police Action" circled the globe. 
 American diplomats in far-flung corners of the earth were 
 hard pressed to tell the exact location of Cicero. Some thought 
 Cicero was in Southern Illinois, others thought it was a section 
 of Chicago. The Chicago City Hall was besieged by demands 
 that the Mayor take prompt action. Chicago Chief of Police 
 said he had no men available. 
 
 I quote further from the report: 
 
 THURSDAY, JULY 12th 
 
 "Sheriff Babb, as chief law enforcement officer of Cook 
 County, talked by telephone to Governor Stevenson at 12:30 
 p. m., at the instigation of Alderman Archibald Carey and others. 
 The Governor was at first reluctant to call out the National 
 Guard without a request from the Mayor of Cicero. Babb 
 replied: 'If you can find the Mayor, let me know.' (Elsewhere 
 he was reported as having said that Cicero authorities turned 
 their backs on the disorders. Then Babb said that although 
 the Mayor was at his summer place near Antioch, Illinois, he 
 wanted the National Guard called immediatelv. as chief law 
 enforcement officer of the county. Gov. Stevenson then sent 
 the following telegram to Sheriff Babb; 'Proceeding in ac- 
 cordance with our understanding. Please confirm formally by 
 
— 181 — 
 
 wire your official request for National Guard forces to maintain 
 law and order in Cicero.' Sheriffi Babb immediately replied, 
 "Confirming my telephone conversation, 1 hereby notify you 
 that the police forces available to me are unable to preserve 
 the peace in Cicero, Cook County, 111., and I therefore call upon 
 you to dispatch necessary military forces to me in Cook County 
 for the purpose of preserving the peace." Gov. Stevenson then 
 issued this statement: "The Sheriff of Cook County has in- 
 formed me that it is impossible to maintain law and order in 
 Cicero and has formally requested assistance from the Illinois 
 National Guard. The State's Attorney of Cook County, acting 
 through his first assistant, has made the same representations 
 and the same request. Accordingly, I have ordered units of 
 Illinois National Guard into Cicero to assist the local police and 
 the Sheriff's polic to maintain order." 
 
 Since the Chicago division of the National Guard was still at 
 summer maneuvers at Gamp Grayling Michigan — several hun- 
 dred miles north — Maj. Gen. Leo M. Boyle, Illinois Adjutant — 
 General, dispatched five companies within a 40-mile radius: 
 Company A of Woodstock, C of Elgin, D of Waukegan, G of 
 Joliet, and H of Aurora. Gen. Boyle notified Col. Clifford Hod- 
 gin, commanding officer of the 129th infantry at Peoria to 
 proceed to Cicero. First units arrived at the temporary Guard 
 headquarters at the Cicero Town Hall at 4932 W. 25th place, 
 between 7:30 and 8:00 p. m. Sheriff Babb was then informed 
 that he or the town president had to issue a written directive to 
 the commanding officer and this did not arrive until 9:42 p.m. 
 
 In the meantime, Sheriff Babb tried to mobilize the maximum 
 number of Sheriff's deputies to protect the building. Of the 118 
 officers and men under his command for the whole of Cook 
 County, he mobilized 60, asking the police of other Cook County 
 
— 182 — 
 
 towns to respond to county police calls. Also at the scene were 
 many of the 80 police of Cicero. They formed a cordon at all 
 intersections within two blocks of the apartment building in all 
 directions. This was complicated by the fact that the city of 
 Cicero ends across the street of the apartment, and Berwyn be- 
 gins, but many Berwyn police were on duty just within Berwyn, 
 while large crowds gathered at the periphery — estimated to num- 
 ber during the evening almost 10,000 persons — none were able 
 to get within two blocks of the building. At 9:30 p.m., however, 
 the police line two blocks west of the apartment broke and a 
 crowd of 2,000-3,000 persons surged to within 300 feet of the 
 west end of the building. The police lines in the other three 
 directions held. 
 
 \¥7" HEN the police lines were broken, a call was made for the 
 ■ xoops and they arrived in vehicles from the Cicero City Hall 
 at 10:20 p.m. For more than an hour they made a shoulder- 
 to-shoulder line to keep the crowd back of the western end of 
 the building, but for more than an hour they did not push the 
 crowd back. Young men, aged 16-20, about 300 feet from the 
 apartment and about 100 feet inside the crowd from the National 
 Guard, began throwing stones and bricks at the apartment build- 
 ing. No attempt was made to push the crowd back beyond the 
 reach of stones or to arrest the vandals. In fact, the spotlight 
 of the police car (M-5000) surrounded by the crowd in the 
 field was used by the boys to illuminate the windows of the 
 building as a target for the rocks. Every time a window was 
 hit or broken, great cheers went up from the crowd. Also some 
 firecrackers and flares were thrown toward the apartment. 
 
 Beginning at 11:30 p.m., the National Guard slowly pushed 
 
183 — 
 
— 184 — 
 
 the crowd gathered west of the apartment back 600 or more 
 feet from the apartment. In the meantime, the crowd was 
 focusing attention on the north side of the apartment and surged 
 to only 50 feet from it. They threw in flares, bricks and finally 
 burning torches. Several fires were started within the apartment. 
 The fire trucks, standing in the vicinity, rushed to the building, 
 threw water on the apartment and put out the fire. Fire-hoses 
 were used to wet the south side of the building to prevent flares 
 from burning and, earlier in the day, the whole building was 
 purposely soaked by firemen to prevent fire.* 
 
 By 12:51 a.m., the National Guard had pushed the crowd 
 away from the northwest corner of the building. In the melee, 
 one police-car was overturned. It was reported that three other 
 police-cars were overturned during the evening and an attempt 
 was made to burn one vehicle. During the evening and early 
 morning, 19 persons were reported injured, 13 being treated at 
 MacNeal Memorial Hospital at Berwyn before being released. 
 Among those injured were four National Guardsmen, four police 
 officers, and nine civilians (including three men and one woman 
 bayoneted by Guardsmen). 
 
 Approximately 70 persons were arrested. Four were charged 
 with unlawful assembly and destruction of public property and 
 bond was set at $50 for each charge. Ten were charged with 
 unlawful assembly and assault to kill and bond was set at $100 
 for each charge. Fifty-six persons were charged with unlawful 
 assembly and their bonds were set at $50 each. One of the 
 
 *The statement, "the whole building was purposely soaked by firemen 
 to prevent fire," is an amazing absurdity. The reader should think that 
 through. Such an action is unheard of. The soaking, which is necessary 
 in an actual fire, does far more damage than the fire itself. The fire damage 
 is often readily repaired, the water damage is irreparable. The water soaks 
 through the floors and ceilings, loosens the plaster, warps the sustaining 
 lathes and wood framework and warps the floors. Soaking to prevent fire 
 is never done. It amounts to wilfull and malicious destruction of property. 
 
185 — 
 
 A Guardsman injured by a brick hurled by the rioters. 
 
 rioters pointed out to police by National Guardsmen. Especially 
 troublesome was a GI home from Korea on 30-day leave. Police 
 escorted him from the area and released him. Those arrested 
 for participating in assaults were taken to the Bureau of Ident- 
 ification at the Chicago police headquarters for fingerprinting 
 and to have their pictures taken. 
 
 Lt. Jack Johnson of the Bedford Park Sheriffs offiice 
 stated that he would ask for a sweeping U. S. investigation of 
 the clashes. 
 
 Henry J. Sandusky, town president, in a belated statement 
 
— 186 — 
 
 said: 
 
 "I deeply regret this incident which has made it neces- 
 to call upon the militia to re-establish law and order in 
 this particular area. Our officers, limited in number, coped 
 valiantly with the problem, but it became evident by Wed- 
 nesday night's disorders that outsiders had invaded our 
 
 One of the Rioters with a bayonet wound. 
 
— 187 — 
 
 town, stormed our police lines and damaged the homes 
 and properties of innocent citizens. Therefore to cope with 
 these vandals Sheriff Babb and I have felt is necessary to 
 call for aid." 
 Col. Hodgin declared the area bounded by Highland Avenue 
 on the West (Berwyn), and Austin Blvd. on the East, between 
 16th Street and Cermak Road (22nd) to be under martial law. 
 In imposing this, Col. Hodgin said: 
 
 "We're here to maintain law and order. We will co- 
 operate with local authorities. All persons living in this 
 half-mile square area and those having places of business 
 there will be required to show credentials before they enter 
 the region and upon leaving it. The martial law will be in 
 force until the troops are released from duty there." 
 
 The mob was under control by 12:45 a.m. early Friday 
 morning and by 3:00 a.m. only a sprinkling of the crowd re- 
 mained. A full company of Guardsmen remained on duty at the 
 scene, while others went to nearby restaurants. 
 
 Because my building commanded the front entrance to the 
 town of Cicero, at the border-line in Berwyn, the troops camped 
 on the parkway facing my building. I saw the picture of that un- 
 forgettable scene. A lump came to my throat, as I struggled to 
 keep the tears from rushing to my eyes. The newspaper boy 
 was yelling : "Hey ! Read all about it! Troops camp in Berwyn- 
 Cicero riot zone!" I purchased the newspaper and looked at 
 the picture, at the war zone. Little had I dreamed that my 
 building, representing the summit to which I had climbed, with 
 so many set-backs, the symbol of my plans and toils, had become 
 the outpost of a race war. 
 
— 188 — 
 FRIDAY, JULY 13th 
 
 The report continues: 
 
 At noon when 500 persons gathered around National Guard 
 lines several blocks from the apartment, Sheriff Babb ordered a 
 five-strand barbed wire fence to be strung a block on all sides 
 of the apartment. In the evening knots of persons gathered at 
 the edges of the National Guard lines about four blocks each 
 side of the apartment. When a large group gathered on Cermak 
 Road (22nd Street), they were told to disperse and those not 
 dispersing were picked out of the crowd by the soldiers and 
 arrested by the police. During the evening about fifty persons 
 were arrested— one newspaper reported the arrest of 54 adults 
 and 14 juveniles. Of those arrested that evening, 22 were under 
 20 years of age, 20 were between 20-25 years, 3 were between 
 26-30 years, 6 were between 31-40 years, and two were over 40 
 years of age. Thirty-four of those arrested came from Chicago, 
 four from Cicero, three each from Berwyn, Oak Park, and Elgin. 
 At one time, the police station in Cicero was overcrowded with 
 only six cells available for five prisoners each. Juveniles ar- 
 rested were taken home from the police station by their parents 
 and police said they would not prosecute. 
 
 SATURDAY, JULY 14th 
 The area around the apartment building was very "quiet" 
 with no crowds gathering and no autos touring the area. The 
 talk in the area still was: "We'll burn the building down to the 
 ground as soon as protection is withdrawn." 
 
 SUNDAY, JULY 15th 
 There was quiet at Cicero, but Sheriff Babb said: "While it 
 is true there has been an abatement of activity in this area for 
 the last 36 hours, it does not indicate that there could not be 
 another outbreak." 
 
— 189 — 
 
 MONDAY, JULY 16th 
 After a conference of 22 various law enforcement officials 
 in Sheriff Babb's office — including the Mayors of Cicero and 
 Berwyn — it was agreed to reduce the number of National Guards- 
 men from about 500 to 200 or 100 men, retaining two suburban 
 companies and one company of the 33rd Division's 228th In- 
 fantry composed of men from Berwyn and Cicero. The change 
 was made without incident. 
 
 Sheriff Babb inspected the ruined building, from which 3 
 truckloads of debris had been removed, and said: "I don't 
 know what would motivate people to do this sort of thing — it 
 is sheer senseless destruction. I have never seen anything like 
 it since I saw fought-over war areas." 
 
 On Monday afternoon, the 117 persons arrested appeared 
 before Police Magistrate E. Marvin Capouch in Cicero Police 
 Court. The cases were continued until August 6th at the re- 
 quest of James A. Brown, Assistant States Attorney. Brown 
 said that his office wants to examine the charges to find the 
 strongest cases and said he may ask that they be distributed 
 among several justices of the peace. In this courtroom there 
 was considerable commotion, with Joseph Beauharnais — prime 
 mover of the race-hate white circle league — passing out new 
 literature, prominently "Go, Go, Keep Cicero White." 
 
 Also on Monday, Robert R. Ming, member of the national 
 NAACP legal committee, flew to Washington to confer with 
 Fred Strine, acting head of the Criminal Division of the Depart- 
 ment of Justice. Strine indicated that facts disclosed with respect 
 to rioting probably showed federal jurisdiction. 
 
 An uneasy peace has existed in Cicero since that time, 
 with police and National Guard lines shrinking so that onlookers, 
 can now get within a block of the apartment. The area is still 
 technically under martial law and no crowds are permitted to 
 
— 190 — 
 
 gather. Patrick Touhy, Chief of the County Police, said: "Any 
 gathering within a half-mile of the building will be considered 
 unlawful assembly and will be dispersed or the participants 
 will be arrested." 
 
 COMMUNITY ACTION 
 
 The Illinois Interracial Commission, under the direction of 
 Russell Babcock (formerly an employee of the Commission on 
 Human Relations of the City of Chicago), not only worked in 
 Cicero before the disorders broke out, but had observers on the 
 scene of the disorders day and night for more than a week. The 
 Commission acted as liaison between the Governor the National- 
 guard, Sheriff Babb, and the citizen groups. The actions the 
 Commission took during the disturbances will be reported by 
 them to the public at the proper time. 
 
 The Chicago Council Against Racial and Religious Dis- 
 crimination held a meeting on Thursday, July 12th, with re- 
 presentatives of several of its affiliates to plan careful strategy 
 to assure law and order. They had observers in Cicero almost 
 every evening. On Friday noon, July 13th, they sent a delegation 
 to confer with Sheriff Babb. They also issued the first running 
 account of what occured during the violence and beforehand. 
 Also on July 13th they had a meeting of representatives of more 
 than 50 citizens groups. The meeting issued these five action 
 suggestions : 
 
 1. Stay away from the area. 
 
 2. Commend Gov. Stevenson and Sheriff Babb for 
 calling out the militia so rapidly. 
 
 3. Write letters to newspapers and radio stations. 
 
 4. Watch for signs of racial violence elsewhere in 
 
 Greater Chicago. 
 
 5. Help mobilize constructive citizen action in Cicero 
 
 and Berwyn. 
 
— 191 — 
 
 The Chicago Council also aided the Chicago NAACP in 
 planning the mass meeting on July 16th to raise funds for the 
 Clark family. On July 17th, they sent another representative 
 delegation to confer with Acting State's Attorney Breen and 
 demanded a Cook County Grand Jury investigation. On July 
 17th they also held an enlarged meeting of their board of 
 directors to discuss further action in Cicero. At this time they 
 sent a letter to Governor Stevenson calling his attention to "the 
 clear and present danger of resumption of violence in what is 
 being widely misinterpreted as a condition of 'peace." They 
 further declared that "the emergency is not yet over." On Thurs- 
 day, July 20th, the Chicago Council established a special "Cicero 
 Committee" to begin the short-and long-term task of initiating 
 citizen action to assure that the Cicero violence would end in 
 victory for democratic principles and not a defeat. 
 
 The Chcago NAACP has been involved in the situation right 
 from the beginning, handling the legal action and also looking 
 after the Clark family. Walter White flew into Chicago on July 
 14th and stayed four days. He conferred with Sheriff Babb, 
 tourd Cicero, consulted with the Illinois state conference of 
 NAAP branches, addressed a mass meeting on July 16th, and 
 held several press conferences. He said, "Cicero is one of the 
 most serious situations I've ever run across — even including the 
 1919 riots here . . . Never before, even in the South, have officers 
 of the law been posted in a building to keep Negroes from moving 
 in." He said that if Clark "doesn't move in, the mob will have 
 won." He also declared that "It's the most valuable assist to 
 Pravcla because the news won't have to be distorted." 
 
 Many other civic agencies and organizations assigned full- 
 time staff members to help quell the disorders and to work out 
 long-time plans for Cicero. 
 
— 192 — 
 
 PRESS AND RADIO 
 The first most Chicagoans heard of the disorders in Cicero 
 was short news stories appearing in Wednesday evening and 
 Thursday morning newspapers. After the Governor mobilized 
 the National Guard in the afternoon of July 12th, the story hit 
 the front pages and stayed there until Tuesday, July 17th. 
 
 rri HE Chicago Sun-Times printed two excellent editorials on 
 Friday and Saturday. The Chicago Daily News printed three 
 editorials one on July 18th explaining the basis of unlawful as- 
 sembly. It also printed long columns of letters to the editor about 
 Cicero. The Chicago Herald-American in their news stories tried 
 to find some communist origin to the disorders. The Chicago 
 Tribune in condemning the violence editorially (7/14) asked, 
 "If it is right for a majority (tenants) to use the force of govern- 
 ment to defraud an economic minority (landlord's) why is it 
 wrong for a majority (whites) to use force against a racial 
 minority (Negroes) ?" 
 
 The Cicero Life, published thrice a week, gave the incident. 
 full news editorial coverage, in general reflecting community 
 sentiment and defending the Cicero Police Department. One of 
 its headlines read: "Cicero Dove of Peace Rests on Barbed 
 Perch." On July 18th the editor wrote, "If, through some great 
 reversal of the flow of time, we could live the last week over 
 again, there isn't a thinking resident of Cicero who wouldn't 
 give his right arm up to the elbow to prevent the twin tragedies 
 that occurred Wednesday and Thursday nights." It also pub- 
 lished numerous letters to the editor, a few especially from former 
 residents of Cicero, expressing shame. The smaller Cicero News 
 carried an editorial decrying the violence but indicating that 
 Negroes would not be welcomed in the community. 
 
193 
 
— 194 — 
 
 The story went on the news wires and appeared in news- 
 papers throughout the country and world. The New York Post 
 sent a race relations reporter especially to Chicago. Editorials 
 appeared in many newspapers. The New York Times editoria- 
 lized: "If there is a shred of community pride left in Cicero 
 among decent-minded persons, it is high time that it be asserted." 
 Calling the violence "a national disgrace," The New York Times 
 concluded, "The outbreak at Cicero would be just as nasty and 
 reprehensible if Karl Marx had never been born and if no com- 
 munist had ever made a broadcast. This is a moral problem in 
 its own right and we ought to face it as such." Accounts of the 
 riots appeared in Time, Newsweek, and Life magazines, the latter 
 heading its two pages of pictures, "New Disgrace for Cicero.'" 
 Mrs. Roosevelt in her syndicated column on July 20th said in 
 part, "Every time something like this happens in the United 
 States, we make enemies for our country and weaken the 
 strength of democracy everywhere." 
 
 Radio and television carried the story fully. Motion picture 
 cameras were on the scene of the riots and these were put on TV 
 on Friday and perhaps earlier, both locally and on at least one 
 national TV program. Clifton Utley devoted a long editorial to 
 the violence on his TV news show on Thursday evening and this 
 was reprinted in The Chicago Sun-Times on Friday. In part he 
 said, "I do not know whether Stalin intends to send a note of 
 thanks to the members of the Cicero mob. He should." 
 THE FUTURE? 
 The mortgagees of the apartment building had a contractor 
 inspect it on July 19th and he found that 20 stoves and 20 
 refrigerators were damaged. The electric and telephone wires 
 were damaged, radiators pulled out, the windows and window- 
 frames broken. It is estimated that it will take about $50,000 
 and about three months' time to repair the building. 
 
— 195 — 
 
 The insurance on the building has been cancelled and the 
 owner is trying to induce the Illinois Insurance Commission to 
 force several insurance companies to organize a pool to furnish 
 insurance for the building. It is reported that the $65,000.00 
 mortgage may be recalled if no insurance is soon forthcoming. 
 
 The City of Cicero went to Court on July 19th to ask that 
 the building be boarded up. Federal Judge Igoe continued the 
 motion until July 30th. The present owner George C. Adams 
 feels that it will be ruined unless repair work is started soon 
 and he is trying to get several persons to loan him $50,000 on a 
 mechanics lien so he can begin to repair the building and pay 
 for the repairs before the damage suits are settled. 
 
 Federal Judge Barnes who issued the temporary injunction 
 against Cicero officials has been out of Chicago during July 
 and he will not be presented with a petition to enforce the injunc- 
 tion until he returns on July 21st. 
 
 \kT HEN one runs from a burning building he forgets his 
 lesser losses. During the whirlgig of the Cicero riots, with 
 loss and destruction from day to day, I was too bewildered to 
 fight the lesser evils. Yet, throughout those stormy days, now 
 dying down, the newspapers carried alarming stories about me, 
 with headlines such as "Hunt Ex-owner of Riot Flats," with my 
 picture on the front page of every newspaper. In the body of 
 one column the following appeared: 
 
 "The search was based on a writ (of ne exeat) issued 
 by Federal Judge Campbell to prevent her from leaving 
 the jurisdiction of the court while a rent overcharge suit is 
 pending against her." 
 
 That was the case which was to be dropped "automatically" 
 with the passing of the ownership of my building! My mother 
 
— 196 — 
 
 heard of the publicity. She became alarmed. What crime had 
 my mother committed that I should give her such shocks? I 
 often thought. She called Adams by telephone: "What is this 
 about my daughter? What's happening? How is she? What 
 is this all about? What's wrong now? Is she alright?" mother 
 asked. "Your daughter is okay, everything is taken care of, 
 I am taking care of everything, she is okay," Adams assured her. 
 
 Two days later, unannounced, Adams and Edwards drove 
 up to mother's house, neighbors saw them strut around, he 
 rang mother's doorbell and paid her a visit. He had nothing to 
 report, and the reason for his visit was then a mystery. 
 
 A few days later the newspapers carried a story of a bomb- 
 ing of my mother's home. The news was also told over the 
 radio. I 'phoned at once. Mother told me about the bombs 
 excitedly. I was furious. I rushed to Adams' office. I demanded 
 to know what had happened to my parents. The office was 
 crowded with Negro leaders mapping a fight for civil rights 
 for the Clark's. Adams was again posing for pictures. I inter- 
 rupted. He said, "Oh, nothing much happened, just a couple 
 of stench bombs." "What do you mean, nothing?" I shouted. 
 "That's plenty. You had better do something about it." 
 
 I telephoned to the Berwyn Chief of Police for protection. 
 He said, "We can't give your family protection — I don't have 
 officers at your disposal, you know." I said, "0. K., chief. I 
 don't intend to stand by and let my parents get killed in their 
 home. I'll appeal to the Governor to send troops here, too, 
 and I'm not kidding either." Adams saw me go into action 
 and said, "Well, if they're afraid, we'll get some fellows and get 
 them out." 
 
 I spoke to Attorney Leighton about what has happened, 
 and Leighton said bluntly that they are not interested in my 
 family. They're white. That they're interested only in the 
 
— 197 — 
 
 Clark's. 
 
 Later I 'phoned mother again, and found mother cheer- 
 ful. She said the tenant upstairs had taken over. The tenant 
 is an attorney and an executive in the Internal Revenue Depart- 
 ment. He lives with his wife and child. He called the Berwyn 
 police and the building was being patrolled. 
 
 %¥7~E turn away from unwelcome thoughts as a child turns 
 away from distasteful medicine. Facing the truth, meeting 
 the onrushing events as they occur, is the only correct way, but 
 if truth is frightening, if good judgment is painful, we face the 
 other way. Let us not boast that we are not a gullible race, nor 
 that we go forth according to our best judgment, in the direction 
 of our best interest. We don't go to a dentist to have our tooth 
 pulled until the pain overcomes our fears. We shie away from 
 the doctor for fear he may tell us a frightening truth. I wish- 
 fully told myself that my building was not too badly damaged. I 
 wishfully told myself that Adams would not default in payments 
 on the $38,000.00 mortgage nor on the other securities which 
 he sold me, under such fervent promises and assurances. Didn't 
 he call to my attention, again and again, that he was a lawyer 
 of standing, that he is accountable for his acts to the courts 
 and to the bar association? Did he not show compassion for my 
 helplesness and my trustfulness? Yet his slips were showing 
 in increasing frequency. Then, too, I had to flee from the 
 ravages of rent control, from, the firce snarls of my tenants, 
 and who but Adams came to my rescue, to take over my 
 building and shoulder my responsibilities? 
 
 Whatever I possessed was now bound up with Adams. His 
 office was the citadel of both my past and my future. My foot- 
 steps steadily pointed in the direction of his office. 
 
— 198 — 
 
 In our system of checks and balances, we get receipts, give 
 and get notes, and put our promises on paper. In my dad's 
 background, as I have said in the earlier part of this book, 
 practically all transactions were verbal. Breaking of one's word 
 was a thing never thought of. Here things are more complicated. 
 Yes I have seen hundreds of thousands of dollars passed on 
 trust. I bought and sold buildings, as did my parents, the 
 lawyers took money, brought money, made prorations, ending 
 in settlement sheets showing everything to the penny. Until 
 rent control period I did not have the experience of falsehood 
 in business or the unthinkable violation of a person's word 
 or promise, the most holy unwritten law of parole. 
 
 More and more I felt an attachment to Adams, not only 
 because he took care of my interests, but because of the swirl 
 of things by which he was belabored. I felt a gnawing pain all 
 over. Not a physical pain, but an ache which I couldn't reach 
 by a drugstore lotion. I thought of the Clark's. The fury of 
 a cruel mob storming against a young American Negro 
 soldier, his young wife and helpless tots. I shudder to think 
 what might have happened to them if they had remained in 
 the apartment. But they did meet a smaller mob when they 
 first arrived. The tots, their little minds bewildered, asked 
 heartrending questions. 
 
 "Why do these people spit at us, Mommy?" little Michele 
 asked. "Why are we black? Are we Negroes? Why do they 
 calls us such names? Why am I a nigger, Daddy?" 
 
 Then I begin to feel sorry for myself. I should have 
 known that it is dangerous to befriend or tolerate a Negro. I 
 should have known that is permissible to sell almost every- 
 thing to a Negro excepting a place to live. Who is to blame 
 for my miseducation? Yet I realize that the Negro incident 
 would never have happened if the Cicero officials had not mis- 
 
— 199 ..... 
 led, not me but my lawyers, with their rent resolution. 
 
 HP HIS is a good place to say adieu to the scene, which 
 ended with ruin and desolation. A scene which brought 
 thousands of people from both Cicero and Berwyn, all rushing 
 headlong toward a human whirlpool, with an aftermath of 
 broken furniture, broken windows, apartments viciously ruined 
 by deliberate flooding, my red draperies flying from the win- 
 dows of my apartment, beautiful and expensive drapes, yet 
 appearing to be a red flag hoisted to replace the Stars and 
 Stripes of freedom, friendship and democracy. The ghastly 
 panorama continues to flit before my eyes. Trees uprooted, 
 some denuded of branches, the garden trampled. 
 
 Yet, as I said, I staunchly relied upon my redeemer, my 
 attorney. After the storms of the riots died down, I found 
 myself again in Adams' office. While there, in walked Harvey 
 E. Clark. He appeared weary and dejected. He turned to me 
 and said, "I lost everything. I need help, and I need it badly." 
 He kept repeating that he was in dire distress. He had no 
 place to live. He had no money for his living expense, no 
 money for rent and no apartment for his family. Talking to 
 both Adams and me, he said he needs some money, that he 
 would pay it back as soon as he can. Adams was noncommital, 
 did everything else which seemed more important to him. With 
 Adams paying no attention, it fell upon me to make the sacrifice. 
 Finally, I loaned Mr. Clark $200.00. 
 
 Adams and Edwards were inseparable. Edwards a silent 
 partner in the literal sense of the word. He rarely spoke. As 
 I said earlier, they look alike and act alike excepting that Adams 
 talked for both. Edwards was introduced to me as a real 
 estate agent, and, at least at the outset, they addressed each 
 
— 200 — 
 
 other as Mr. Adams and Mr. Edwards, unusual among office 
 and business associates. Adams claimed he had never had any 
 children. During the riots, the newspapers described Edwards 
 as Adams' grand nephew-in-law ! What does this contradiction 
 signify ? Whatever it signifies, it is a contradiction, and puzzling ! 
 
 TJ LEASE, dear reader, do not be prejudiced against me if 
 you are a tenant. At this writing I am on your side. I 
 am a tenant. But permit me the last few words about my 
 Cicero tenants. I often heard it said that we could feed all of 
 Europe from our garbage cans. But Europeans are too far away. 
 How about feeding our hungry? For instance. On a summer 
 day I was doing some outside painting. Tenant A came out with 
 his golf outfit and golf clubs; tenant B took off to the country; 
 the C's drove up in a new automobile. A large bundle of 
 clothes and shoes, all in good condition, was tossed out; Tenant 
 D had thrown out a lot of good food and a whole cooked 
 chicken; Tenant E discarded a large bundle of little Marie's 
 clothes, some never worn. I packed eight cartons full of the 
 clothes and 'phoned a young mother with seven children, who 
 was wild with gratitude. In the bundles were also toys and 
 food. 
 
 In the garbage can were thrown a whole ham, food which 
 many would have been thankful for, clothes of every description, 
 shoes, bed spreads, curtains and a variety of things. Whatever 
 I could salvage. I found people in need, or called the Salvation 
 Army who would send for discarded things. I couldn't afford 
 to live so lavishly, but then I was the landlady. I didn't have 
 what it takes, the tenants did. I mean votes. 
 
— 201 — 
 
 TVTHEN I arrived at Adams' office again, his secretary said, 
 "He left a message for you to go down to suite 926, to 
 attorney Keys' office, on the 9th floor." 
 
 I promptly left, took the elevator to the 9th floor, and 
 walked to room 926. I entered the reception room. I was 
 told to go right into Mr. Keys' office, which was closed. I 
 knocked. Adams opened the door, gestured for me to enter, 
 and said, "Good afternoon, Miss DeRose, you know Mr. Leigh- 
 ton?" 
 
 I smiled and greeted him. With another gesture toward 
 the man behind the desk, Adams continued, "Miss De Rose, 
 Mr. Keys, this is Camille DeRose, the Cicero landlady." 
 
 Mr. Keys looked at me penetratingly, and said, "Have a 
 chair, Miss De Rose," in a voice deeply sympathetic. The men 
 had all risen when I entered, and sat down as I did. They 
 continued their discussion about the riots and the various 
 phases of legal possibilities. 
 
 Mr. Keys sat behind a modern, somewhat triangular desk, 
 on a swivel chair matching, as did the arm chairs. The desk 
 was cluttered with files, dictaphones, telephones, book-ends, 
 pipes and a variety of papers and objects. 
 
 As is my habit, unnoticed I took a mental inventory of 
 the men and the surroundings. I saw the pictures on the wall 
 and the contents of the room. Mr. Keys seemed to have all 
 the comforts of home crowded into his smallish office. Without 
 returning his glances, I noticed that his eyes were steadily 
 upon me, as if I had bewitched him, although he carried on 
 his end of the conversation. I noticed that Mr. Keys was of 
 medium height, built like an athlete, that he had sharp though 
 smiling eyes and an impressive personality. As I explained, 
 T had not had any association or experience with Negroes, until 
 chance brought me in contact with Adams. To me there ap- 
 
202 — 
 
 Attorney Ulysses S. Keys. 
 
— 203 — 
 
 peared to be no basic difference, but a difference in complexion, 
 and even that difference was not great, for I had known many 
 of Spanish, Italian and people of other origin who were of 
 darker complexion than some of the Negroes I was now 
 meeting. 
 
 Yet I did hear conversations about Negroes before I met 
 Adams — and more since — just as I heard conversations, and 
 gossip, about neighbors and people in general. Such conversations 
 left no impression. To me a man was a man, a woman a wo- 
 man. For the first time I was conscious of a typical Negro in 
 Mr. Keys, physically. Personally, he seemed polite, kindly, 
 soft-spoken, even fascinating. 
 
 The chief conversation in both Adams' and Keys' offices 
 was the huge rally to take place in a Negro church on the South 
 Side to raise funds for the Clark's and for the NAACP. The 
 Negro press featured the rally on the front page. Mr. Adams' 
 newspaper devoted a full page to it. I decided to attend. 
 
 On the evening of the rally, I dressed in a light tan suit 
 matching the color of my hair. My outfit was attractive. 1 
 had moved into an apartment on the near North Side. I took 
 a street car going toward the South Side. Until then I had 
 never been on the great South Side of Chicago, strange as it 
 may seem. I had not had occasion to go there. The street 
 car turned at various intersections and I kept asking the con- 
 ductor about my destination. He finally came to a stop and 
 directed me to transfer at that point. I hailed a taxi and 
 told the driver to take me to that church. He drove on for 
 several blocks to a stop, opened the door and two Negro men 
 and a woman got into the cab. The presence of the woman 
 dispelled my fright. Later I learned that the South Side cabs 
 are known as jitneys, of which I had not heard before. 1 
 finally arrived at the church. 
 
— 204 — 
 
 Leaving the cab, I found myself the object of attention. 
 The sun had not quite set, and the streets were light. The 
 weather was pleasant. Many people were loitering outside. Some 
 of the Negro men tried to attract my attention. When I reached 
 the church I found many people outside, and some crowding 
 around the door. As I approached, the people formed an aisle 
 for me. There were many also standing in the corridor of the 
 church as well as inside. When I entered the church a young 
 man promptly brought a folding chair and placed it in a con- 
 venient location for me to occupy. The meeting had already 
 started. I recognized Attorney Leighton and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Clark seated on the dais with a number of other prominent 
 Negro speakers. Adams was seated in the front row but not 
 on the dais. 
 
 The speakers spoke with inspiration. The keynote was 
 discrimination and civil rights. They described the riots and 
 painted a word picture of the destruction, the burning of 
 Clark's furniture, as Hitler burned books, and the sad and help- 
 less condition of the Clark family. My eyes swept over the 
 large gathering of people seated and standing, the seats extend- 
 ing in a semi-circle from the dais raised in tiers toward the 
 rear. A balcony jutted from the rear to about the middle of 
 the auditorium. There was a sprinkling of white people in the 
 audience. The reception given me was that of a celebrity if 
 not a curiosity. 
 
 After the speeches the minister asked all to rise and offered 
 a prayer. All stood with bowed heads as the benediction was 
 pronounced. 
 
 HE rally was called for the purpose of raising funds. It 
 was held under the auspices of the NAACP. Donations and 
 
— 205 — 
 
 pledges were called for and before the meeting was over the 
 chairman announced that there was $2,000.00 collected at that 
 meeting. The speeches went into detail regarding the happen- 
 ings at the Cicero riot, as I said before, but my name was not 
 mentioned, nor was any reference made to the destruction of 
 my furniture or other property. It is my habit to find logical 
 reasons for things, and I assumed that such an omission was 
 somehow intended for my benefit. The pageantry of the 
 church, the large public response, the liberal donations, the 
 mutual sympathy and the prayer by the minister, all made me 
 feel that we are all God's children, black and white, and I felt 
 as keenly as they the injustice heaped upon the millions of our 
 fellow citizens for no other reason that they were born with 
 darker skin. In the eyes which were turned to me from the 
 audience I saw no trace of unfriendliness; they were eyes which 
 shone with understanding and even affection. Leighton, the 
 Clark's and others showed me special attention, as Leighton went 
 back and forth asking and announcing donations. I offered to 
 donate the $200.00 Clark had borrowed. The rally over, I 
 made my way through the milling crowd giving and receiving 
 greetings, as I was being recognized. Adams came by and I 
 said "hello." He looked around, detective-like, and said "There 
 were some threatening 'phone calls against you tonight. They 
 said they're going to get you. We have extra police here to- 
 night, I want to get you out safely." He turned and greeted 
 Attorney Ulysses S. Keys, "Hello, Keys, how are you?" Then, 
 turning to me, he continued, "You know Miss DeRose." Keys 
 said, warmly, "hello," as Adams kept talking, "We had some 
 threats here tonight. I want to get her out safely. I would 
 take her home myself, but it is better for us not to be seen 
 together. You have a car, you can see her home. The U. S. 
 Marshall may be here." Adams bowed and left. Mr. Keys 
 
— 206 — 
 
 moved up closer as we followed the people leaving. Still in 
 the aisle Keys introduced me to a Mr. Peck and Mrs. Rock- 
 away. I asked Mr. Keys to drop me off at an L station or 
 street-car. As we reached the sidewalk I saw a policeman coming 
 toward us, and recalling what Adams said about the Marshall, 
 I became frightened. Noticing my tenseness, Keys took my 
 hand, saying, "Don't be alarmed. You are with me." "What 
 if I'm stopped?" I asked. "Just say you are Mrs. Keys," he 
 suggested. 
 
 Going toward an automobile, Keys said he was sorry he 
 didn't have his car there, but that Mr. Peck would drive us. 
 Mrs. Rockaway discussed a rent case with Keys. Going along, 
 Mr. Keys asked if I would like to stop at the Club DeLisa for 
 the show. It was not too late in the evening, and I was aglow 
 with the new world of the South Side, and the suggestion of a 
 show intrigued me. I said, "yes." He again said that I should 
 just say that I'm Mrs. Keys. "Is there a Mrs. Keys?" I asked. 
 
 He replied, "Yes there is, but we are getting a divorce, 
 we have been separated as she is now in Jamaica." At the 
 club we watched a Negro floor show, and Mr. Keys ordered 
 first one drink then another. After the second drink I told 
 Mr. Keys emphatically, that I couldn't take more and that I am 
 not the world's best drinker. In our conversation I learned that 
 he had been a government attorney at the rent office for four 
 years. 
 
 I thought that the whole course of my life might have been 
 changed had I known Mr. Keys during my troubles with the 
 rent office. Here was the answer to all my rent difficulties, and 
 an honest, kindly and responsible attorney. Now that Mr. Adams 
 had taken over my property, there remained a serious unfinished 
 matter which Adams described as a molehill out of which 1 
 was making a mountain. But the molehill was a mountain 
 
— 207 — 
 
 under the name of United States of America Against Camille 
 De Rose! And for the first time I learned two words which 
 chilled my blood, ne exeat, for which the United States Marshal 
 was on the prowl ready to spring from behind any bush, any 
 building. I felt even now that Keys is the key to my redemption. 
 Consciously and subconsciously, Keys grew bigger and bigger 
 in my imagination. 
 
 I was becoming more and more confused about Adams. 
 The name of Mrs. Adams was mentioned more than once Dy 
 speakers and announcers at the rally, yet Adams was not with 
 her throughout the meeting. And as I thought of his eagerness 
 to rush me out of the church, I felt there must be some undis- 
 closed reason for his attitude. The more I thought of Adams, 
 the more I mentally hugged Keys. I felt that I was again in 
 danger of being thrown overboard, and I felt that Keys came 
 just in time, as a lifeboat, as a new redeemer. 
 
 I 
 
 * * 
 had eaten a late lunch but had no dinner. The excitement 
 
 of the evening dulled my appetite, which was awakened 
 perhaps by drinks and the late hour. I said I had better go 
 home. 1 meant to avoid telling where I lived, as I was living 
 in a white neighborhood, under an assumed name. I gave my 
 address to no one (excepting to Adams), not even to my 
 folks. Keys suggested that we go somewhere to get a bite 
 to eat, and that he would take me home afterward. Leaving 
 the Club DeLisa, Keys hailed a cab and mentioned a place to 
 drive to. He said he knew a place which had a nice dining 
 room. We stopped in front of a hotel restaurant. He asked 
 me to remain in the cab to find out if the dining room is still 
 open. He soon returned and said that the main dining room 
 was closed, but that they served in the private dining rooms* 
 as the kitchen is open all night. 
 
 At the Club DeLisa the hours fled by as we were watching 
 
— 208 — 
 
 the show, the dancing, talking about life on the South Side, 
 the Rally, and particularly my experiences with the rent office 
 and all that led to the riots. It was now past midnight. I was 
 more and more impressed by Mr. Keys' understanding and 
 ready knowledge of both the facts and the law involved in the 
 many things which we discussed. 
 
 Returning to the cab he helped me to step out as he paid 
 and dismissed the driver. We took the elevator to an upper 
 floor. We entered a suite with living room furniture. He 
 asked me what I would like, and because of the late hour I said 
 I might as well eat breakfast — bacon and eggs. He ordered 
 from the kitchen and in a short time the trays came up with 
 appetizing food, steaming hot coffee, and champagne cocktails. 
 We ate heartily. We couldn't run dry in our conversation about 
 the many things of mutual interest, so we kept talking while 
 eating. His interest in me and in my difficulties was genuine. 
 
 The trays gone, the conversation running thin, we were 
 standing at the extra fire place, the radio playing soft music. 
 Mr. Keys was fixing another drink. I warned him that I am 
 one of those who can take my liquor or leave it alone, and 
 that it's my turn to leave it alone. Unmindful of my protest, 
 he handed me a drink and I commenced to sip it, then put 
 it down on the mantle. He did likewise. Not too suddenly he 
 put his arms around me, saying, "You're not afraid any more, 
 are you?' 
 
 I said I was confused. The light switch being within arms 
 length from where we were standing, he turned off the light. 
 The light from the next room streamed into our room. My 
 thoughts went into action. There was an impossible barrier 
 between us. I had determined not to see him socially. Yet at 
 the moment I was magnetized to him. I felt that perhaps 
 centuries back this soulful colored man was my all-consuming 
 
— 209 — 
 
 passion. Just at that moment I was aflame with a love which 
 had always burned. Or was that an obsession? I try to 
 convince myself that it is an obsession. I finally settle the 
 question that it is an obsession. But what can I do with an 
 obsession? What is an obsession? Aren't all powerful attach- 
 ments obsessions, pure, simple and — maybe not so pure? In 
 the dim lights he was not colored, in the magnatized atmo- 
 sphere he was not bold and in the loss of all resistance I was 
 not resentful. But I promised not to repeat the experience. 
 
 * * 
 
 felt secure in my anonymity. The photographs in the 
 newspapers were insufficient to identify me. My where- 
 abouts was known to my attorney only. In his office only might 
 I be trapped. I had not visited my folks for months. When I 
 telephoned to mother I used a booth, never twice the same one. 
 Several days after the Rally, having determined to avoid Mr. 
 Keys, I went to Adams' office. Just then two stalwart men 
 entered and in a commanding voice turned to one of the 
 attorneys who happened to be in the reception room and point- 
 ing at me, asked, "Is this Miss DeRose?" Before he could open 
 his mouth, I quickly answered, "No!" The attorney was aware 
 of the situation and suggested to the men that they might return 
 when Mr. Adams was there. Trembling I went into the 
 attorney's private office to wait for Adams, but realized that 
 the men might return. I left by another door and, fearing to 
 take the elevator, I walked all the way down from the fourteenth 
 floor. I went to a cafeteria a block away and waited for 
 about an hour and a half. Feeling that the coast was clear 
 I returned to Adams' office. The elevator cars are narrow in 
 that building. I stepped into the elevator and there were the 
 two men. By the time I realized what I stepped into, the door 
 
— 210 — 
 
 closed and we were on the way up. And to make matters more 
 eerie, Mr. Keys was also on the elevator. Apparently he read 
 the strain on my face, as I looked away from him without 
 greeting him. He also kept silent. At the 9th floor the door 
 opened. Mr. Keys stepped off and I followed him to escape 
 the men. 
 
 I walked down the hall. I spoke to Mr. Keys, told him 
 about the two rough-looking suspicious men. I followed him 
 into his office. "You're safe here," Mr. Keys assured me. I 
 thought to myself, "I wonder." I told him that I had waited 
 for Mr. Adams, but that now I was afraid to go up to his 
 office. Adams had 'phoned and asked me to come, but he 
 wasn't there when I arrived. Mr. Keys 'phoned Adams' office, 
 but he had not returned. Just then the door opened suddenly, 
 and there was a camera flash! Quickly Mr. Keys rushed me 
 to an inner office and told me to wait. He then followed the 
 men into the hall. I overheard him saying, "You can't do this." 
 They were newspaper photographers. 
 
 I told Mr. Keys that I was tired and worried. He poured 
 a drink for me. Nothing was mentioned about that fateful 
 night we spent together. Again, at that moment, I felt an ir- 
 resistable attachment for him, even strengthened by this unstinted 
 willingness to protect me. I thanked him and left, even as 1 
 resolved not to see him again, socially or professionally. 
 
 TV/IT Y daily visits to Adams' office were now dictated by 
 desperation. Yet when I remained away for a single day, 
 when I would call by telephone for messages from my mother, 
 I would be informed by Adams' secretary that he wished to see 
 me, always on something important or urgent. Responding 
 to such messages, I would frequently call at the hour indicated 
 
— 211 — 
 
 and wait for hours in Adams' absence. The pattern was to 
 keep me hovering around his office. I received such a message 
 soon after the Rally. When I called I again found Adams away 
 from the office and waited and waited. When he came in he 
 said he had a brilliant proposition for both of us regarding the 
 building. That all the tenants were out, and that the building 
 can now be reopened as a decontrolled property, or can be sold 
 as a co-op after making repairs. 
 
 Adams said that he had all that property throughout the 
 South Side, but that he is short of cash. That we can reopen 
 the buildng by expending $10,000.00 for repairs, if I would 
 give him $10,000.00. 
 
 1 had become impatient waiting for him. I said that I 
 was tired of waiting around in his office from day to day. "My 
 time, my life, has some value, too. I have been waiting to 
 finish prorating on the sale of the building, which hasn't been 
 done. You were telling me of the big income you have from 
 all those buildings you own, and the many managers you em- 
 ployed to take care of your many buildings. Where is all that 
 income? I sold my building to you. All I want are the payments 
 and the interest." 
 
 He asked me to be calm and acted hurt. He called attention 
 to his honesty and loyalty and to all he had done for me, and 
 that he is more concerned for my welfare than for his own. 
 He kept up a barrage of explanations and assurances. He said 
 that the $38,000.00 note is signed by the La Salle National 
 Bank, one of the largest banks in Chicago, that the bank is 
 responsible and stands back of the note, that his standing is 
 high with that bank, which is proved by their signature on 
 the note, which shows how far the bank went because of his 
 standing. That not only is the bank behind that note, but that 
 George C. Adams is also behind it, and that behind George C. 
 
— 212 — 
 
 Adams is the bar association, the NAACP, his newspaper, his 
 vast holdings and his reputation. He repeated again and again 
 that we now have a chance to triple the income from the Cicero 
 building. I said that I would give him -the $10,000.00 if he 
 would give me good security, such as a good first mortgage on 
 any of his properties, and that I would have another attorney 
 examine the security. 
 
 With the mention of the $10,000.00 Adams' face brightened 
 and he said "Let's go down and have a cup of coffee." 
 
 I had become familiar with an almost fixed routine. When- 
 ever we came to any point of agreement, Mr. Adams would 
 interrupt the conversation by asking me to lunch, or he would 
 run out of the office after a telephone call. Instinctively I 
 knew that he would come forth with a new thought or new 
 proposition enlarging or changing our point of agreement. I 
 was not wrong in my supposition. 
 
 HPHE next day Adams again went into a marathon con- 
 versation with me between incoming telephone calls. He 
 said that we can become rich from the Cicero building. I 
 didn't quite understand the we, as I had sold the building, and 
 thought perhaps he is using the word "we" as meaning himself 
 and his family. He proposed that we convert the building by 
 dividing each apartment into two units, that the conversion can 
 be made while it was being repaired, and that I should super- 
 vise the reconstruction. I was to join him in this money-making 
 enterprise. Also, that he knew of a contractor who would give 
 him a written estimate of $20,000.00, but he would make 
 the repairs for about $8,000.00, then present the $20,000.00 
 bill to the insurance company and we would make the difference. 
 As he spoke I was seized with a feeling of desperation against 
 which T struggled. 
 
— 213 — 
 
 He continued, "You have your money idle, you might 
 just as well have it work for you. Make it $20,000.00 and I 
 will give you six per-cent." I said, not too confidently, that I 
 will give him the $20,000.00 at six per-cent, and asked if he 
 had brought the necessary documents and information regarding 
 the properties which were to be security, and that I would 
 submit to my attorney. "You are now attorney for George C. 
 Adams," I said. "I must have my attorney to advise me" 
 "Fine," he said, as before. 
 
 Before the day was over, I tried to come to some conclusion 
 with Mr. Adams, but was becoming more and more disturbed. 
 As he was expecting me to produce another $20,000.00, I was 
 in a bargaining position. The newspapers continued to refer 
 to me as as the "rent control violating landlady," and that I 
 was being hunted on a writ of ne exeat, I demanded that 
 this matter be cleared up; that I cannot be put off any longer. 
 "Oh, they're dropping it, but it takes a little time," he said 
 again and again. I demanded that he get it in writing. He 
 went through repeating the various promises of legal proceedings, 
 actions and appeals, all of which will wipe out all actions 
 against me — tomorrow. Adams resumed his chatter about the 
 Cicero building, and how we will become rich in handling it.* 
 
 Finally, Adams came up with a new proposition. He 
 proposed that I should give him $30,000.00 for the very highest 
 type of security, a genuine $30,000.00 mechanics lien on the 
 Cicero building! This he kept repeating, with gusto, stating 
 
 *What I did not know at that time was that Adams had called upon the 
 NAACP to raise $50,000.00 for repairs to the Cicero building, so that it 
 may be used to assert the civil rights of the colored people, else it would 
 amount to a surrender. On the other hand, I overheard telephone con- 
 versation between Mr. Adams and a Cicero real estate broker who was 
 to offer the building to Cicero citizens or Cicero authorities at a high 
 price to prevent Negroes from coming into Cicero. 
 
— 214 — 
 
 that the mechanics lien would come ahead of the $65,000.00 
 mortgage. 
 
 I was becoming feeble over what I commenced to under- 
 stand. Until then I dismissed any suspicion against Adams 
 which seeped into my mind. Adams had not invested anything 
 in my building which I "sold" him; Adams sold me oil stock 
 which paid no dividends; Adams sold me a mortgage for 
 $12,500.00; Adams sold me another something for $8,500.00; 
 Adams was my investment counsel. Now my "redeemer," will 
 make me rich by defrauding the insurance company and by 
 offering me a genuine mechanics lien for $30,000.00 cash! 
 
 I rose and said, "It seems to me, Adams, when I get 
 through with you, I will have a very expensive vacant lot." 
 
 He laughed deliriously. Desperation took hold of me. I 
 screamed at him. If I had the power I would have torn him in 
 shreds! If I had a weapon I would have destroyed him. 
 
 T rushed out of Adams' office as I was becoming choked up 
 with a sense of defeat and frustration, as tears gushed from 
 my eyes and streaked my face. In that shape I could not take 
 the elevator. I scrambled down the stairway, tripping, stumbling. 
 I steeled myself against the storm within me. I was headed 
 toward the ladies' room to wash my face and restore my make- 
 up. The ladies' room was kept locked and I had no key. I 
 decided to ask the girl in Mr. Keys' office. I opened it cautiously 
 to look for the young lady, hoping to be unobserved by others 
 in the office. As I slowly opened the door I found Mr. Peck 
 standing in the reception room. He noticed my distraction. 
 He asked me what was wrong. I struggled with my speech, 
 wondering if I should confide in this young colored student. 
 What help could he give me against a seasoned, resourceful 
 
— 215 — 
 
 swindler? I asked him for the key to the washroom. Giving 
 me the key, he again inquired, "What is wrong, Miss De Rose?" 
 I said, "everything is wrong — Mr. Adams — is all wrong." 
 Returning the key, as if talking to myself, I said, "I don't know 
 just what to do. I must find a lawyer to take care of my af- 
 fairs," and walking out, Mr. Peck said, "You had better wait. 
 Mr. Keys, I'm sure, will want to know about this." Just 
 then Mr. Keys was also at the door. 
 
 Mr. Keys, also noticing my distraction, although freshened, 
 asked what's on my mind. I told him that Mr. Adams got mi 
 all entangled with the law and has title to my property, and 
 lots of my money. Mr. Keys asked me to come in, saying, 
 "This is serious. I will call in Mr. Leighton," (Attorney for 
 NAACP, of which Mr. Keys was also special counsel.) 
 
 Soon Attorney Leighton arrived. Mr. Keys explained that 
 "Miss DeRose came down all upset and alarmed. She thinks 
 Adams had cheated her." They asked me to start from the 
 beginning. I said that the rent differences with the rent office 
 and the complications with the court proceedings got me con- 
 fused and that I followed Adams' advice to sell him the building. 
 I felt I had no choice. Now, as my investment counsel, it looks 
 as if Adams took away everything I had. That he kept asking 
 me to trust him, that he can't mislead me because he is a 
 lawyer and that I should tell no one about our transactions. 
 That now my building is gone and my cash is almost gone, 
 and all went to Adams. Over the radio I heard that the United 
 States Marshal is hunting for me, and Adams keeps telling me 
 that it is nothing and that he would take care of it. That while 
 he tells me to keep under cover, he is jubilant as if nothing is 
 wrong. Meanwhile he wants me to turn over to him what little 
 money I have left. 
 
— 216 — 
 
 EIGHTON and Keys exchanged knowing glances, and 
 
 Leighton said, "It sounds like Adams' pattern." Now Keys 
 seemed all upset, walking back and forth across the room. From 
 time to time Keys stopped and looked at me penetratingly. I 
 met his gaze. I saw the soul in his eyes. I commenced to take 
 heart again. I wishfully thought that at long last I may be 
 in good hands. I felt that Keys was more than a match for 
 Adams. It also seemed as if there was a meeting of the 
 minds between Keys and Leighton. They were the leaders in 
 the Negro community, championing their civil right cause, 
 freshly attacked by Cicero, that they were working together 
 in the Harvey Clark rallies, and, I felt, they could not afford 
 to permit one of their top members, such as Adams, to cheat a 
 white woman, who was even more sinned against than, and 
 jointly with, Clark. 
 
 Leighton spoke again, saying, "It sounds very much like 
 the Adams newspaper deal." 
 
 The actions and remarks of these co-workers with Adams 
 in their racial activities were more alarming than reassuring. 
 For there always had been a wishful hope that the contradictions 
 and irregularities might somehow be explained, perhaps justified, 
 by Adams. Now I'm told that what Adams did to me follows 
 a pattern. I could contain myself no longer. I rushed back to 
 Adams' office. I faced him as he was sitting at his desk. I 
 stormed at him. In my fury I found myself swearing, something 
 I had never done before. I told him that at long last I am 
 beginning to see through him. That the proposed mechanics 
 lien swindle was clear to me; that the offer to swindle the 
 insurance company was also clear. "You took my building 
 without paying a cent. I made no rent violations, you did. I 
 came to you when you represented yourself as an honest and 
 capable lawyer. I asked you a simple question about rent 
 
— 217 — 
 
 control on which you claimed to be expert. I wound up without 
 a building, without money and without my freedom. You will 
 pay for what you did to me — and listen, you — there is no 
 room in this world for both of us, and don't think I don't 
 mean it." I kept pounding on his desk until my hand was raw. 
 He was cowering behind his desk. 
 
 Leighton entered. "What's the trouble, brother Adams?" 
 
 Adams said, "She gets excited. She's nervous over nothing. 
 Everything is fine." 
 
 "What do you mean everything is fine?" I shouted. 
 "Everything is fine for you. It isn't fine for me. My building 
 is lost, my home is lost, my furniture is gone and the United 
 States Marshall is hunting for me. The oil stock is as phony 
 as you are, you slimy bastard. And what about the $8,500.00, 
 do you think you'll get away with that . . ." 
 
 Adams got up some steam, and shouted back, "I didn't 
 tear up your building, the Cicero savages did." But his bravado 
 didn't register. He could sense that from Leighton's grim 
 countenance. Adams' face darkened, so he was even more 
 "mixed" than he had admitted. His reddish hair was beginning 
 to show where it had been died black. He became abject and 
 apologetic. He pretended to reach into his desk and fumbled 
 with papers, saying, "I'm not doing anything wrong. I am 
 taking good care of everything for her. She will get her money 
 back with profits." He finally pulled out a paper from his 
 desk, and continued, "What's she alarmed about? Here's the 
 statement for your $8,500.00. It was here all the time. You 
 didn't ask for it." 
 
 I turned on my heels and stomped out of his office, never 
 to return. I went down to Keys' office where he was eagerly 
 waiting for me. I showed him the $8,500.00 paper. Keys 
 examined it and said, "This doesn't say anything. This is not 
 
— 218 — 
 
 security. Can you prove you gave him the money?" It now 
 dawned upon me why Adams was disappointed when I brought 
 him a cashier's check for the $8,500.00. He expected cash. 
 
 * * 
 
 T was keeping "under cover." I was now a "fixture" in 
 Mr. Keys' office, answering the telephone, taking messages, 
 greeting clients, straightening his desk and keeping order. I 
 telephoned my mother not to call me at Adams' office and gave 
 her my new number. The strain upon me was far from lifted. 
 At the office I could escape my thoughts. Away from the office 
 I went to movies. A phone call came in from my mother. I 
 had not visited them for months, while in hiding. I heard 
 mother's voice. It was about 7:00 in the evening. "Tell her to 
 come home. We are all worried about her." 
 
 The words and voice rang into my ears and brought a 
 lump in my throat. I struggled to suppress. What? I who 
 weathered all the storms of life! I who stood alone against 
 a raging sea of troubles ! Am I to be floored by a few words 
 and a voice? But my tears defied me. They came down 
 flooding my face. Their salty taste came through my open 
 mouth. I was mortified. Mr. Keys saw my struggle and my 
 tears. I felt all the worse. Keys put his arms around me. I 
 cried out loud. I bawled. He held me until I stopped sobbing. 
 I was exhausted from the storm within. He wiped my eyes and 
 face with his large, crisp linen handkerchief. Inwardly I was 
 abashed. I found myself in his arms, relaxed, with my head 
 resting on his shoulder. I brushed from my mind puffs of 
 misgivings. For that precious moment I was at peace with the 
 world. I was no longer hunted. I was no longer alone. United 
 States of America was no longer against Camille DeRose. All 
 was peace. My redeemer liveth — thank the Lord. I have heard 
 it said that there is eternity in one brief moment. That was 
 
— 219 — 
 
 it. I will never be unhappy again. I was as peaceful as a baby 
 asleep in the cool summer breeze. 
 
 Keys felt that the storm was over. He broke the silence 
 by withdrawing his soothing arms and filling two glasses. He 
 picked up one and extended to me the other. The all-consuming 
 magnetism from which I had fled held me captive again. 
 
 At that moment I loved him as much as it is humanly 
 possible for a woman to love a man. He stood before me 
 strong, vigorous, understanding all of me. As I raised my glass 
 with one hand, he reached for my other hand, grasping it 
 tightly. I sensed his thoughts when he said, "You're so soft 
 and lily-white." He tenderly kissed my finger-tips. With 
 every fibre of his soul he expressed understanding, kindness 
 and sympathy. I craved all this as the parched earth craves the 
 rain. As I looked at him, he stood there, a tower of strength, 
 rich in manhood. His hand felt firm and steady. Never did 
 I need such devotion more. Emotions ask no questions, know 
 no color, do not reason, but reach out and find what they need. 
 In the past I pondered love, tested it by reason, but now I 
 know that love defies reason. I cast aside my passion for free- 
 dom which is denied because of color. I was content to accept 
 the challenge of color which a stalwart race should meet head on. 
 
 * * 
 
 TVT OW that I no longer went to Adams' office, Adams kept 
 coming down to talk to me, uninvited, in Mr. Keys' office. 
 A few days after the "show down," when Attorney Keys was 
 present, Adams came down, with alarming news. One reading 
 this would feel that I should not have paid too much attention 
 to what Adams might say. But it must not be forgotten that 
 I had been receiving anonymous letters and mysterious telephone 
 calls, with threats; that my mother's home had been bombed, 
 and that she also was receiving threatening calls and letters. 
 
— 220 — 
 
 This book would become too long if I were to go into details 
 of the terror under which my folks and I have lived since the 
 Cicero affair. So that while I could no longer trust Adams, 
 and while I knew that whatever he said or did had a sinister 
 purpose. I still could not escape a feeling of nerves over 
 the fears which Adams tried to implant. Adams pretended to 
 talk to Keys when he said, "They seem to be investigating us 
 more than they are the rioters." Then turning to me, he 
 continued, "They're looking for you. I suggest you leave town 
 for awhile." 
 
 "Where should I go, to Puerto Rico?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes — yes" he agreed, "That's a good place." 
 
 "I must first make sure my investments are safe," I 
 replied. "I won't go anywhere, and won't rest here or anywhere, 
 until I find out what's wrong with my investments, and what's 
 going on with my rent cases." 
 
 "The F.B.I, called on me. They're investigating your past. 
 You know, they could find out a lot," Adams continued. 
 
 "I don't see why she should leave town," Keys said to 
 Adams. When they left, Keys 'phoned to Leighton who came 
 over immediately, and they both conferred. Leighton said he 
 wondered what Adams had in mind. 
 
 Later, Keys looked up the records and told me that the 
 writ of ne exeat was in force and that it was a serious matter; 
 that the rent case had not been dropped, as Adams told me; 
 and that there was a judgment against me and that the rent 
 office had been trying to locate my bank account. 
 
 With a feeling that Keys had taken over my battles, and 
 with the true status of my matters reported to me by my new 
 counsel, I regained my fighting spirit. I 'phoned Adams to 
 come down. He came down and faced Keys and me. I demanded 
 to know why nothing had been done in the court matters. 
 
— 221 — 
 
 Adams said that they had been dropped. I plainly told him he 
 was a liar, and that the writ of ne exeat was still pending. Adams 
 said that it is of slight consequence, that he knows the Marshal 
 and that he would take care of it, but that I should keep out 
 of sight. 
 
 Mr. Keys spoke up and said that the writ of ne exeat is 
 serious, and told Adams, "You had better do something about 
 it, and soon." 
 
 Mr. Keys explained to me that all my terror and trouble, 
 the loss of my building and my home and the Cicero race riots 
 — all could have been avoided by a simple procedure. 
 
 When the question of the validity of the Cicero rent 
 control resolution was in doubt, when the rent control office 
 and lawyers were undecided as to whether or not Cicero was 
 decontrolled, there was one inexpensive, simple thing to be done. 
 
 A suit should have been filed in the Federal court asking 
 
 for a declaratory judgment. For the small sum of $15.00 in 
 
 costs, the court would have quickly decided the issue. That was 
 
 not done, whether intentionally or through ignorance. It was 
 
 that simple. 
 
 * # 
 
 A T lunch Mr. Keys discussed with me an automobile trip to 
 New York. He was to leave the next day, would visit 
 cities enroute, and wished me to accompany him. I was thrilled 
 by the romantic idea — like a honeymoon. We were having lunch 
 in the inner office. Chicken, shrimp, scotch-and-soda, with 
 clinking ice cubes. It was his habit to take choice tid-bit, a 
 mouth-watering slab of chicken, from his plate and put it on 
 mine. How like my dad, I thought! Dad would take choice 
 things, cake which thrilled us as children, and divide it among 
 us. Those were happy hours, cozy, soulful and sheltered. Again 
 
— 222 — 
 
 I escaped from the howls and gnashing teeth. I felt as close 
 to Keys as a drowning man to his rescuer. No one else could 
 take his place. My life was in his hands, and my heart went 
 with it. Every turn, every look, was brimful of kindness, 
 sympathy and affection. I watched his every mood, when he 
 was jubilant and when he was sad, when he looked at me so 
 tenderly and I saw the soul in his eyes. I entered into the inner- 
 most chambers of his work and his life. He discussed with me 
 his past, his problems, his clients and their problems. 
 
 On that evening Keys had something on his mind. He 
 did not turn on the television as was his habit. I knew that 
 he would soon teil me his thoughts — he always did. I was due 
 for another shock. 
 
 Keys said he had spoken to Leighton. He looked at me 
 with deep and genuine sadness. Leighton suggested that I 
 should employ a white lawyer. 
 
 "Why?" I gasped. 
 
 "It would look better," he said. Then added reflectively, 
 "If the newspapers would find out about us the publicity would 
 be bad." 
 
 I was speechless with fear and with disappointment. I 
 thought of running away, but where? I was on a lifeboat in 
 which my weight was the objection. .Until actually thrown 
 overboard I must hang on. We left the building to his car. 
 I was lost in my troubled thoughts. We drove through the 
 winding South Side boulevards. Truly, I felt, I cannot live 
 without him, as he had awakened my hopes and even more so 
 my heart. 
 
 "What are you dreaming about, Babesy?" That was my 
 pet name. How soothing, how refreshing, how reassuring! In 
 a hostile, grasping, thievish world, there is one Goliath to 
 whom 1 am Babsey — a Samson to whom I am Delilah. 
 
— 223 — 
 
 For greater convenience I had taken an apartment on the 
 South Side. When I did not cook we ordered our dinners from 
 a hotel dining room which was brought in. I entered my 
 apartment alone. Keys soon came in with a bottle of scotch. 
 
 After dinner we lolled around in the fashion of a romantic 
 couple on a honeymoon, only more so. Yet while there was 
 little left to the imagination (little left, period!) the torrid 
 interlude was interspersed with questions, some casual, some 
 significant. 
 
 Had I known any Negroes? 
 
 Not until I went to Adams to ask a simple question — 
 and I didn't know he was colored. 
 
 Was I curious about colored men? 
 
 Yes, I was. 
 
 I now have my answer — wow! 
 
 The difference is the difference. 
 
 There is a lasting firmness — even in the lips. 
 
 The Negroes are different — they're unlike. 
 
 Perhaps I aroused him overmuch, or may be Negroes are 
 naturally aroused to fever heat. He kept repeating, "Camille, 
 Camille" in his husky feverish voice when his lips were dis- 
 engaged. He became sobered at intervals, asked me about 
 my past, the number of men in my life, the marriages — he 
 seemed to know something. I need no wild guesses about who 
 told things. 
 
 He kept whispering that I was so fragile, so soft, so lily 
 white, so spirituel, yet while his voice and words were soft, 
 he was a tiger in strength. I sometimes felt engulfed in a 
 mountain of muscle. He said, "I wouldn't hurt you for the 
 world." My subjugation was not so complete that I was not 
 aware of what he asked and what he said. It is in just such 
 moments when a man might betray his otherwise guarded 
 
— 224 — 
 
 thoughts. In those questions he betrayed the gossip which reached 
 his ears, also a trace of jealousy. His unrestrained impulses 
 toward me also betrayed that a Negro may have a frantic love 
 life for an idol for whom he might not risk his convenience 
 for her protection. I felt that if I am to be sacrificed, if I am 
 now to be thrown on the pyre which destroyed my home and 
 my freedom, what am I doing here? 
 
 I, the soft, fragile Babsey was storm-tossed into his steel- 
 girded arms, into his loving embrace. Am I to experience this 
 raging, sultry, ungovernable affection, with incidences which 
 even I had never before experienced, all from a ravishing 
 dynamo who is ready to desert me to the very storm which 
 brought us together ? 
 
 T am asked to go to a white lawyer. I didn't discriminate 
 between white and Negro lawyers, but the Negro lawyers 
 discriminated between white and Negro clients! The NAACP 
 manifesto that all are free and equal were cancelled by setting 
 up a segregation against me, a white woman. Only in affairs 
 of love there was not to be discrimination. 
 
 Sending me to a white lawyer meant more than meets the 
 eye. It meant that Adams' betrayal of me as a client was even 
 greater than I suspected; it meant that all I had, had been 
 wiped out; it meant that in spite of Adams' skulduggery, he 
 was preferred over me, even by the man who in his raging 
 passion said he wouldn't hurt me for the world. The NAACP, 
 represented by Leighton and the love-scorched Keys, defy the 
 Town of Cicero to bar the colored Clarks' from the town, 
 whereas the NAACP bar me, a white woman from the offices of 
 their attorney. Do not the colored people, through the NAACP. 
 produce a paradox? 
 
— 225 — 
 
 In his sober moments I so spoke to Keys. He said he couldn't 
 represent the Clarks' if he represented me. He resolved to with- 
 draw from the Clark case, so he said. 
 
 Whatever may be thought of Negroes, or of Keys, I thought 
 his conduct exemplary. He was a steady and conscientious 
 worker. He worked late, many nights when I was with him. 
 He was fair with his clients. He worried over their hardships 
 He hated injustice. These qualities inspired confidence and 
 respect, and, to a storm-tossed, hounded woman, love. 
 
 Yet I did not wish to disturb his life, regardless of my 
 perils. I know too much about the ravages awaiting one fallen 
 from grace, and, believe me, I would have risked my own life 
 to avoid breaking him down. I did not wish him to withdraw 
 from the Clark case. There would be no conflict in acting for 
 both. In fact, the matters were parallel — identical. My case 
 and the Clarks' were the same. The decision to go it alone by 
 the Clarks' or by the lawyers who represent them, aided and 
 abetted by the lawyer-weasel Adams, had vicious implications, 
 of which I shall speak later. 
 
 There can be no love without loyalty. I was therefore con- 
 secrated to Keys with double strength. One was by love, in the 
 full sense of the term. The other was my unbreakable sense of 
 fair play. I will fight to the death anyone who betrays me 
 on a major matter affecting my life. But I would also fight to 
 the death against despoiling anyone else. However I might 
 do harm to myself I wish to do harm to no one else. 
 I can take everything, as I fear I must. But I can take death, 
 too, as I have shown. He who steals my purse does not steal trash. 
 He who steals my purse steals my ability to be a comfort to my 
 mother, a credit to my brother and a joy to all those I love. 
 He who steals my purse takes away solace and inflicts sorrow. 
 
— 226 — 
 
 Without my purse I was forced to forego the respect of the 
 world and of myself. With it I have independence, security 
 and freedom. With it I am patrone di casa. Without it, I cannot 
 live in the country of my birth because UNITED STATES OF 
 AMERICA is against CAMILLE DE ROSE, and I cannot leave 
 my country because I am trapped by a ne exeat, with the hounds 
 of the United States marshal's office a few yards behind me. 
 Would I have gone to jail if I held my purse? Would anyone? 
 Would I have been sent to a mental institution if I had not been 
 robbed of my building? With money the robber can prosecute 
 his victim. Without money the victim cannot defend. 
 
 I am either all silence or all talk. Keys unwound me by 
 hinting about my past. I talked and talked, while enveloped in 
 his mighty arms, reliving the past, some joys, more sorrows, 
 dangers, humiliation, narrow escapes, a perpetual contest of wits, 
 a fencing match with a false world, for which I was unprepared, 
 but in which I became adept. Yet in that "underworld" there is 
 far less corruption, far less skulduggery, than in the ceremonious 
 halls of pretense and mock-respectability. 
 
 Keys listened, sympathized and understood. He said, cheer- 
 fully, that he and I were going on an automobile trip to New 
 York in the morning. 
 
 I 
 
 slept little that night. I felt a creeping coldness of a hostile 
 world. Yet it was possible, as Adams said, I was making a moun- 
 tain of a molehill. But since the words escaped from Keys' mouth 
 that I should get a white lawyer, something within me kept ask- 
 ing, "What are you doing here?" "What are you doing here?" 
 Yes, what am I doing here? Quietly I arose. It was about four. 
 I dressed. I was to write "finis" to this mad scene. I was to get 
 
— 227 — 
 
 a white lawyer, move back to a white neighborhood, live only 
 with white people. True there are no white angels, not in the 
 Loop, not in the courts. But neither are there black angels — 
 anywhere. 
 
 I tiptoed back for my last glance, my last sight, at my dusky 
 Samson. He will learn in the morning that his Delilah had flown. 
 He sleeps restlessly, struggling, sighing, moaning. I bent down 
 and kissed him a light farewell kiss, then tiptoed to the door. 
 
 "Babesy! wha — what's the matter — where are you going?" 
 
 "I don't know where, but I must go," I said. "I feel restless 
 and despondent. Good-bye." 
 
 He pleaded with me not to leave. He held me tightly. When- 
 ever he did so, it relieved my tension. Being held firmly gives 
 a sense of safety. You cannot fall, physically. You therefore feel 
 braced mentally. The tenseness gone, the shower of tears turned 
 on, and he was busy wiping my face, nose and eyes. Through- 
 out, he assured me of his love, of his determination to see me 
 through my difficulties. My past didn't matter. 
 
 When all was over, my resolve to leave was shaken. Yet I 
 did not wish to remain, at least just then. He insisted I promise 
 to see him at the office at 9:30. I promised. 
 
 Arriving at his office, he met me with a soulful smile. For 
 the first time he informed me that under some law I must file 
 a notice within thirty days to preserve my right to sue the Town 
 of Cicero, or the County, and that 28 days had already elapsed. 
 
 I reproved him for not advising me earlier. A trip to New 
 York was now out of question, as I would have to find a "white" 
 lawyer to file the notices. I didn't know why Keys had not in- 
 formed me earlier, nor why he had not offered to prepare and 
 file those notices. He went to New York. I remained here. 
 
— 228 — 
 
 SILENCE 
 In Silence you lead me from the great hall, the throngs, 
 
 In trust I followed love, 
 
 Your hand held mine firmly, leading to great heights, 
 In Silence I found happiness. 
 In Silence I found peaceful slumber in your embrace, 
 
 Only to be awakened quickly, by the storms of life. 
 
 You withdraw, you escape me, the tears drop, as 
 I find myself alone in the great darkness of 
 
 SILENCE. 
 
 V¥ T ITH Keys gone, I must make haste to file those notices. I 
 ** 'phoned my Berwyn attorney, but he was out of town. I 
 'phoned Cicero Town Hall, Mr. Berkos, Town Attorney was also 
 away. Chief Konovsky came to the 'phone. I told him of an in- 
 trigue by Attorney Adams and others. The Chief said, "Come 
 home. When will you be here? We will be waiting for you" I was 
 not impressed. I recalled the treatment I had received at their 
 hands. I 'phoned Attorney Leighton. He again counseled me to get 
 a white lawyer. He said he knew one he would suggest. He named 
 Attorney Dino J. D'Angelo. Leighton said further, "We will give 
 you every assistance. If Adams cheated you, he must make good. 
 We are with you." On the elevator, I met Attorney Clerk from 
 Adam's office. He said he was sorry that I didn't get along with 
 Adams, but that D'Angelo was a good lawyer, and would take 
 care of me. How did he also know about D'Angelo? We shall see. 
 I called at the office of Attorney D'Angelo before 5 p.m. 
 Leighton had 'phoned him in the meantime. Leighton said that 
 D'Angelo's fees will be moderate, and that he was capable. 
 D'Angelo also said that his fees will be small, and suggested that 
 he would charge his fees by the hour. He said he was not the 
 type of lawyer Adams is. I said that all I wished presently was 
 
— 229 — 
 
 to serve two notices, one on the Town of Cicero, the other on 
 the County of Cook. D'Angelo 'phoned Leighton who said that 
 he will supply the forms of notice. 
 
 « « 
 
 1VT OW that I again felt I was headed right, my resentment of 
 Keys wasn't as sharp. Yet I resolved to part with him. After 
 all he is attorney for the NAACP, and perhaps there is a clashing 
 of interests between the Clark's and me. And Mrs. Adams and 
 Edwards were joined in the suit with the Clark's against Cicero. 
 Perhaps I was asking for too great a sacrifice. At any rate, the 
 notices were taken care of. I had not changed my mail address 
 from Keys' office and 'phoned for mail and messages. I learned 
 that there was an important letter and some messages awaiting 
 me. I called for them. Through the door I heard Keys' voice. For 
 a moment my heart stood still. I called upon my will power to 
 appear nonchalant, as I opened the door. Keys was all smiles. 
 He rushed to embrace me, unbashed. I did not resist. He said 
 he had telephoned daily for me and left messages to get in touch 
 with the New York operator, and that he was keenly disap- 
 pointed when he received no response. He was ready to receive 
 me in New York, with flowers, champagne and the best things to 
 eat. 
 
 My attachment to him inwardly was not diminished, ex- 
 cepting for a thread of skepticism. I felt I must use restraint. 
 It wasn't easy, Few things in my life came easy. Yet I felt that 
 even love must not be one-sided. I resolved to remain friendly, 
 but not intimate. He sensed my feelings. It did something 
 to his usual sense of balance. He whispered many pledges, ex- 
 planations, and vows. His eyes were never more penetrating, 
 never more soulful. But I thought of the statesman who said to 
 a man of large promises and small performance, "Your actions 
 speak so loud that I cannot hear a word you say." 
 
— 230 — 
 
 TVT OT long after, I telephoned for mail and messages when 
 Keys answered the 'phone. He sounded gruff. I greeted him 
 with the usual, "How are you?" He answered that he is not quite 
 drunk, but getting there with one bottle yet to go. He asked me 
 to join him in drowning our sorrows together. I had never 
 known him to act that way. I took a cab to his office. I found 
 him sitting holding his head in his hands, his elbows resting 
 on his knees. Beside him was an empty whiskey bottle and 
 another half empty. He feebly looked up at me. I asked what 
 was wrong. He said, "I guess I couldn't take it. I don't believe 
 you could ever really love me. We are so different." 
 
 To my great surprise, he sobbed. He muttered, "You just 
 don't understand." 
 
 I felt I had a sick man on my hands. Aside from my other 
 vices, I am a natural nurse. I placed together a row of sectional 
 chairs and helped him to lie down. I wrapped ice cubes into a 
 towel and wrapped his head tightly. Soon he was asleep. I also 
 massaged his head and neck. I saw the contrast in the color of 
 his skin with mine. I thought of the tragedies which that dif- 
 ference causes. Where did I read of the things we first spurn, 
 then pity, then embrace? I wondered if there will eventually be 
 those steps between the races. I am confident there will be, but 
 it may not be in my time. Meanwhile we are both held together 
 by a repelling force, he repelled by white people and I repelled 
 by — white people. 
 
 * * 
 « 
 
 TVT OW that I could be found at Keys' office again, both Adams 
 and clerk (in Adams' office) made their daily trek to Keys' 
 office. At such times, I would get out of their way. On one in- 
 stance, Adams sauntered in, greeted Keys, said hello to me, and 
 
— 231 — 
 
 said, "Doggone it, they're investigating the furniture thing. Here 
 sign this paper that you sold your furniture to Mr. Scott for 
 $2,000.00," handing me a blank sheet. Keys intercepted that it 
 was blank. "Oh," said Adams, "I didn't have time to fill it out." 
 Keys answered that he wouldn't permit me to sign a blank paper 
 in his office. Later a bill of sale was prepared, listing the furni- 
 ture, showing Scott as the buyer for $2,000.00. 
 
 I refused to sign, as I did not know Scott, and no one paid 
 me for the furniture. 
 
 I now had more than a suspicion that Adams was not keep- 
 ing up the payments on the $65,000.00 mortgage. Non-payment 
 would jeopardize my $38,000 junior mortgage. Before the riots 
 Adams was collecting over $1,000.00 in rent. I called the Polish 
 National Alliance, holder of the mortgage, to inquire if the 
 payments were made, and I was advised that they were. To make 
 sure, I asked Keys to call them again. He did so and he was 
 also advised that payments were made. The very next morning 
 in Keys' office I was shocked to read a headline in the news- 
 papers that a receiver was appointed for the Cicero building. 
 I screamed as if I were stabbed. Keys 'phoned Adams to come 
 down. 
 
 "What's this?" Keys demanded. 
 
 "Oh, well," Adams drawled, "the place is vacant, no rent 
 coming in, there's no sense in paying on the mortgage. Anyhow, 
 it's a friendly foreclosure. I know the attorney for the Polish 
 Alliance mortgage company and he will give us back the build- 
 ing anytime we're ready." 
 
 Keys promptly called down Leighton. 
 
 "What do you mean a friendly foreclosure?" Leighton de- 
 manded of Adams. "I never heard of such a thing." 
 
 "Waal," drooled Adams, swaying his head, "This is it — a 
 friendly foreclosure." 
 
— 232 — 
 
 The tempest which I expected between the three Negro 
 attorneys faded out, and because it did, I thought that perhaps 
 the receivership may not be as desperate as I first thought. After 
 all, Keys was interested in my welfare not only as a client but 
 as his "dream girl," one to whom he had pledged undying loyalty 
 and devotion. Keys did call Leighton in my behalf. Both men 
 were high in the councils of the Negro causes. They were com- 
 rades in the cause of human justice. They who devoted their 
 lives to the redemption of the Negro in his civil rights would 
 not let me down, a white woman, caught in the tentacles of a 
 Negro swindler. 
 
 The greater my peril the greater was my depend- 
 ence on Keys. This Keys knew and acknowledged. His cheerful 
 attitude during my fears and distractions were reassuring. He 
 would not be so buoyant if my redemption were not at hand. 
 He wouldn't indulge in his passionate interludes with a woman 
 who responded so lovingly to his caresses if he had not felt 
 assured of her safety and had not resolved to make her safe. 
 
 \W7" ITH Keys in the background, as I thought, I was now 
 supplied with a "white" attorney. During the month of 
 August, Attorney D'Angelo filed my suit against Adams in the 
 Superior Court of Cook County to void the assignment of my 
 title to the Cicero property and to have Adams account for the 
 various frauds against me. D'Angelo also advised me to pay 
 the judgment against me in the rent "violation" case, and by so 
 doing to quash the writ of ne exeat, so that I may freely move 
 about in and out of the courts. D'Angelo said, "You can't fight 
 the United States government." I followed his advice and paid. 
 Never have I felt so low ; never have I felt my government to be 
 so low. It was bitter medicine, as it confirmed a violation I had 
 
— 233 — 
 never though of committing and never did commit. 
 
 HP HE pressure upon me having become lighter, being new 
 free from the hounds of the law, with a white lawyer in the 
 De Rose garrison, and fortified by a tower of strength in the 
 person of Attorney Keys, whose loyalty and devotion I must 
 never doubt, as he said. I moved about more gaily. We seemed 
 to be inseparable. Leaving the office we drove to police stations 
 to call on prisoners, to visit clients in business places, and just 
 to drive through the parks and beautiful neighborhoods. Arriv- 
 ing at my apartment, I broiled steaks, perked coffee, set the 
 table, set champagne glasses, turned on the radio and ate and 
 talked deliciously. Ardent love means more than passion to one 
 whose life hangs in the balance. A woman will not quarrel with 
 love, however torrential, from a man who holds her fate in his 
 hands. When life goes along without trial, travail and danger 
 a woman might find perpetual affection too perpetual, but not 
 in the arms of a man to whom she flies for protection aganist 
 a world of wolves. 
 
 That night we were awakened by one of those thunder 
 storms which seemed to shake the world. The downpour was 
 like a deluge which threatened to flood the city. I thought of 
 the building being exposed to the downpour and cried in fright. 
 I had been careful about flooding, as all landlords must be. 
 Windows must ever be watched to avoid rain or other moisture 
 from soaking through. I recalled the damage done to the build- 
 ing by the Cicero fire department. I was shaking with fear. All 
 the fervent promises of help and protection, and the tender af- 
 fection shown by my paramour failed to dispel my distraction. 
 Then it didn't fail, not entirely. 
 
 The next day came another shock. The newspapers carried 
 
— 234 — 
 
 headlines with pictures of my building boarded up. In the 
 Chicago Tribune I read the following, from a reader — 
 
 "I drive a truck and my route takes me to Cicero. Oc- 
 casionally I pass the apartment building that was raided 
 and wrecked when the Clarks tried to move in. . . . Boarded 
 up, it is like the blind crying out helpless against the stupid, 
 inexplainable ignorance of man. It stands as a forlorn and 
 hollow monument, dedicated to the Town of Cicero and to 
 a civilization that still contains miserable, decrepit minds 
 of men whose hands ravished this dwelling place and the 
 hearts of intelligent people everywhere." 
 
 Now my building is blind — as I was. For a few days my 
 spirit was in mourning. I smiled through tears. I was only mildly 
 responsive to a love undiminished. A few days later I asked 
 a casual acquaintance to drive me to Cicero. I circled around 
 the building. I struggled against an emotional outburst. My 
 escort didn't know the reason for the trip. 
 
 A little boy who had seen a Negro for the first time asked 
 his daddy if ink comes from the Negro's eyes when he cries. 
 If ink had come from my eyes I should have so written this 
 book. But if not ink, it is still tears. 
 
 I built a house of brick 
 in which I dwelt alone. 
 
 Hiding, seeking refuge from a world of turmoil. 
 Thus I lived alone, secure, I thought. 
 No one to tear down my aloneness, my own. 
 Then one day by chance our paths were crossed. 
 You, came my way. 
 
 The Crowds gathered, the once friendly faces 
 became stark nightmares of hate. 
 The vicious cries pursued me as I fled. 
 
— 235 — 
 
 A view of the DeRose Building, blinded by stones from the rioters. 
 
 * -x- * 
 
 My House of Brick collapsed. 
 
 I reached out in the darkness for help, to find your hand. 
 
 I clasped your hand, but came the dawn. 
 
 I saw the reason for the storm, the hate of Satan. 
 
 God, had made you black, my Darling, 
 
 Yet, I love you as of God. 
 
 Then Satan came again to take you from me. 
 
 Now I dwell alone once more under the 
 Stars of night with loves' memories. 
 I have no house of brick, Nor you, 
 
 My Love. 
 
 The reader may recall that in trans'ferring to Adams my 
 interest in my building, which had been put in trust, he did 
 not take the assignment in his name, but in the name of Jewell 
 Young, and that Adams said that Jewell Young was his wife's 
 maiden name. When later I appeared before the grand jury 
 which investigated the riots, I heard the clerk call out the name 
 
— 236 — 
 
 of Jewell Young. An infirm child-like underdeveloped young 
 lady arose in response to that name. Mrs. Adams adjusted the 
 girls hair. Apparently Jewell Young was brought in response 
 to a subpoena when her name was found in the record as the 
 person to whom the property was assigned. A feeling of pity 
 gripped the jurors and she was asked but a few questions. This 
 Jewell Young is not Adams' wife, of course, but as I was later 
 informed, is a step-granddaughter of a previous marriage. 
 
 T N the early part of September I wrote to Mr. Walter White, 
 head of the NAACP, that Adams, prominently identified 
 with the local NAACP, had defrauded me — with particulars. 1 
 received a reply referring me to William R. Ming, head of the 
 local group. I called on Mr. Ming who said, curtly, that they're 
 not interested my my problem with Adams, and that if Adams 
 cheated me I should sue him. He added that they're interested 
 only in their civil rights case for Negroes. 
 
 On September 18th, the Cook County grand jury returned 
 an indictment against six in the following order: 
 
 Cicero Chief of Police Konovsky 
 
 Camille DeRose 
 
 George C. Adams 
 
 Charles Edwards 
 
 Norman Silverman 
 
 George N. Leighton 
 
 Screaming headlines announced the action of the grand 
 jury. My picture was again on the front page, beside the picture 
 of Chief of Police Konovsky. Again I was among the hunted! 
 Again I must run for shelter and protection. I rushed to Keys' 
 office again. Keys called in Leighton and Adams. The date set 
 for arraingment was October 9th. Meanwhile all were required 
 
— 237 — 
 
 to post bond, to be at liberty. I was ready to do so. 
 
 The indictment magnetized the atmosphere for me in Keys' 
 office. Leighton was no longer aloof. The NAACP must present 
 a united front. My suit against Adams had exposed the con- 
 spiracy which brought about the riots. That gave a surprising 
 twist to the race riots. It must be suppressed. Leighton and Keys 
 would now see to it that Adams would make good his frauds. A 
 stipulation was prepared to enter a decree in my suit to give me 
 additional and substantial security to back up the $38,000.00 
 note and to adjust the various other swindles. I signed the stipu- 
 lation, as did Adams. 
 
 D'Angelo presented me a bill for his services. I thought that 
 by now I had become proof against shock. By now I had seen, 
 heard, suffered and experienced — everything. I herewith submit 
 the bill to my readers. Please examine it carefully. 
 
 TIME SHEETS CAMILLE De ROSE 
 
 August Hours 
 
 2 Conference with Miss DeRose „. _ >. — - 2 
 
 3 Conference with Leighton ....... -.~~ ..... ........... 3 
 
 4 Conference with Leighton, DeRose and Adams — 
 
 preparation substitution of attorneys . — - — — . — — 6 
 
 6 Conference with Kaplan _.... — ._.. .- .. 3 
 
 Conference with DeRose „_ _ _.__,.. 1 
 
 " Study file ._ _ - - 3 
 
 7 Check at records _ ._ 2 
 
 " Kaplan . __. __~_ . 1 
 
 " DeRose . _ _ __ 2 
 
 " General _._..._ _ W2 
 
 8 Conference Kaplan _ . _ 2 
 
 " Check records with DeRose — „.~____™~-^__-____™_ 1 
 
 " Conference with Miss DeRose _. _ 2 
 
 Conference with Berkos _ 1 
 
 9 Kaplan and OHE tentative agreement reached ___...._ ......... 2 
 
 " Check with DeRose .„ 2 
 
 " General _ „ 3 
 
 10 Check records re mortgage foreclosure — Saw Love ' 3 
 
 Check records reloans ... . . 3 
 
 General and DeRose 1 
 
— 238 — 
 
 11 Check mtg. given to DeRose 2 
 
 " Conference with DeRose 2 
 
 " Conference -with Cicero people 1 
 
 13 Conference with DeRose 2 
 
 " Conference with Antonow Group 1 
 
 14 Law conference and drafft with Baim 6 
 
 15 Final draft of pleadings 8 
 
 " Conference with DeRose 2 
 
 16 Check with OHE for settlement 2 
 
 " Checked 1 of jt. and stip 3 
 
 " Conference with DeRose — States Attorney 1 
 
 17 Appearance before Campbell and Newsmen 3 
 
 " Filed Adam's suit and Newsman 1 
 
 " Filed Adam's suit and Newsmen _ 1 
 
 " Work on file — Prep, of reassign suit — Check law 4 
 
 " Conference DeRose and States Attorney 2 
 
 " Calls from Catholic order and others x /z 
 
 18 Check file — call from 'Mrs. Tipper 2 
 
 " States Attorney and DeRose 1 
 
 20 C. W. DeRose — Newspaper „.... 2 
 
 " T. T. Weisbourd re sale Y2 
 
 21 Appearance Grand Jury 4 
 
 22 Berwyn paper TT „.. 2 
 
 23 Weisbourd, DeRose, Love - 2 
 
 24 Weisbourg check file — TT DeRose and Mother 1 
 
 25 T. F. Caville — T. F. Tipper & 
 
 27 C. W. DeRose — Check file TT from Attorney 2 
 
 28 Check file in 49 C 1130— C. W. DeRose— T.F.B. Weisbourd 2 
 
 29 T. F. DeRose and Weisbourd y 2 
 
 104% hrs.' 
 This was the first bill, 104% hours at $15.00 per hour. I 
 was assured that his charges will be low. I screamed that he 
 should quit all further work, as I wouldn't know where to find 
 the money to pay him. D'Angelo had asked me to call him daily. 
 I didn't do so to save the nickel or dime for the call. When I did 
 make a call I was charged $15.00! In the bill he charged me 
 for speaking with newspapermen, for talking with his partner, 
 some $150.00; with Cicero people where he had no business; 
 with Love, not for my business nor his; four hours in a single 
 conversation with Adams! — the man I didn't wish my attorney 
 
— 239 — 
 
 to conspire with. On the way to see his mother in the hospital, 
 
 D'Angelo called at my home, but I was absent. He was not in- 
 vited. I am charged with 1% hours. Lucky I wasn't home. He 
 might have come in and watched a television show, at $15.00 per 
 hour. D'Angelo was in the hospital himself, someone 'phoned to 
 pay him respects, for which he charges me $15.00. Yet, D'Angelo 
 sent me a further bill of 66% hours. 
 
 * 
 
 1%/TY "white" lawyer put on the bite and I took \o my heels. 
 Had the indictment come earlier, I would not have been 
 charged $15.00 per hour for loitering. In this part of the show, 
 this is where I came in. I am back with Keys. He agreed to 
 complete my litigation with Adams. Again I saw the sunrise 
 of my hopes. The defense to the indictment would be under- 
 taken by the NAACP. To be sure, I am facing an indictment 
 for causing the riots. But the riots destroyed my building and 
 home. Who would believe I would cause the riots? I would 
 tell my story to the judge or to a jury, and I would be free. I 
 felt a load off my mind. I resumed the routine at Keys' office. 
 Again we were inseparable, but seldom seen together in the 
 Loop, or in the "white" neighborhoods. From the outside our 
 relationship was not without its drawbacks. Standing together 
 in front of the building as the theatre audiences either went to 
 or from a performance, there were startled glances, and stinging 
 remarks. "Shh! Did you see what I saw?" "My gracious! look 
 at that!" Such remarks, and here and there a more ugly remark 
 going to Springfield, and to closer cities and towns. "Come," I 
 would say, grasping his hand, "Let's go in for coffee." He would 
 find some reason to have me go alone and have me bring a 
 sandwich and coffee out to him, while he would put air in the 
 
— 240 — 
 
 tires, buy gas and oil, and chat with the attendant. 
 
 Returning to his office, I would get busy broiling steaks, 
 opening cans of peas, tomatoes, and salads, and have a full 
 course dinner ready by the time he shaved. The steak would be 
 brown, crisp, juicy, medium rare, with the edges slightly charred. 
 He would help me with the table cloth, dishes and champagne. 
 The sight would gladden the eyes and whet the appetite. He would 
 throw his arms around me and say dramatically, "You can 
 cook, too ! " Dinner over, I would replace everything while he 
 worked on his endless legal problems, which he did eagerly, 
 and more joyously when I was present. 
 
 At intervals we would be together 24 hours of the day, with 
 but short periods of separation. Yet neither could get too much 
 of the other. This was a new experience, even to me, and more 
 intense than can be imagined. Alone, there was not a dull 
 moment, until sheer exhaustion brought sleep, deep and complete 
 During the day his conversation was sparkling, during the night 
 he had ever changing variety. There were no set routine, every- 
 thing unpredictable. I could not describe what happened and 
 yet it happened. His agility was amazing. His kisses were 
 feverish and my body tingled. He kissed my feet and gently 
 bit my toes. His embraces were vice-like and his pliant hands 
 limbered me everywhere. He had the habit of quoting, "This, 
 too, shall pass." 
 
 We human beings dare violate the law but shrink from 
 violating a custom. In white neighborhoods he was out of 
 place, in colored neighborhoods I was a misfit. Even love 
 cannot withstand such conflicts. The conflict is mental, but 
 that's enough. His violent love was more impatient because it 
 was forbidden fruit — forbidden by an inflexible custom. I 
 sensed his awareness of this edict when he again and again 
 
— 241 
 muttered, "This, too, shall pass." 
 
 HP HE indictments brought lots of traffic in Keys' office, and 
 I became the center of it. Negro leaders from near and 
 far were in and out. Leighton and Adams weaved in and out. 
 I was no longer advised to go to a white lawyer. On the 
 contrary, I now had a battery of attorneys, and the entire NAACP 
 behind me — so I was told. At the arraignment, the courtroom 
 was crowded. Representatives of real estate boards, of bar 
 associations, of the various civil rights and social relations 
 groups, all were there. 
 
 The arraignment was before Judge Crowley. I asked Keys 
 if he would represent me as my attorney at the trial. "Don't 
 worry, Babesy," he would say. "It's all set. You won't have to 
 go on trial. The indictments will be quashed." I said that I 
 didn't want the indictment quashed. I want to go to trial where 
 I can tell my story. I want the world to know what Cicero and 
 the rent office did to me. I want the world to know what Adams 
 did to me. 
 
 I became a problem to the NAACP and its lawyers. My suit 
 against Adams betrayed the pattern of the race riots, as I said 
 before, which they could not afford to have become known. They 
 hurriedly forced Adams to settle his swindles, as a gesture of 
 appeasement. Now I was giving them a hard time. At that 
 time I did not see through the overall network represented by 
 the NAACP, and that Keys was himself deeply involved. I didn't 
 realize that my insistence on going to trial and to expose the 
 true facts which led to the riots would also engulf Keys. Now 
 I became the fly in the NAACP ointment. Until now I had 
 served their purpose and was discarded, like a cancelled postage 
 stamp. But all of a sudden I held the key to the situation. Now 
 
— 242 — 
 
 Keys was their "ace in the hole." Was I not bound to him, 
 both as my attorney and inseparable boy-friend? How the 
 atmosphere changed! There was nothing but smiles. "What 
 can I do for you, Miss DeRose?" "How do you feel, Miss De- 
 Rose?" "May I get you something, Miss DeRose?" 
 
 In my association with Keys, there had been an under- 
 current of restraint in our relationship as lawyer and client. 
 There was lacking the all-out readiness to throw himself into my 
 legal problems. That restraint was now wiped out. 
 
 Keys and I now settled down to a blissful routine of steaks, 
 chicken dinners, champagne, automobile rides and — -riotous love. 
 
 iy~ EYS now became my champion, guardian and sponsor. In 
 addition, he was, as before, even more so, consecrated to 
 his devotion to an idol. I was the idol — his begum. I was the 
 annointed of Allah. What a relief, I thought! I no longer 
 need to have my heart jump to my mouth at the sight of a 
 marshall or officer. I no longer need to run down 14 winding iron 
 stairs. I no longer need to sneak around corners and through 
 back doors. Now I have a tower of strength between me and 
 a hostile world, a man of brain, brawn and heart! 
 
 Yet I still do not want to take the easy road. I need all 
 that support to make my fight, not for surrender. I am accused 
 of being the violating landlady, of trying to escape the lash of 
 the law, of trying to leave this country to avoid a just penalty. 
 The easy way is to plead guilty. I need no support to do so. 
 To do so means defeat, whereas I want success. It is not love, 
 it is not loyalty, it is not honorable service to take me down the 
 road to surrender and defeat. I now stand indicted by the 
 sovereign People of the State of Illinois! I am charged with 
 violating the law. I am not satisfied to have the vaunted power 
 
— 243 — 
 
 of the NAACP bring about a withdrawal of the indictment. 1 
 am determined to have a trial! Only by a trial, before a court, 
 before a jury, with the atcention of the public, can I tell the 
 true story of what deeds are done in Cicero, in Chicago, in the 
 United States of America. I have been hurt too much to receive 
 apologies, even from the State of Illinois. Who brought about 
 the indictment against me? I am not concerned with the indict- 
 ment against Adams and the Cicero officials. May be they 
 should be indicted. But this is my great opportunity! 
 
 This spirit frightened the NAACP from here to New York. 
 Endearing terms, Babesy's, steaks, champagne, automobile trips 
 and jungle love will fully satisfy the physical appetite, but not 
 the spirit. But Keys' resourcefulness is not alone biological, 
 but psychological. No subtleties were omitted, the power of 
 suggestion and repetition was not overlooked, eternal promises 
 were profuse, and I finally surrendered. 
 
 As predicted beforehand, the indictments were quashed. 
 
 Keys came through for his NAACP comrades with a 
 difficult assignment. He won me over for them. I had posted 
 a $2,000,00 cash bond. Keys and I went to the bond clerk and 
 the $2,000.00 was refunded. Keys received the $2,000.00 for 
 me from the clerk. 
 
 There was great rejoicing in the court room and in the 
 corridor outside. The atmosphere was festive, the crowd large, 
 congratulations were given and received. Cameras were clicking, 
 Senator Wimbish posed with me for the newspapers. But my 
 heart was heavy. Many things surged through my mind. Before 
 the indictment was quashed, the chieftains of the NAACP were 
 solemn, and doubtful of me. I knew that Keys assured them 
 that I would conform. Adams had remarked, "I told her again 
 and again to be patient — we will all get plenty." I had no notion 
 what he had in mind. I also resented his mock affability. 
 
— 244 — 
 
 Miss DeRose with Senator Christopher Wimbish, standing outside 
 courtroom, after indictment was quashed. 
 
— 245 — 
 
 The festivities continued. The New York delegation was 
 feasted, we went to dinner on the South Side, ending up at a 
 night club until midnite. Keys whispered that our future together 
 was brighter than ever. He said that he had a real estate deal 
 the next day where he could make use of my $2,000.00, which 
 he can return to me in ten days. "Surely," I said, "if it will 
 help you that much." 
 
 A GAIN I found myself following my routine in Keys' office, 
 answering the telephone, filing, and putting things in order. 
 There had been much motion lost in finding letters and 
 documents in his files. I got busy and emptied three filing 
 cabinets and straightened all the accumulated filing envelopes 
 and folders. I kept the office straightened and dusted. We 
 continued to take rides. The electric broiler in the office 
 continued to be a happy implement for broiling steaks, and 
 we resumed our intense moments at the table and during rest- 
 ful intervals. I knew the nature of the incoming calls, and my 
 confidence in Keys was unshaken in that he had no social calls 
 from women. The turmoil, the strange characters, the phony 
 negotiations, all of which went on in Adams' office, were absent 
 here. As the days flew by I commenced asking about my files 
 in D'Angelo's hands. I had assumed Keys was taking care of 
 my suit against Adams, having obtained a stipulation which was 
 to be filed in court for approval. After many such inquiries, 
 Keys said that he had been unable to obtain a "substitution,** 
 to enable him to take over. 
 
 I commenced to fret. The wounds of the past began to 
 hurt. Could it be that having gotten the indictments out of 
 the way, having succeeded in keeping me within their fold and 
 dissuading me from going to trial, that I am thrown back to 
 
— 246 — 
 
 where I had been? Have I come back to where I was to em- 
 ploy a while lawyer? My blood boiled at the thought. If there 
 should be the slightest tinge of truth in such a suspicion, what 
 becomes of this rapturous association between us? That my 
 love is complete and of such quality that I would sacrifice every- 
 thing for it makes it the more heartbreaking if given in return 
 for mockery. I am not given to violence, in act or thought. 
 Yet I would gather strength to tear him limb from limb if his 
 passion for me was of the flesh and not of the heart. Keys 
 sensed my discomfiture, he saw the flushes on my face. Yet 
 I found justification for his change of heart. After all, the 
 barrier of color makes our future precarious. The astonishment 
 of people who see us together, black and white, might rust the 
 bonds of love. On the other hand, he dare not break his 
 affiliations with the nationwide NAACP, nor with his "brothers" 
 identified in the movement for "civil rights." Tht Adams is a 
 scalawag and that the organization itself was not what it should 
 be, were a cross which he had to bear. Many men give up their 
 birthright and position for love, as Anthony surrendered to 
 Cleopatra. But Cleopatra was a sure shot. She died for him. 
 Keys could not be sure of me. Between these conflicting thoughts 
 there was more heart-ache for me. 
 
 got to reading Negro newspapers and periodicals. Rallies 
 and protest meetings broke loose among the Negroes 
 throughout the nation, whipped up by steady pounding over 
 the radio and by both the Negro and non-Negro press. In 
 addition to cash raised at the rallies, of which they received a 
 part, the Clark's received paid radio appearances, an $800.00 
 piano was donated and lesser donations came from everywhere. 
 At one protest meeting, which I attended, $5,000.00 was 
 
— 247 — 
 
 collected. Mrs. Walter White, the white wife of a New York 
 Negro leader, was flown from New York to address a meeting 
 of 2,000. She bowed profusely as orchids were pinned upon 
 her. The only recognition I received was a request that I make 
 a donation and pay a membership fee. At the Regal Theatre, 
 on the South Side, Al Benson called Harvey Clark to the stage 
 and presented him with $200.00. Throughout, the Clark's were 
 the major feature attraction, and they were flown around the 
 country for appearances at the rallies. But the show must go 
 on. The major feature had too many bookings, and it lost box- 
 office with every re-engagement. The various sponsors of the 
 rallies faced heavy competition against each other, and they 
 had to look around for feature attractions. After all, how often 
 can there be such a perfect setting? Where can one find 
 another Cicero riot? New organizations sprang up with high- 
 sounding names to get into the act. 
 
 One rival Negro newspaper protested against those spurious 
 rallies. It complained that the "Chicago and Cook County 
 Citizens Committee" failed to invite Camille DeRose or Harvey 
 Clark, but instead brought one speaker from Washington, D.C., 
 and another from Jackson, Mississippi. We quote: 
 
 "The $64.00 question: Who is the Chicago and 
 
 Cook County Citizens Committee? Who are its 
 
 president and the other officers? What do they stand for 
 
 and when do they meet?" 
 
 Running short of major features, a hunt was made for 
 Camille DeRose. After all, wasn't she the original landlady of 
 the storm center? Wasn't her name in the headlines and her 
 picture on the front page for months? But where is she? Alas, 
 she is nowhere to be found. Telephones began ringing in 
 Adams' office and in Keys' office. The messages were held up 
 by Keys and never reached me. What! The local NAACP has 
 
— 248 — 
 
 at long last struck pay dirt! The riots were their bonanza. They 
 staked their claim. Are they now to divide the loot with less 
 ingenious intruders? I might have gone to more of the shindigs 
 when I saw them announced in the Negro newspaper, but Keys 
 counselled me to stay away. And who knows best? Who has 
 my interest at heart more? Then, again, love, too, must go on. 
 And love has an additional purpose — it keeps me away from the 
 rallies. The pattern begins to come into the light. The bonanza 
 flowing from my wrecked building is too enormous to over- 
 look, of which Adams was the demon master-craftsman and of 
 which Leighton and Keys are among the beneficiaries. In addition 
 to what Adams and Leighton attain from the triumvirate, Keys 
 finds a prize-bonus — love. 
 
249 
 
 THE SURVIVAL NOT OF THE FITTEST, BUT THE 
 FIERCEST! 
 
 was not beaten by the Adams's and the D'Angelo's and 
 others which were to follow — not entirely. I was beaten 
 by my early training. I was in the position of a jungle hunter 
 armed with a sling-shot. I did have suspicions, but they were 
 mere surface fears which didn't go deep enough. I could not 
 catch on to the idea that a full-grown man could tell me one 
 thing and mean another. Subconsciously I found excuses and 
 justifications. When the words and facts were conflicting it 
 was due to a mistake. Again and again I found those conflicts, 
 yet «t times I blamed those conflicts on my mistaken judgment 
 or faulty understanding. So I went on and on trusting, hoping, 
 escaping realities. In the whirlpool of white slavery, falsehood 
 and dishonesty, such conflicts were expected, yet among racketeers 
 and pimps there is still a code of honor, though crude. Can it 
 be that there is no such code of honor among lawyers, in 
 politics, and in our temples of justice? Among the humble, the 
 poor and the illiterate, there was the inviolate parole. Can it 
 be that no such fidelity can be expected between attorney and 
 client? Can it be that the authorities, the bar associations and 
 the courts tolerate cheating and swindling? If that be true, 
 is life worth living? Haven't I been imposed upon to be born? 
 Was I not cheated when I was snatched from eternal sleep to 
 which I tried to dispatch myself? What a ghastly mistake to 
 have pounded the pavement among the pariahs and untouch- 
 ables for no other reason than to redeem my pledges, my indebt- 
 edness! 
 
— 250 — 
 
 Keys had not succeeded in getting the files and a sub- 
 stitution from D'Angelo. I was determined to see this through. 
 I went back and forth between those offices. I telephoned, 
 waited, negotiated, demanded. D'Angelo was telephoning to 
 George. D'Angelo was receiving calls from George. Who was 
 George? None other than George C. Adams, the man D'Angelo 
 was suing for me. Such comradeship! And Leighton sent me 
 to D'Angelo; and both Adams and Leighton were tied in with 
 Keys; and Keys coudn't get the files from D'Angelo. Was that 
 a run-around, or was that a run-around? D'Angelo's bills 
 show over thirty-two hours spent with Adams at $15.00 per 
 hour to me. They went to lunch together, at a charge to me 
 of $15.00 per hour! I decided to run as fast as my legs will 
 carry me. I first stormed into D'Angelo's office. I was ready 
 to hit him with whatever was available. I left with promises 
 but without the files. 
 
 Returning to Keys' office, I found he had gone home. 
 
 I felt that his neglect of me as shown by his inattention to 
 my legal tangles called for a break with him. The thought made 
 me heartsick. My heart bled with this determination. It seemed 
 that everything dear to me is taken from me by my destina, 
 which, like death, never takes a holiday. I moved toward that 
 break with Keys like a prisoner toward his execution. But my 
 conscience and my pride pronounced the sentence, a sentence 
 from which there was no reprieve. 
 
 A few days intervened, not because of indecision, but in 
 postponement of the execution. On a Sunday, I dragged my 
 feet into Keys' office. My heart was heavy as were my feet. 
 Entering, Keys met me looking downcast and on the verge of 
 tears. I commenced by saying that I had come to remove such 
 clothes and things as I had there, and that I would not return. 
 
— 251 — 
 
 He said that I should not take them all, as I would surely re- 
 turn, as neither can live without the other. I said "it must be!" — 
 that I confess that my love is even stronger because of the 
 parting, if that were possible. With tears in his eyes, he kept 
 saying, "You don't understand, you don't understand." He 
 harbored something which he could not or dared not disclose. 
 I kept gathering things and commenced walking toward the 
 door, saying, "good bye, God bless you." He grasped my arm 
 in an attempt to draw me to him. I stiffened and looked sternly 
 and he released me, saying, "If that's the way you want it, 
 Babesy, I will conform." Outside of the door I felt like swooning. 
 
 * * 
 
 A GAIN I was adrift. With thousands of lawyers in Chicago, 
 I could not put my finger on the right one. I recalled the 
 name of an attorney in Cicero. I made an appointment over 
 the telephone and went to see him. I wanted him to take over 
 where D'Angelo stopped. He agreed to obtain the files and a 
 substitution. He asked for a retainer of $500.00, which I paid. 
 
 Thereafter I could get no action from that attorney. All 
 I received for my $500.00 from him was a receipt, which I still 
 hold, while he still holds my $500.00 I intend to try to have 
 this money returned to me, when I find an attorney who will 
 not ask for a $500.00 retainer fee to make the collection, plus 
 $15.00 each time he talks to me over the telephone. 
 
 Keys had thus far made no further mention of the $2,000.00 
 he had borrowed, on which he was to make a big profit. If he 
 had attended to some of my matters as he had promised and 
 pretended, I would not have wished the money returned. What 
 griped me was the violent change in the manner of treatment 
 before the indictment was quashed and after. It was not that 
 I knew the reason for the change that hurt, but that Keys was 
 a party to the build-up , knowing that I would be let down 
 after I had served the NAACP purpose. Now that he renigged 
 
— 252 — 
 
 on taking over from D'Angelo, which he had solemnly promised, 
 and also withheld from me such vital information regarding the 
 notices and other documents to be filed, until almost too late, 
 and his pretended aloofness from Adams, when there was a 
 constant inter-communication between the two offices, all this 
 built a fire under me. In addition, he borrowed $2,000.00 which 
 he didn't even mention. The thoughts which my brain was 
 hatching kept me awake. I tossed in bed throughout the night. 
 I tried to control myself. I tried to reason that the chain of 
 events are not as bad as they seem. I was even more feverish 
 when I thought of having given him custody of my body, heart 
 and soul! There are various ways by which a woman may be 
 scorned. The sharpest way, the most cruel, is to be scorned by 
 the razor-edge form of subtlety. Such a man must not live. I will 
 kill him! 
 
 The next day I rushed to his office determined to turn 
 Keys into a corpse. Arriving, I was informed that he had left 
 town and would return in the evening, I left, intending to return 
 later. Along towards the evening I telephoned. They had 
 received word that he would not go to the office but would go 
 directly home. About 7 p.m. I knocked at the door of Keys* 
 apartment, ready to greet him with all the six bullets. There 
 was no response. I left unavenged. 
 
 Keys was away from his office for several days, at least 
 I was so informed over the telephone. During the week, at 
 the close of the day, I entered his office unannounced. He was 
 behind his desk, but rose. He came forward, with a strained 
 smile and said "Hello, Babesy, glad to see you." 
 
 "Don't come near me, you — — — " I screamed. "I 
 would have killed you if you had crossed my path the last few 
 days. But death is too good for you. You joined your filthy 
 gang in robbing me. You helped Adams take away my building. 
 
— 253 — 
 
 Did you see that building now? See! Here is the picture in 
 the newspapers. It is now blind as I was blind. I struggled to 
 pay for it, brick by brick. Now it is blind — blind, do you hear? 
 You schemed with those bastards to keep me quiet until the 
 indictments were quashed. You kept me from telling the world 
 the true cause of the riots. You then pretended to take care 
 of my cases, while you permitted the time to run out so that 
 I would be too late to get my rights. You planned to have me 
 defeated and helpless. I cooked for you, worked for you and 
 lived with you! You used me for your pleasures and convenience, 
 all the while calling me "Babesy" and swearing that you loved 
 me. You lying bastard. You can't get away with it — and you 
 won't. Now, get going and give me back my $2,000.00 and I 
 won't ever see your face again. Don't you forget it. I will cut 
 your throat! Don't get the idea that you are through with me. 
 I will square our account if it takes the rest of my life!" 
 I slammed the door as I left. 
 
 went to the Chicago Bar Association and spoke to one of 
 their attorneys. I brought my entire file showing my various 
 transactions with Adams, including the oil stock swindle, the 
 $8,500.00 fraud, the fraudulent $12,500.00 mortgage, the fraud- 
 ulent furniture deal, and the $38,000.00 mortgage which Adams 
 assured me was backed by resources of the La Salle Trust & 
 Savings Bank, and that he was backed by the Chicago Bar 
 Association. I was told to go to the State's Attorney or to hire 
 a lawyer to sue Adams. I replied that I did hire a lawyer, but 
 that the lawyer had taken my money and had done nothing 
 in my behalf. 
 
 The Bar Association lawyer made the smart-aleck retort, 
 "Get another lawyer to sue that one, and when you get the 
 
— 254 — 
 
 right lawyer you won't have any more money, then you will 
 quit," and walked away. I ran after him and asked if the Bar 
 Association doesn't help people who are swindled by lawyers. 
 He said, "No, this is a lawyer's organization, and not interested 
 in your troubles." 
 
 I then went to the State's Attorney's office, with my file. 
 They selected some of the documents, withheld them and gave 
 me a receipt. After listening to my story one of the assistants 
 suggested that I file a complaint with the Chicago Bar Association. 
 I said that I had gone to the Bar Association, but that they said 
 they weren't interested. The Assistant State's Attorney then 
 said that their office couldn't handle the matter just then, but 
 that I should return later. "Come back after the election — 
 Come back after November! "Come back," meant "Go away, 
 get lost." 
 
 YVT E now come back to the Book of Payne. I had found my 
 way to Mrs. Keys, with whom I traded confidences. I 
 had told her of my financial involvements, regarding my $2,000 
 loan to Mr. Keys, how I had been defrauded by Adams, and 
 about D'Angelo. At a later meeting Mrs. Keys said she had 
 spoken to her attorney, Aaron H. Payne, who said he would 
 effect a collection and was eager to help me with my other mat- 
 ters. I called upon Attorney Payne, who promptly told me he 
 would get the $2,000.00 for me from Mr. Keys, that he would 
 charge $500.00 and upon his request I brought him $250.00. 
 On the Adams case and on other matters, he said he would 
 charge me one-fifth of any amount he would collect, and gave 
 me a written statement to that effect, therein providing that he 
 would allow me for the charges made by Attorney D'Angelo 
 and a Cicero attorney to whom I made payment for services. 
 
— 255 — 
 
 On the Adams case he asked for $2,500.00 retainer, which I 
 paid. Later he asked me for another $1,000.00, which I also 
 paid, so that, in all, I paid Mr. Payne a total of $3,750.00. These 
 amounts were to be deducted from his one-fifth percentage of 
 whatever would be realized. 
 
 Mr. Payne did not collect the $2,000.00 from Keys, nor 
 the $500.00 from the Cicero Attorney. Payne made no attempt 
 to do so. 
 
 To secure the files from D'Angelo, Payne filed a petition 
 before Judge Haas, where the suit against Adams was pending. 
 D'Angelo nonetheless presented a further bill, which I would 
 ask the reader to examine, namely: 
 
 September Hours 
 
 4 C. W. DeRose — Antonow (no deal) Conf. with Love 2 
 
 5 TT — DeRose Vz 
 
 6 TT — DeRose. Went to see DeRose— Checked File _ 1% 
 
 7 Checked with Bar Assn 1 
 
 8 TT — DeRose % 
 
 10 TT — DeRose — Checked foreclosure _ 2 
 
 11 TT and TF — DeRose— Checked File 2 
 
 12 Prepared mtg. foreclosure _ 3 
 
 Recheck Tract Book y 2 
 
 13 Prep, mtg 2 
 
 TT — DeRose — C. W. DeRose _ 1% 
 
 15 TT to Adams _ ...._ % 
 
 Mtg. 1 
 
 17 Prep. mtg. _ 2 
 
 Clerk for Answer _ % 
 
 18 C. W. DeRose — Indictment 1 2 
 
 19 Stipulation — C. W. Adams, et al 4 
 
 20 Stipulation and C. W. Adams _ 3 
 
 Mot. to quash 2 6 
 
 21 Criminal Court — C. W. Leighton Moore 3 3 
 
 22 Adams and Moore 3 — Stipulation 1 
 
 25 Motion to quash 2 3 
 
 26 *TT — Adams and Love — DeRose 2 
 
 27 General and Decree > „ 2% 
 
 28 General and Decree 1 
 
 48% hrs. 
 
— 256 — 
 
 October 
 
 1 TT to Adams re decree and stip. — General 2 
 
 2 Adams and DeRose „ 2 
 
 3 C. W. Adams re decree and implementation 2% 
 
 4 TT — Adams : TT to DeRose % 
 
 5 TT — Adams re security (said he would send it) 
 
 TT DeRose (told her I would have letter) „ 4/6 
 
 6 C. W. DeRose — gave letter to her _ 1 
 
 7 TT to Love — Re File app. in foreclosure _ 1/6 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 12 TT — DeRose _ 1/6 
 
 15 C. W. DeRose and Keys — Adams 4% 
 
 16-20 Hospital — 3 TT to Adams _ 1 
 
 22 C. W. DeRose — Love ™ 4/6 
 
 23 TT with Group re 8500 mtg. _... 5/12 
 
 24 TT DeRose — TT Group re mtg. _...„ 7/12 
 
 25 TT DeRose — C. W. Adams (Gave her filed) „ „ IVz 
 
 17 hrs. 55 mins. 
 
 At the hearing before Judge Haas I accompanied Payne 
 to resist with everything I had any further payment to D'Angelo, 
 because I had quit him. I had already paid D'Angelo $110.00, 
 mostly for conversation. When the matter was called, I followed 
 Mr. Payne before the court. Mr. D'Angelo presented his bill, 
 and told the court of his time and labor devoted by him. Mr. 
 Payne did not reply. I raised my voice in protest. Judge Haas 
 looked through the bill and said, "That a lots of talking, didn't 
 you do any work?" It looked as if Judge Haas would deny 
 D'Angelo's bill, when Payne spoke up, "Your Honor, my client 
 is satisfied to pay $700.00," and shush-shushed me. Just then 
 Adams and his clerk came through the door, and Adams shook 
 hands with D'Angelo, in a congratulatory manner. 
 
 ^Angelo had nothing to do with any indictment. 
 
 2 DAngelo had nothing to do with quashing any indictment — That was 
 taken care of by the NAACP attorneys. 
 
 :( Lcighton and Moore were NAACP attorneys -- DAngelo was not 
 concerned with them. These and other items are purely fictitious. 
 
— 257 — 
 
 ^T^HE mills of the gods grind slowly. Justice is shown as blind. 
 
 In my case it was also deaf and dumb. I was now free 
 of the clutches, not of the law, but of the lawyers — from all 
 but Payne. The indictment against me, which I welcomed, and 
 against Adams, Leighton and others, had the effect of securing 
 for me a "stipulation," whereby my Adams "investments" were 
 to be made secure. I was not made whole with the 
 stipulation, not by far, but it was sufficient to give me a new 
 start. That stipulation was not the result of D'Angelo's work, 
 it was, so to speak, a windfall. Yet with it D'Angelo demanded 
 a pound of flesh. Now, at long last, the stipulation was turned 
 over to Payne so that he may close the case against Adams as 
 by Adams agreed in his stipulation. 
 
 The very next day I called upon Payne and asked him to 
 act upon the stipulation. He pulled the document from the 
 files and said, "This stipulation isn't worth the paper it's written 
 on. It's no good. Who wrote it?" 
 
 I said that it was prepared by Attorneys Adams, Leighton 
 Keys and D'Angelo. Payne replied, "Somebody has been kidding 
 you." 
 
 The next day Payne became ill and was taken to a hospital. 
 I wondered if he was not a victim of my destina. I brought him 
 a bouquet of red roses and a basket of fruit to the hospital. He 
 was not back to his office for weeks, while I again sweated it 
 out. Payne had $3,750.00 of my money as retainer, my files 
 and original notes, while nervously waited from day to day. 
 When Payne returned to his office, he gave me a lecture, with 
 gusto, of the different steps he will take against Adams; that 
 he will get an injunction tying up all of Adams' real estate, 
 that he will take him before the Chicago Bar Association and 
 that he will make Adams bite the dust. 
 
 I now pursued Payne to get action, which he had promised. 
 
— 258 — 
 
 Adams had testified before Judge Haas. His testimony was 
 a tangle of lies. He fumbled in his testimony on the oil swindle, 
 on the $8,500.00 mortgage swindle, the furniture scheme, the 
 borrowing and the means whereby he obtained an assignment 
 of my building. 
 
 I demanded that Payne present the evidence to State's 
 Attorney Boyle, or that I would do so again myself, or hire 
 another attorney. I threatened to go to Judge Gutknecht who 
 was slated to run for States Attorney. I prevailed upon Payne 
 to go to the States Attorney for an indictment against Adams. 
 We went together. Adams was indicted. Payne said that he 
 had connections in the States Attorney's office, and that he would 
 have a special prosecutor in the Adams case, a colored assistant. 
 
 There was to be a decree by Judge Haas in the civil suit 
 against Adams. On the day it was to be entered Mr. Payne sent 
 me to the States Attorney's office, to answer some questions in 
 the Adams prosecution. I asked Payne to postpone either the 
 matter before Judge Haas or to change the time of appointment 
 with the Assistant State's Attorney. Payne said that it couldn't 
 be done and that my going was urgent. I went to the States 
 Attorney's office. I waited five hours until the Assistant States 
 Attorney could see me. When he did he merely asked me routine 
 questions that had been thoroughly gone over previously. 
 
 Payne said that as soon as the decree was signed there 
 would be paid to me $120,000.00; and that the money would 
 be in his office. This he kept repeating. He said, "/ got you 
 everything." 
 
 Payne asked me to invest in a country club, and in an 
 insurance company. He suggested that I invest $20,000.00. 
 The country club had burned down, and it was to be rebuilt. 
 I thought of my Adams investments; also my funds that had 
 dwindled. * * * 
 
— 259 — 
 
 "P OR reasons I could not then understand, Payne insisted 
 that I do not testify that I had sold the building to Adams. 
 But I was twice puzzled because almost every lawyer thus far 
 instructed me to say, write or testify to things that weren't so. 
 With all my sterngth I wished to tell what actually happened, 
 but I couldn't get a chance to do so. I paid out thousands 
 of dollars to get into a court or before the bar association for 
 the one chance to tell my story. I thought of the ladies of the 
 streets who are mostly truthful, even honest, until they came to 
 the law. Why can't I tell the truth? The court is the only place 
 where they solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth 
 and nothing but the truth and then lie like hell! 
 
 Nor could I understand then why Payne refused to carry 
 on my interviews with him orally. He said that he was suffering 
 from pains in his head and therefore had me write everything 
 I wished him to know. I saw other clients interview him without 
 writing. D'Angelo, too, followed that method. I therefore sat 
 and sat writing and writing the history of my troubles. In the 
 case of D'Angelo first and Payne later I was charged by the hour 
 for sitting and writing 
 
 It was while writing in Payne's office that the idea struck 
 me to write my story for the public. 
 
 But I am not a writer, I thought, and that I must find 
 someone who is. I telephoned to various newspapers, but 
 received vague replies. Having become Negro minded, I also 
 telephoned to the Chicago Defender. I was referred to Charles 
 Pea Browning, public relations director, of the Defender. I 
 called on Mr. Browning, who brought in a Negro Attorney, 
 an Assistant U. S. District Attorney, who drew up a contract, 
 providing for the payment of $1,000, for "editing" my manu- 
 script, $500.00 to be paid with the contract, the balance after 
 
— 260 — 
 
 a lapse of some months. Some time later I was informed that 
 
 progress had been made, and that the manuscript was being 
 taken to a New York publisher, requesting the $500.00 balance, 
 which I paid. I also paid the attorney for drawing up the 
 contract and for other items, including a contribution, in all, 
 an additional $92.00. 
 
 My special reasons for applying to the Chicago Defender 
 were (a) reliability, (b) documented information regarding the 
 race riots, which the Defender was likely to have, and (c) 
 special skill in writing and reporting. The contract recited these 
 considerations. I found living quarters within walking distance 
 of the Defender and sat day by day and hour by hour. I was 
 asked to write, write and write, which I did incessantly, but 
 other than some typing and not more than a dozen pages of 
 rewrite, no progress was made. 
 
 The term of the contract ended by default. Months after 
 the time limit in the contract my manuscript remained in its 
 original form, with here and there a few corrections in words, 
 terms and punctuation. I felt that aside from the money, that 
 many precious months had been wasted, and the story withheld 
 from the public, who had a right to know. I can't say that I 
 sustained a total loss, for by comparison with what had been re- 
 written with my original manuscript, I found mine clearer and 
 more preferable in many respects. I felt that Mr. Browning 
 gave me a diploma as a writer by comparison. 
 
 f~\ N March 24th, 1952, I went to a hearing before the Chicago 
 
 Bar Association on my complaint against Attorney George 
 
 C. Adams, accompanied by Mr. Payne. Sitting in an ante-room 
 
— 261 — 
 
 we found Adams, grinning triumphantly. Soon we were called 
 into the conference room. Adams' grinning continued, as he 
 sat down before the six men who were to hear the complaint 
 and render their decision. The clerk announced, "This is the 
 matter of the complaint by Camille DeRose against George C. 
 Adams." Someone arose and announced that a part of the 
 same matter is to be tried in the criminal court, and suggesting 
 that the hearing should be continued until after the trial, so 
 that this committee will know if there will be an acquital or 
 a conviction. 
 
 "There will be no conviction," Adams interposed. 
 
 The chairman of the committee said the matter will be 
 continued until the criminal case will be disposed of. 
 Mr. Payne rose and bowed and commenced to leave. 
 
 "Just a minute, gentlemen," I broke in. "I wish to address 
 the committee." 
 
 "I apologize for my client," Mr. Payne volunteered. 
 
 "Apologize?" I asked. "They owe me an apology." 
 I continued: "Gentlemen, I wish to be heard," and without 
 watiing for permission, I continued. 
 
 "Gentlemen: There Mr. Adams sits, grinning. Did 
 you hear, gentlemen, he said there will be no convic- 
 tion and he must know. When I came into his office, by 
 his request, I was the owner of a 20-apartment build- 
 ing, in a beautiful location, surrounded by a small forest 
 of evergreens, landscaping and flowers. I owned a 
 beautiful home with expensive furniture. I had also 
 $27,000 in cash. When I left his office, I had no build- 
 ing, my $27,000 is gone, but that isn't all. I was prose- 
 cuted by my government and by my state. Since leaving 
 his office I went from one lawyer to another trying to 
 get justice. I now stand before you against this swindler 
 
— 262 — 
 
 who grins before you in defiance. He says, 'there will 
 be no conviction.' I would like to know how a lawyer 
 can go on and on swindling the public. I am not here 
 to complain about the $8,500.00, on which this grin- 
 ning crook is indicted. What about $4,750.00 on fake 
 Kentucky oil stock? What about the furniture swindle? 
 There is not a single day that this grinning confidence 
 man does not commit a swindle for which he should be 
 disbarred. I threatened this man that I will go to the 
 Chicago Bar Association. He said, 'they will laugh you 
 right out of their office.' He said, 'My-my — I have 
 been going on for years and years — the Chicago Bar 
 Association doesn't care what I do.' And now, Gentle- 
 men, with the same confidence he says that there will 
 be no conviction. How is it, gentlemen, that this man 
 is armed with a license to practice law for the purpose 
 of swindling women out of their life's savings? I know, 
 as you, gentlemen, should, that I am not the first nor 
 the last that he has ruined. I didn't win my building 
 in a lottery. Brick by brick I paid for it. I walked to 
 save carfare, I did my own washing, I worked when 
 others enjoyed vacations. And after all these years of 
 'sweat, blood and tears.' I had a stake in this my coun- 
 try for my security. I stand before you ruined and 
 helpless, while he who has robbed me stands before 
 you grinning, sneering, that 'there will be no convic- 
 tion,' either in the Criminal Court or before the 
 Chicago Bar Association. I only asked him a simple 
 question, on rent control, and my life's savings are 
 gone." 
 
 As I finished, Mr. Payne again said, "I wish to apologize 
 for my client," bowing. I said, "Oh, shut up." 
 
— 263 — 
 
 On the committee was a Negro member whom I recognized 
 as one I had seen in the office of the Negro Attorney who drew 
 my contract with Browning. 
 
 I cannot criticise the colored citizens of this community 
 too severely, because of their oftimes corrupt leaders, for I 
 cannot boast of the white politicians, either. 
 
 A TTORNEY Payne filed my suit against Cook County for 
 the destruction of my building and my furniture. I insisted 
 on filing the suit, of course. I also insisted on his filing a suit 
 against the Town of Cicero, which had to be done within 
 a specified time. Payne permitted the time to go by, so I could 
 not maintain the suit. As to the suit against the County, Payne 
 reported that he made a settlement with the County, and 
 presented me with a document of several pages to sign to 
 complete the settlement. I signed the document. I later learned 
 that what I signed was a stipulation to dismiss my suit. I 
 received nothing for that dismissal. I had paid him for commenc- 
 ing the suit, and he charged me for dismissing it. Long after 
 it had been dismissed I kept asking Payne about the settlement, 
 and he kept telling me that he will soon get around to it. 
 
 Even the typesetters who are typesetting this book, and 
 haven't yet reached this page, ask, "How can one person get 
 into so much trouble?" To whatever extent I was to blame, if 
 indeed I am, my punishment is severe. Yet I am reminded of 
 my short period of rehearsal as a ballerina. Once off the 
 ground, I was being tossed from hand to hand, by stalwart 
 men whose embrace and control I could not break. And it was, 
 again, my destina to have them drop me on my toe. Likewise, 
 when I was lifted, or thrown, from the solid rampart of owner- 
 ship and control of my property, I was again tossed from hand 
 
— 264 — 
 
 to hand, again finding myself under a control I could not 
 break. As a ballerina, I was in the field of art; as a landlady 
 I was tossed into a field of viciousness and corruption. But 
 in both instances, I could not break the control. 
 
 And who were the principals in the cast of this devil's dance, 
 by which I was tossed and hurled to near-destruction? 
 
 I was invited by Attorney Payne who said he had spoken 
 to Mrs. Keys regarding my difficulties and that he was eager 
 to help me. I had escaped the tentacles of Adams to fall into 
 the hands of an Attorney recommended by Mr. Keys. In the 
 background was Attorney Leighton who had been an office 
 associate of Attorney Payne, and also associated with Mr. Keys 
 in NAACP activities, and who came forward to "defend" me 
 and others indicted in the State court for conspiracy to cause 
 the riots. 
 
 To assist me in "editing" and producing my book, my 
 "editor" summoned a sub-editor who I later learned had been 
 associated as a fellow-officer with Attorney Payne in another 
 Negro group. Came to the defense of Attorney Adams, in the 
 prosecution against him for defrauding me, one attorney whose 
 wife is a United States delegate to the United Nations, and 
 another white attorney who represents also some of the Cicero 
 authorities as well as the mortgage people who are foreclosing 
 my building. 
 
 So that my legal rights were viciously thwarted on the one 
 hand, while my book was being suppressed on the other. Some 
 will wonder how I chanced to escape that concentration to tell 
 my story at all. 
 
 Let not those happy women readers, surrounded by husband, 
 uncles, brothers and others, to whom they may turn in a crisis, 
 judge me too soon and too harshly about my entanglements. I 
 was alone! And what happens to a woman, alone, in a crisis? 
 
— 265 — 
 
 Their stories, in the thousands, remain untold. In this book I 
 hope to give voice to the countless defenseless women who are 
 taken to the "cleaners," by the human vultures who spun me 
 in the legal dans macabre. 
 
 T7" IOLATION of Civil rights by the Cicero authorities was a 
 Federal offense. Seven officials were indicted by a Federal 
 grand jury. Four were convicted, including Chief Konovsky 
 and Attorney Berkos. Those convicted filed their appeals, 
 which are now pending. 
 
 A S I said, I moved to the South Side within convenient 
 distance of my "editor." While there I heard a great deal 
 of gossip about the Cicero race riots, about the policy racket, 
 and became intrigued by the strange new world. I met a brilliant 
 colored woman who had inherited a newspaper and printing 
 plant and who had been swindled out of both by Adams. I lived 
 under an assumed name, and I told only my "editor" and 
 Attorney Payne of my whereabouts. My own parents didn't 
 have my address. Yet, within a matter of a week or ten days, 
 strange characters hovered around my living quarters, followed 
 me on foot and in cars. Going out of the door was a signal to 
 one, two and even three cars to cruise around following me. 
 I moved three times in one month. At the moment I lived on 
 Drexel boulevard and 63rd street. I walked the two blocks to 
 63rd and Cottage Grove for a newspaper, feeling unafraid within 
 that well-lighted and populous area, with stores open until late, 
 with shoppers on the walks. Police in uniform and in plain 
 clothes would greet me cordially. They appeared to recognize 
 me from my pictures in newspapers. They sensed that I might 
 
— 266 — 
 
 meet up with intruders and cautioned me to call them at their 
 posts or at the police station whenever I had any fears, or if 
 molested. 
 
 I felt at home in the "clubs" in the vicinity, and also pat- 
 ronized the lunch rooms. I sat down at one of the clubs which 
 serves barbecued chicken. Soon a white man sat down near me 
 and asked if I would have a drink. I said, "No, thank you." 
 But he persisted. I called the waiter and asked if he would move 
 me to another table. The man excused himself and went else- 
 elsewhere. Later, as I was about to leave, he came up, took out 
 his wallet and showed what looked like a police identification, 
 took my arm firmly and said, "Come along, you're under arrest." 
 I stood my ground and said that he had no warrant and that I 
 would have to have better identification. A few of the men and 
 the hostess came forward and stood around, ready to help. 
 The man said he will call the station for a patrol wagon. I 
 pointed to the telephone booth. He went to the booth to a dial 
 'phone. I noticed he didn't use the dial, so that if he did call, 
 it was not a local call. I stepped up and said, "Look here, mister, 
 you're not calling the Woodlawn station." I placed my hand 
 on the hook and disconnected. I asked him to step out. He 
 stood aside, surrounded by the customers who came near, while 
 I dialed. Before I received a connection, the "policeman" stalked 
 out of the club. 
 
 I had every chance to make a get-away while he was using 
 the telphone. I had to thin k quickly. The fact that I was free 
 when he entered the booth led me to suspect that he expected me 
 to escape and that he had confederates outside, particularly at 
 
 the rear door, out of sight of police or civilians. 
 
 * * 
 
 A few evenings later, walking again along 63rd street, 
 an automobile followed and came to a sudden stop. It was a 
 
— 267 — 
 
 private car with the license plate covered with dust or mud. 
 1 increased my pace. A man stepped out of the car and made 
 for me. Instead of running forward, I ran across the street 
 into the oncoming traffic, which caused the brakes of cars to 
 shriek to avoid hitting me. One car cleared me within an 
 inch. I reached the sidewalk, ran headlong just as the lights 
 changed. The man had run to the corner of the intersection, 
 then followed me. I ran into one of the big tavern night clubs 
 with the man following closely behind. The door man was a 
 colored giant about six feet four. My pursuer followed me in. 
 The door man intercepted. The man pulled out a genuine 
 policeman's star and said I was under arrest. The owner, a 
 white man, came toward us and asked what was wrong. He saw 
 the police star. I talked fast. I said that this officer, if he is an 
 officer, is driving a private car, a jalopy, and had been following 
 me for no reason. The owner said that he will guarantee my 
 appearance in court or that he will hold me in custody until he 
 returns with other officers, or that he, the officer, can use the 
 telephone to call the police station. The officer, or pretended 
 officer, then said, "O.K. you hold her here, I will be back with 
 a patrol wagon." He did not return. 
 
 HP HE next evening I moved into a hotel about a mile distant. 
 Somewhere among my possessions was a 32 calibre pistol, 
 fully loaded, which belonged to one of my husbands some dozen 
 years before. I had never used a pistol or any other fire-arm. 
 I searched and found it in one of my suitcases. I put it in my 
 handbag where I had determined to have it remain from then 
 on. If unable to use it, I might at least frighten an intruder. 
 I used it to good advantage almost immediately. I soon noticed 
 an eerie silence when I entered the lobby and elevator. I wasn't 
 
— 268 — 
 
 being looked at. Entering my room, I noticed there were no 
 towels nor soap. I picked up the 'phone, but found it discon- 
 nected. I had decided to go down stairs to ask for towels and 
 soap, as by then the drug stores were closed. Just then I heard 
 a knock on my door. There must have been several men as I heard 
 them talking. I asked, "Who is it?" "Open the door," a voice 
 said, rapping harder. I shouted that I do not wish to see 
 anyone. They started to lunge at the door and I could see the 
 lock giving way. I took my pistol and knocked at the door, 
 shouting "There will have to be seven, because the first six will 
 get a bullet, so come on, I'll let you have it." They left. 
 
 * # 
 
 found a room in another hotel, to which the cabbie drove me. 
 
 In getting into a hotel I examined the windows and doors 
 and the facility for getting in and out. I had lots of confidence 
 in this room as it had a fire escape. The window facing the 
 escape had wire-glass panes, and the catch was in good condition. 
 I settled down for a long stay. The hotel was on a business 
 street, well lighted. I made the rounds of neighborhood spots 
 and wherever I entered many faces turned toward me. I made 
 a genuine effort to be inconspicuous. I spent the evenings with 
 my "editor," or at least in his office, discussing, explaining, 
 writing, until almost always past midnight. The first week was 
 uneventful. About the 9th day, or evening, past midnite, I 
 inserted my key to my room but found it open. The lock did not 
 close automatically, it must be locked by hand on leaving. I 
 thought I had forgetten to lock it. Slowly opening the door 
 I found the lights up. I got the idea that I had been burglarized. 
 As the door swung open fully, there stood before me a heavy- 
 set Negro, glaring at me like a night-owl. Quickly I drew my 
 pistol, and while my knees buckled I said firmly, in the manner 
 of the movies, "Don't move, or I'll fill you full of holes." He 
 
— 269 — 
 
 lifted his hands and shook as if he had the St. Vitus dance. 
 I said, "Get the hell out of here." He welcomed the opportunity, 
 and out went a frightened intruder. 
 
 Meanwhile, my folks in Berwyn were receiving threats 
 over the telephone constantly, always predicting my death. The 
 incidents I am here describing were of frequent occurrence 
 with variations. I had many narrow escapes, but I was be- 
 coming less and less terrorized. In fact, I became skillful in 
 making quick getaways. Nonetheless I felt safer with my gun 
 within ready reach, even if only to brandish it. I knew it was 
 against the law to carry it around, but I felt that I would 
 rather be arrested than dead. 
 
 T ET not the reader get the notion that I fear death. In the 
 earlier pages I described one of my attempts at suicide. 
 You have heard Fourth of July orators repeat Patrick Henry's 
 "Give me liberty or give me death!" To me the idea has more 
 meaning than oratory. I truly do not wish to live without liberty. 
 And justice and liberty are interlocked. You can't have one 
 without the other. And you have neither in Chicago, in Cicero, 
 Illinois, U.S.A. But I do fear mutilation and pain. 
 
 I went to Attorney Payne to tell him about the persistent 
 threats. Payne said, "Forget the threats. Stay in your room. 
 Don't go out. Have your food brought in." "I can't stay 
 imprisoned. I must go out some time. I must go to the courts," 
 I reminded him. "Always have a pencil and paper with you. 
 Write down a description of anyone who makes an attempt 
 upon your life, so that we may trace the men if anything happens 
 to you," Payne advised. I dismissed the threats from further 
 thought, as I felt I couldn't do anything about it. 
 
 Then came Payne's triumphant announcement. "I got you 
 
— 270 — 
 
 everything — everything. I got you back your property. I got 
 your mortgage in good shape. I got you payment for your 
 furniture — everything." Again I was happy. Payne handed 
 me the "decree" which gave me everything. Like a school-girl 
 with a large Christmas box, I was gay with expectation. I had 
 everything. My life can now resume its happier routine. I can 
 now write my book. Having gotten me everything I still have 
 lost a sizable fortune in attorney's fees, also by the sale of my 
 building for much less than it was worth and by the loss of my 
 furniture. Yet I felt I was free to make up my losses. I delivered 
 a copy of the decree to the Chicago Bar Association. Everything 
 I now recovered was what Adams had stolen. I felt that the 
 Bar Association should protect the public from further thefts. 
 I then took a copy of the decree to Browning, for publication 
 in the Defender. 
 
 Taking the document, Browning was all animation. "I will 
 edit your book personally. I will give it my full time and atten- 
 tion." He said that we will start again where we left off, that 
 I should come to his office every night. Knowing that I had 
 moved, he said, "Give me your number so I can call you this 
 evening to tell you what time." He then asked me to meet him 
 in an office in a secluded location, with a third-rate tavern across 
 the street. "Uh! uh!" I said, "Let's use this (Defender) office. 
 I must be where I can make a quick getaway." 
 
 ■" UNE 12, 1952. I was in my room all day working on my 
 ** manuscript. At 3:00 p.m. I went out for a roll and coffee, 
 and returned promptly. At 8:45 p.m. I went to Mr. Browning's 
 office where I remained until midnite, waiting for the Chicago 
 Defender to reach the newsstands. 
 
 In the balmy summer night I walked for several blocks. 1 
 
— 271 — 
 
 bought a copy of each newspaper on the stand. On the front 
 page of the Defender I read that upon the sale of my building 
 after foreclosure 7^ per-cent goes to George C. Adams. I felt 
 as if the building toppled over me. Desiina, in its more fright- 
 ful form, struck again! Again, I had been betrayed. I heard 
 the devil's laughter, louder and louder, shrieking "I got you 
 everything — I got you everything — I GOT YOU EVERY- 
 THING! Payne did get me everything — everything villainous, 
 everything malignant, everything poisonous. Everything I had 
 hoped for was now gone — everything — everything lost, every- 
 thing destroyed! 
 
 It was 12:30 a.m. when I returned to the hotel, Friday 
 the 13th, the day of Adams' trial on the embezzlement case before 
 Judge Crowley. Adams had boasted before the Chicago Bar 
 Association that there would be no conviction. I had reason 
 to have misgivings about the trial. I had misgivings about any 
 trial. Those misgivings never left me, to this moment. This 7% 
 per-cent was arranged before Judge Haas while I was sent to 
 the State's Attorney's office, for no good reason, to keep me out 
 of Judge Haas' court. 
 
 My faults are many. Like you, I seek justification for my 
 thoughts and acts. But, truly, revenge is not too controlling a 
 passion. I can overlook many wrongs, as we all must, if we are 
 to maintain our peace of mind. People do selfish and dishonor- 
 able things, perhaps under force of circumstances, under pressure 
 of impulses. However, when one hatches a long-term design 
 to cheat, defraud and to destroy another, and works at it, with- 
 out mercy and without conscience, one who takes fiendish delight 
 in despoiling another, such a man should be isolated, he should 
 be put where he will not be free to perform his ravages. That 
 I was determined should be done. 
 
 Entering the hotel, the clerk handed me a blue slip, message 
 
— 272 — 
 
 reading, "Do not go to court tomorrow morning. Adams' 
 attorney collapsed — case is continued." No name appeared 
 on the slip. The time on the message was 9:15 P.M. 
 
 Attorney Payne had again and again told me that he would not 
 appear for me nor with me at the embezzlement trial of Adams. He 
 said again and again that under the law he was not permitted to 
 intercede in a prosecution. That his mere walking into the court- 
 room is prohibited, and that any attempt by him to interpose 
 would cause a "mistrial." This Mr. Payne illustrated by refusing 
 to leave the elevator on the floor where the court room is located. 
 But he also warned me that I must not have any other attorney 
 to accompany me, as it would have the same blighting effect on 
 the case. 
 
 I worried and tossed through the night. The message to 
 stay away from the court was in the nature of a threat. The fact 
 that no name was given seemed ominous. I had received 
 anonymous, 'phone calls again and again warning me to stay 
 away from the court room, with the hint that it might not be 
 "healthy." Had I answered the 'phone, I feared, the "message" 
 would not have been that mild. The clerk's male voice toned 
 down the message, I was convinced. 
 
 I got out of bed and looked for the pistol. Business was 
 open all night in the neighborhood. I put on some clothes and 
 went out for coffee. I decided that I wouldn't run again, — 
 from anything — or anyone. Anyone chasing me, I was deter- 
 mined, will get a bullet. 
 
 I felt the need of a stalwart friend. Surely, I had my 
 parents and my brothers, but my soul cried out for a chance 
 to bring them solace, not troubles. They were now getting threats. 
 I guarded from them with my very life, the unspeakable life 
 which I chose, just as the bullet chooses its destination. Through 
 
— 273 — 
 
 the night, as I tossed, I felt keenly the mistake I might have made 
 in shooting my mouth off at Keys. I began to reason that prob- 
 ably I should not have expected him to sacrifice what he has 
 built up for what I had broken down. I should not have expected 
 him to forsake his race for the race that had forsaken me, to 
 make his lot with me, and both end up as outcasts. What was I 
 storming at him for? I am fighting a world of corruption, a 
 world which liquidates its enemies year in and year out and 
 mocks a limping law enforcement, a world which has its ambas- 
 sadors in every public and political authority. Can he run from 
 place to place as I have run? Can he change his name from 
 week to week? Can he change his color? Maybe "I done him 
 an injustice." At any rate, he is not with me, in court as he 
 was at the hearing on the indictment, and out of court when he 
 gave me courage, hope and — love. 
 
 T7* RID AY the 1 3 th had never before been an unlucky day for 
 me. I was not bothered by superstition. I dressed hurriedly. 
 I was to go alone to the court. I was tempted to telephone to 
 Keys, to ask him to go to the court with me, before the same 
 Judge Crowley, where he had stood with other lawyers on their 
 motion to squash the Cicero indictments. But I feared he might 
 not be hospitable, and, even in desperation, I still have pride. 
 I went to the court full of misgivings. Adams told me off 
 when I told him off. He said that no lawyer is smart enough 
 to Outwit him; no court will convict him; that I would be run 
 ragged from court to court and get exhausted getting nowhere; 
 that he got 149 continuances in one case; that long before my 
 cases against him would come to trial I would also have 
 exhausted the little money he had allowed me to keep. "Get 
 lost," he said. "Leave the country while you still have skin on 
 
— 274 — 
 
 your , before you are thrown into an insane asylum. No 
 
 one fights George C. Adams and gets very far." 
 
 Those words were ringing in my ears. Thus far he called 
 the punches. He also said that he isn't worrying about what 
 would take effect as I would be dead long before any action I 
 might take. I walked back to the hotel and took my gun from 
 my room in a brief case. 
 
 Arriving at the court room I found myself facing a dozen 
 leering and grinning colored men. 
 
 The senator who had posed with me was among those pre- 
 sent, with Adams. 
 
 I had a chance to show to the young Negro Assistant State's 
 Attorney the blue slip with the message that there would be a 
 postponement. He dumbly shrugged his shoulders. I told him I 
 had been receiving constant threats over the telephone that I 
 would die if I go to court against Adams. He again raised his 
 eyebrows and twisted a shoulder dumbly. Before going up to the 
 court room floor I had telephoned Mr. Browning. During my 
 conversation I told him that no matter how often I move that 
 threats come over the telephone, and that I had taken a gun. 
 Browning said, "Stay right there, stay right there, I'll grab a cab 
 — -I'm coming right over." He did not come. 
 
 TN the corridor before the court room a festive scene of bro- 
 therly love was staged, partly for my benefit, the strolling 
 players watching me and even bowing. The young Negro pro- 
 secutor and the defendant's lawyer slapped each other on the 
 back and shook hands. There was a general rejoicing, hello' ing, 
 chuckling, handshaking and back-slapping. One of them whom 
 I had seen around Keys and Leighton came forward and 
 said to me, "Why don't you go home? You'll get nothing here but 
 
— 275 — 
 
 headaches. Why don't you get wise to yourself?" 
 
 I went into the court room and stood near the entrance. The 
 court opened promptly. No sooner the judge got on the bench 
 when he extended his cupped hands in a "come hither" gesture, 
 saying "Camille DeRose, step up!" Several others, the clerk, the 
 bailiff, did likewise as if rehearsed, their voices ringing out in 
 unison, "Camille De Rose — Camille De Rose." I walked forward 
 to the dais, facing the judge, close to the colored prosecutor. 
 
 "Your Honor," came the voice of Adams' attorney, "I col- 
 lapsed last night." "What can we do about that?" the judge 
 asked. "I would like to have a continuance — I collapsed last 
 night." The judge asked how long a continuance he had in 
 mind, and the attorney replied, "Oh, make it October, or later, 
 I collapsed last night." 
 
 Turning to the prosecutor, the judge asked what the State 
 had to say. "It's all right with the State." the prosecutor replied. 
 
 I moved forward and faced the judge, I waived the blue piece 
 of paper I had received from the hotel clerk and said, "Your 
 honor, I got a threat, last night." The judge took the piece of 
 paper. I said the message warned me not to appear in court 
 and that Adams' attorney had collapsed. I kept talking. The judge 
 warned me to keep still. I said that I had to tell my story some- 
 where. "I can't live this way. I am fighting to get back some of 
 my losses. I can't keep coming again and again in this case. 
 There are too many continuances." I continued: "I want to be 
 heard, in a court or by the public. I'm tired of this farce. I am 
 caught between the Cicero Hoodlum Empire on one side and the 
 South Side political bloc on the other. My building is destroyed, 
 and I am hush-hushed, so I can't tell it to the court nor to the 
 world." "One year for contempt of court," the judge said. Pound- 
 ing my fist on the bar, with my voice filled with anger, I went on, 
 "Why don't you make it five years — ten years? That was the 
 
276 — 
 
 3 § 
 
 S.S 
 23 
 
 03 to 
 
 -5a 
 
— 277 — 
 
 intention, that was the pattern into which I was to be trapped. 
 Only the public may not like to see the Cicero landlady whose 
 building and home was wrecked go to prison on a fake issue. 
 Adams robbed me even after my home was burned, and I am 
 shut out of the courts, so that I can't as much as cry out against 
 this outrage. Well, I challenge your Honor. I have lost all. There 
 is nothing more for you to take, so why don't you finish the job? 
 Make it a record. Throw the key away. Give me 99 years. If you 
 can give it I can take it. It doesn't matter to me what you do. I 
 am going to jail. I didn't do anything. He is not in contempt, 
 he is free, although he robbed me. I want justice. You might as 
 well make it 99 years. 
 
 "Two years," the judge said. 
 
 Make it five — make it ten — make it 99. One year will lose 
 me all my cases, so you might just as well do a good job. No 
 one is more innocent than I am. 
 
 I was hustled through a tunnel into an elevator and into the 
 jail house. At long last, I was in chains. It was the final triumph 
 of the rent office. I had read of "alimony row." This was land- 
 lady's row. Ringing in my ears were my tenant's voices heard at 
 their meeting in my building, "Throw out the landlady. It's time 
 we tenants got together." My heart was too full and too weak 
 to think of the lesson in economics. The tenants were also evicted, 
 even more suddenly than I. They couldn't see beforehand that by 
 destroying the "kulak" they also destroyed the product which the 
 "kulak" provided. Yet the tenants were free, I in chains. Another 
 chapter in the destina of Gamille DeRose, once Patrone DeCasa. 
 
 |~"k ID I not say here before that one never thinks of his heart 
 
 until it is impaired? We take our eyes for granted — until 
 
 in danger of losing our sight. The greatest hope of the blind is 
 
— 278 — 
 
 sight. The greatest hope of the victim is redemption. Nothing is 
 more terrifying than to see iron doors shut you off from the 
 great outside. I shall refer to this again. The vale of humiliation 
 was not a new abode to me. I exchanged my freedom to speak 
 for justice. I was satisfied with the bargain. One of my life's 
 greatest passions is to keep my bargain. I told the judge if he can 
 give it I can take it. It is the rule running throughout nature that 
 whether man or beast, to use his weapon against the defenseless. 
 I have no organization behind me, no hoodlums associated with 
 me ,no precinct or ward organization to trade its votes, and my 
 lawyer betrayed me. From then on it is simple arithmetic. It adds 
 up to jail. I though that what I lost in freedom, in the terror of 
 this incarceration, I will salvage in experience. 
 
 Hundreds of books were written of prison life. Life? The 
 training of a judge should be a term in prison. How else can he 
 know what it is like? We were shocked to read that in Yemen 
 and other Arabian countries a minor offender is punished by 
 having his hand cut off! How cruel! How uncivilized! Look at 
 us — we are civilized. So we boast. Yet I dare say, if an offer were 
 made to the thousands in the jails and penitentiaries to exchange 
 their hands, feet, or gizzard for freedom, there would be few 
 remaining behind the bars. Prisoners are partitioned off from 
 the windows of top floors, lest they find freedom in death. 
 
 What the spider does to the fly, what the cat does to the 
 mouse, what the wasp does to the caterpillar, what the killer whale 
 does to its victim, the law does to the prisoner. The "criminal" 
 law is the law of nature in its blind ruthlessness. The law is a 
 co-efficient to nature's frightful ness. You may have read of the 
 prisoner in the death cell who cut his wrists with a razor blade 
 and was found by the warden bloodless and unconscious. The 
 prison doctor was ordered to administer blood transfusions. 
 The prisoner was restored and led to the electric chair! This 
 
— 279 — 
 
 is sadism carried to a high voltage. Nothing more horrible can 
 be conceived of. It makes the law of the jungle mild by com- 
 parison. 
 
 What do we think today of the judges who condemned help- 
 less, terrified elderly women to be roasted alive for witchcraft? 
 If civilization ever arrives, I am sure that our present judges 
 will fare no better in the opinion of rational human beings, if 
 they arrive to that stage before extermination. 
 
 I am in prison for nothing, like thousands of others. Judges 
 and juries are a fumbling lot, and many people are fumbled into 
 prison. Yes, I was in prison when I was not guilty. Would I 
 have been more comfortable if I were guilty? Yet jail has many 
 curious sides, enough to fill another book, much untold. Let us 
 run through, in a page or two, my imprisonment of seventeen 
 years. Did I say seventeen years? It was but seventeen days 
 on the calendar. 
 
 Your Cicero landlady is now in Cell Number 26. Every- 
 where I was surrounded by bars. A bell rang, a clear, resonant 
 voice cried out, "Dummies up on the 'B' side. Yoooaah! . . . ." 
 As I sat at one of the long tables a tin plate was pushed before 
 me with macaroni without sauce or seasoning, a tin spoon, 
 a tin cup with "coffee" (ugh!), a sliced loaf of bread thrown 
 on the table. That was dinner for the inmates. A sip of the 
 dark, smelly liquid was sufficient. I cannot think of a better 
 place for losing weight — and losing health. Some of the women 
 seemed to be talking with their hands. I thought they were 
 deaf-mutes, but I learned otherwise. After the sumptuous 
 repast, the women sang and harmonized, giving a better per- 
 formance than I had heard over the radio. Then they sang the 
 Lord's Prayer, with a fervor which a church choir would envy. 
 It was the song of the lost, of the forsaken, I thought. What is 
 happening outside of the jails and penitentiaries? I was a 
 
— 280 — 
 
 criminal because, through an error into which Cicero and my 
 lawyer led me into, I raised my rent above nine cents per person 
 per day, whereas Cicero hotels must report $5.00 per 15 minutes. 
 I am in jail. No rackets to help me, such as I might have had 
 if I had turned my property over to the $5.00 per 15-minute 
 class. The Home Rule didn't furnish an umbrella for my home, 
 from a hail of stones. What's happening outside of my jail? 
 What about the widely advertised brewery caught using carloads 
 of infected and putrid material for the flood of beer sold to the 
 public? Business is usually legal fraud. 
 
 Fire insurance companies are a barometer of business condi- 
 tions. Fires occur more frequently as business declines and 
 vice-versa; and it follows, that fires in a particular product 
 increase when sales fall off. Fraud is the chief pursuit of 
 humanity. Perjury is the chief commodity of lawsuits. The 
 salesmen pad their expense accounts; the lawyer pads his time 
 sheet; the client exaggerates his loss or injury. There are thou- 
 sands of fake religions. The population of the jails and peniten- 
 taries are controlled by the number and diligence, or lack of 
 
 diligence, of the prosecutors. 
 
 * * 
 
 T HAVE heard it said that time is our most precious possession, 
 that it is the substance of our life, something we cannot buy 
 back after it slips by. Yet it can be painful. The death sentence 
 is the kindest, excepting for a psychological fear. The prisoner 
 suffers death daily, and would suffer a mental break-down, as 
 often happens, but for a traitorous hope which preserves him 
 for more suffering. It was told of Caesar that when he threw 
 Christians into the lions' pit, he called attention to their 
 struggle to gain a few seconds of their miserable lives. The 
 "will to live," is irrational in the face of hardship and disability 
 Were human beings rational there would be a few alive in 
 
— 281 — 
 
 penitentiaries, with the bleakness, the sadistic guards, attendants, 
 matrons and wardens, ugly food, soul-destroying confinment 
 and restraints. Even outside the incredible horror of prison 
 "life," living often becomes irrational. Those who out of 
 kindness brought me back to life, in the year of 1947, of which 
 this same Chief Konovsky boasts, have preserved me to face 
 the horrors which I record in this book. 
 
 It is my view that depth of mind, heart and soul cannot 
 be expected of our judges. The chief ingredient for attainment 
 of office is political opportunism. This ingredient does not dis- 
 appear after such attainment, but rather it increases upon what 
 it feeds. The weak must ever be the scapegoat for the strong. 
 The prisons are therefore populated by the unsponsored, un- 
 protected and often guiltless victims. 
 
 If the judge would have capacity to think, and that does 
 happen, he should recall an occasion when his train was an 
 hour or two late. He has all the lush comforts of the club car, 
 the observation platform, he can play bridge or pinochle, he 
 can push the button and have delectable sandwiches and drinks 
 brought to him, and yet he sometimes suffers a nervous break- 
 down because of the delay of a few hours. 
 
 Compare this train delay with imprisonment in the County 
 jail. Hard wood benches with no back rest; smelly, slimy, wormy 
 food, and even that scant; bleak grey walls; idle tortuous 
 hours without definite limitation to look forward to; uncomfort- 
 able cots to sleep on; humiliating exposure without privacy in 
 the biological needs of women; one roll of toilet paper for 
 forty women which is quickly used, then none; one tin drinking 
 cup for all; sick, infected women mingling with the rest; one 
 shower open twice a day for thirty minutes, all forty women 
 scrambling to get in, exposed, obscene, infectious, irritable. 
 Nothing to read, scraps of soap, no tooth brush, no sanitation. 
 The filth, grime and contamination is indescribable. Add to all 
 
— 282 — 
 this the corroding blight of ignominy. 
 
 /CONSIDERING the deprivations thrown upon them, the 
 prisoners show a stoical tolerance of their confinment in 
 the Cook County chamber of horrors. Toni, a young, attractive 
 colored woman, had been there for ten months. We became 
 friends. She was bright, sensitive, and talkative. She was accused 
 of being a "hoister," which is a prison term for shop-lifter. 
 
 One of the matrons was a sadist at heart. She would tie 
 Kotex under her feet and prowl around the "cat-walk" surround- 
 ing the cells to catch an unsuspecting prisoner in some inoffensive 
 violation of a minor rule, to send her to the "hole," which was 
 the name of a solitary confinement cell. Each of the prisoners 
 would be caught in time. 
 
 Ugly things happen. One of the girls lost her mind and 
 speech completely, another became desperately ill and wallowed 
 on the cement floor. Neither received attention from the steel- 
 hearted matrons. Not all matrons were bad. The head matron 
 was kijidly and understanding, but the cells were understaffed, 
 and the inattention and neglect were the result. Hatreds develop, 
 fights between prisoners are not infrequent, special punishments 
 are severe. Some of the prisoners are spiteful, some -turn "stool 
 pigeon," and "snitch" on others. 
 
 The monotony is broken at times. The Mexican Rosa was 
 a natural comedian. She was small, slight, neat. In Mexican- 
 English she told her story, which I heard in part. This 
 was her story: 
 
 The judge asked me if I pick up mans. I say — no — 
 your honor — he talk to me — he say helloe, bay-bee. I say 
 hello you. He say you want make money — I say, sure, 
 mo-ney I like. — I pay rent — you give me rent, ha? He 
 say I give you three dollars! I bring home. He say, You 
 French? I say, No, — Mexicano. Then the cops they push 
 
 
— 283 — 
 
 the door — they bring me to jail — I do nothing. I tell judge 
 
 I do nothing — The judge says sixty days. I say thanks you 
 
 you honor — but I say I do nothing. The mans he in jail 
 
 too — behaviora clinic the judge say — So this United States 
 
 — huh. I like. You pay no rent, they put in jail. You 
 
 get money for rent, they put in jail-a too. Nice, huh! I 
 
 like the mans — may be me bad, no? 
 
 Among the prisoners was a cultured, dignified young 
 
 Italian woman who was a professor of languages at one of the 
 
 Eastern fashionable schools for girls. Her 8-year old child had 
 
 been awarded to her husband in their divorce proceeding. 
 
 Doubtless she was not well represented, if at all, and was thereby 
 
 deprived of cusotdy of her child. Visiting, she took possession 
 
 of the child and transported her out of the state. This delicate 
 
 young woman was also forced to mingle with the infected women, 
 
 some with open sores, some with athlete's foot disease, drinking 
 
 from one cup and handling the common food. 
 
 * 
 
 TJRIOR to the court scene where I was held in contempt I 
 had commenced to suspect Attorney Payne. I asked a 
 friend if he knew of a capable and honest lawyer. He said he 
 did and made an appointment for me, for that very morning, 
 but my imprisonment prevented me from keeping the appoint- 
 ment. From the jail I sent a note to my friend to have the 
 attorney come to see me and I placed his name on the register 
 as my attorney. This new attorney called Payne by telephone 
 to get his consent to join as co-counsel. Payne had not called 
 for several days. Payne had not appeared with me on the 
 pretense that he was not allowed in court during a prosecution 
 (?) but appeared immediately after I was held in contempt. 
 
 The 'phone call by my new attorney alerted Mr. Payne who 
 promptly called at the jail. He said that my imprisonment had 
 
— 284 — 
 
 so upset him that "I collapsed last night," a statement which was 
 becoming monotonous. 
 
 Payne reproved me, stating that he had 'phoned me the 
 night before that there would be no trial. It dawned upon me 
 that it was Payne who had called in anonymously asking me to 
 stay away from the court on that morning. I called it to his 
 attention and in his nimble manner said that he did give his 
 name. 
 
 My mother later told me that she had been talking with 
 him over the telephone in his office during his collapsing days, 
 and there was no evidence of the collapsing. At the County 
 jail Payne spoke fervently. He said that staring me in the face 
 was a 2-year sentence for contempt and a 3-year sentence for 
 carrying the gun. He cautioned me that the presence of my 
 new attorney placed me in jeopardy, as alone he had the entire 
 matter under control, and that no harm could come to me. At 
 every turn Payne impressed me that doors are open to him in 
 the courts and in the State's Attorney's office, and that nothing 
 can prevail other than a "pay-off" or proper influence, and that 
 he had what it takes. 
 
 My new attorney had filed a petition purging me of the 
 contempt charge, although I did not then understand its effect. 
 The next day in court was to be Monday, June 26th, 1952. I 
 was called before the court on that day. Mr. Payne asked me 
 to sign a typewritten document to restore his right to represent 
 me which he said had been cancelled by the employment of the 
 other attorney. I signed the document without reading, as usual. 
 I later learned that what he said about cancelling his right to 
 represent me was untrue, and I also learned that the document 
 was a petition to admit me to the Kankakee hospital. Yet he 
 fervently assured me that with that document he would secure 
 my release and that I would be permitted to go home in a few 
 
— 285 — 
 
 days. He warned me again and again that I must dismiss my 
 other attorney, and that I must not permit the other attorney 
 to appear. However, the anonymous call alarmed me and I 
 asked my other attorney to be present, just in case, but to remain 
 in the background. 
 
 Payne again and again assured me that my imprisonment 
 affected his health. He also said that he had paid $2,500.00 to 
 set me free. He also told me that Browning was on the way 
 to New York with my manuscript, and that "Your story will 
 be told to the world." 
 
 Attorney Payne, Miss DeRose and Mrs. DeRose, mother, in conference 
 in Judge Crowley's chambers. 
 
 Before the hearing, in the prisoners' room adjoining the 
 court room, I asked Attorney Payne as well as the bailiff to have 
 my new attoney come in to talk to me. Both Payne and the 
 bailiff insisted I could have but one attorney and refused to 
 
 give my message to my new attorney. In the jail I had to speak 
 
— 286 — 
 
 to my attorney through a thick glass. We had to shout to each 
 other through the various noises from the jail inmates. 
 
 Prisoners are denied their "inalienable" rights of which 
 this country boasts, unless they reach the favorable lawyers. News- 
 paper reporters, psychiatrists and those opposed to the prisoner 
 have a ready access to the prisoner, but without a "drag," a 
 prisoner has no rights. The jail is the citadel of disillusion- 
 ment. Once you have that experience, you see the "official" 
 or political life of this country at its ugliest. You need look 
 for no "iron curtain" in Russia. You have it here, with extra 
 nuts and bolts, with all its horrors, tortures, sadism and savagery. 
 Whoever passes through the hell-hole will never again trust 
 the courts, with their vicious, lying, treacherous flunkeys. I 
 am told that there are some wardens who are not sadists, such 
 as Mr. Sain. But he wasn't the warden when I was there. 
 
 /^OMING before the court, the new attorney did not come 
 forward but remained about twenty feet away. Judge 
 Crowley asked me if the new attorney represented me. I hesitated. 
 He askd me again, I bowed my head and said "no." Attorney 
 Payne had asked me to "co-operate" with him, that I should 
 act as if I were distracted, agitated, nervous and subnormal. At 
 other times he told me to cry to attract sympathy. I did not 
 follow, I did not "co-operate." I reasoned that it might be 
 necessary to act false in a false atmosphere, but speaking or act- 
 ing falsely clashes with my nature. Again, I hope my readers will 
 understand that I do not aim to pose as an example of what a 
 woman should be. Hell, no! I am a creature of impulse, and 
 whatever I do, right or wrong, good or ill, I do by impulse. It 
 happens that one of my strongest impulses is to tell the facts, 
 even if it hurts — if it hurts me as well as others. In pursuit 
 
— 287 — 
 
 of that impulse I stood before the judge in the face of a two 
 years' sentence, and told what I had on my mind. Did Payne 
 think that I would, even if I could, put on a false act? 
 
 With my new attorney withdrawn, I was left to the mercy 
 of Mr. Payne, a psychiatrist and the judge. 
 
 My new attorney left the court room when I needed him 
 most. What I did not even know was that at the earlier hearing, 
 when someone unknown had tipped off the court attendants 
 that I had the gun in my brief case, over which there was much 
 ado, and brought an indictment against me, that the pattern 
 followed by my Attorney Payne began to unfold. I will quote 
 from the court stenographer's report of the proceeding: 
 (Camille DeRose was removed from the court room) 
 The court 
 
 Mr. Payne: If your honor please, may I address the court? 
 The Court: Now you may, Mr. Counsel. I am sorry that 
 I had to do it. If you desire, I can order a behavior clinic 
 examination for her. I think probably the doctor should 
 examine her. You are her counsel in the civil proceed- 
 ings, and if that is your request I will do it. 
 Mr. Payne: Not only that, your Honor, it is further than 
 that. If this woman had killed a person before she could 
 be sentenced. 
 
 Your Honor has never, perhaps, in all the Court's 
 experience, had before the court an individual so upset, 
 so mentally disturbed, as this woman has been. 
 
 Therefore I am asking that the court have a jury to 
 determine Miss DeRose's sanity. 
 
 The Court : Well, do you have any doctor that had examined 
 her and said she was mentally unsound and commitable? 
 — If you want to you may have a doctor examine her in 
 the County Jail and determine whether or not she is mentally 
 
— 288 — 
 
 sound. 
 
 That gave Attorney Payne an open road to put me away, 
 so that I would miss my various court matters, and give him a 
 chance to sabotage my claims, to enter decrees against me and 
 dismiss other cases in court. 
 
 With the road open to confine me in a mental institution, 
 my new attorney was an alarming interference to Mr. Payne. 
 It brought Mr. Payne to his feet and to me at the County Jail. 
 Unbeknown to me, he had employed a doctor who wrote to 
 Judge Crowley a letter which I quote in part: 
 
 "Dear Judge Crowley: 
 
 "May I report to you on my findings in the case of Canaille DeRose, 
 whom I examined today at the County Jail with your permission at the 
 request of Attorney A. H. Payne. 
 
 "As she unfolded her life story, it became increasingly apparent that 
 emotional instability had been operative in her personality long before her 
 involvement in litigation began. 
 
 "The continuous series of litigations she was involved in for the past 
 few years had brought about still another unhealthy feature in her makeup; 
 namely, she had become distinctly paranoid in ideation and behavior. 
 
 "This paranoid feature spells danger for people she considers as her 
 persecutors. Furthermore, it spells untold discomfort for herself, as she had 
 been living in fear and panic for a number of months, which made her 
 move from place to place in order to escape those menacing situations. 
 
 "Such a person can be rendered more comfortable in the long run 
 when placed in a protective environment, such as a mental institution. 
 
 "My recommendation therefore is that she be placed in a mental 
 institution for further study and treatment." 
 
 The interview with this charlatan was imposed upon me 
 upon Payne's assurance that it is part of the arrangement to 
 set me free. Payne charged me $150.00 which he said he paid 
 for the interview. 
 
 The ceremony started after my new attorney departed, and 
 I was entirely at the mercy of Payne. 
 
 Payne ran back and forth from the judge's chambers to the 
 
 
— 289 — 
 
 ante-room where I sat with my parents. Payne Kept repeating 
 that everything is "fixed," and that he had paid $2,500.00, and 
 that I would be free in a matter of a few days. Soon I was brought 
 into the court room. A jury was sitting in the jury box. Dr. 
 Haines testified he had examined me by interviewing three of my 
 former lawyers. Mr. Payne read the letter from which I quoted. 
 Later my new attorney searched the file and found an 
 affidavit by Payne wherein he swears that I was a "lunatic", 
 and "insane." 
 
 There was more mumbo-jumbo, the jury walked out and 
 walked back, like actors before a curtain call, the foreman was 
 asked to read the verdict, and he read from a paper — 
 "We, the jury, find that the defendant, 
 Camille DeRose, is insane." 
 Again I found myself trapped. The judge made a long 
 spiel about how I would be improved with rest and treatment, 
 and that in time 1 would regain my mental health. I asked if 
 I would be permitted to address the court, and Mr. Payne said, 
 "Keep quiet, keep quiet, you're lucky — don't be spoiling..." 
 I brushed him aside, and demanded that I be heard. The 
 judge consented to hear me, and I addressed him substantially 
 as follows: 
 
 "Your Honor, I would like to tell my story: 
 "I asked a lawyer a simple question about rent regulation, 
 a question which every landlord would ask. The question 
 involved my 20-apartment building which I then owned, 
 clear of any indebtedness — clear of mortgage. I also had 
 an apartment of expensive furniture. Today I stand before 
 your honor with all my property lost. I stand a woman 
 alone, with my life's savings gone, all stolen from me by 
 the lawyer of whom I asked that simple question. This 
 swindler was indicted and was to be tried. There have 
 
— 290 — 
 
 been about a dozen continuances, but no trial. He and 
 his confederates have boasted that he would not be con- 
 victed, that he had too much power, and that I am making 
 a fool of myself trying to get justice. This lawyer de- 
 liberately organized the race riots which destroyed my 
 home. I did not know that he was not a white man, I 
 did not know that he was "mixed," Yet even if I knew I 
 would not have known that he would bring the riots to 
 my home. But he also swindled me — not alone of my title 
 to my home and to my building, but of a large amount of 
 cash. This indictment is for one of the items amounting to 
 $8,500.00. What he boasted has come to pass. He is on the 
 outside — free to roam the streets, I was put in jail, and now 
 that I am out of jail, I must go to an insane asylum. Now, 
 your Honor, do you think I am insane?" 
 The judge answered: "I didn't say that. In a few weeks 
 you will be cured. Camille, I know your experience has been 
 trying. You are forgiven for everything that happened in my 
 court. You will be alright in a few weeks." 
 
 "But, your Honor," I replied, "I am fighting to restore 
 part of what I lost, just as I am trying to bring this lawyer to 
 trial. If I am put within the walls of a mental hospital, what 
 will happen to my court matters? Then, again, I would by far 
 rather go to jail again than into a mental institution. I will 
 be marked for life as a mental case. 
 
 "Your Honor, I challenge you to go through what I went 
 through and bear up as well. I challenge you, strong as you 
 are, physically and politically; I challenge any man to go 
 through my ordeals and come out fighting as I am doing. I am 
 not insane." I spoke for fully fifteen minutes, telling something 
 of the fight I had made and what I intend to make. 
 
 The judge repeated that I would benefit by the mental 
 
— 291 — 
 
 hospital. On June 30th, I was taken to the Kankakee State Hospital. 
 
 Thus I was not permitted to die and yet not permitted to 
 live. The lawyers who defrauded me supplied the testimony 
 to put me away in a mental institution. 
 
 I was driven to Kankakee, Illinois, by a bailiff and a woman 
 deputy sheriff, in a private automobile. It was a delightful 
 trip, in spite of its sordid destination. How different people 
 can be, and what a difference people can make! Both were 
 kindly, hospitable and encouraging. There were no restraints. 
 I wasn't watched, They stopped off from time to time for 
 coffee and sandwiches. Soon we entered the magnificent grounds 
 of the Kankakee State hospital, into its winding roads, circling 
 around wide lawns fronting the well-kept buildings. 
 
 Everything which is neglected in the County jail is supplied 
 at Kankakee. The internes and physicians are considerate, 
 friendly and helpful. In fact, they take abuse from some of 
 the patients without reprisals. I presume the pace is set by its 
 Superintendent, Dr. Ernest S. Klein, a scholarly, efficient and 
 considerate executive. Nonetheless discipline is maintained, 
 but not by the lash and the knout, which the hospital finds un- 
 necessary. The food is surprisingly good, the beds clean and 
 comfortable, all like an ideal country club. I regret to report 
 that what is known as "hydro," a frightful ordeal, might be 
 toned down if not eliminated. 
 
 New patients come into the diagnostic ward daily. Tests 
 are made for disease and infection, and prompt and expert 
 medical care is given. The patients are not handled like cattle 
 in the stockyards or like I was handled in the Cook County 
 hospital, or like the human derelicts in the jail are treated. 
 
 To a person of ambition, confinement is painful, even in a 
 fashionable country club. From day to day my anxiety grew, 
 especially as I realized that my confinement was part of the 
 
— 292 — 
 
 plan to accomplish my ruin, and by this confinement to also 
 prevent me from asserting my rights. The purpose was to keep 
 me in Kankakee until my lawsuits were dismissed, the fore- 
 closure against my Cicero building completed, the prosecution 
 of Adams dropped, and my story silenced. 
 
 My new attorney whose name I did not mention was 
 Laurence M. Fine. He was shooed away when Payne assured 
 me that he paid $2,500.00 and that I would be a free woman. 
 It was to have been $5,000.00. Surely, I thought, I cannot 
 jeopardize my freedom and $2,500.00. What else could J have 
 done but to ask Mr. Fine to stay in the background? Mr. Fine 
 left the court room, which proved another link in the chain 
 which misfortune and Attorney Payne forged. 
 
 Payne had kept pounding at me that I faced ten years in 
 prison, because of "direct" contempt and the major crime of 
 carrying a gun, and that the insanity proceeding, plus his power 
 in the courts, plus his payment of $2,500.00 was my only sal- 
 vation. That I faced many years in jail was also repeated again 
 and again by the court attaches. I was warned that bringing 
 in another attorney exposed me to great danger, as all the 
 benefits of Payne's maneuvers would be upset. Payne also told 
 me that I can have but one lawyer, and that I must dismiss my 
 new attorney to permit Payne to carry out all those things 
 for my benefit. 
 
 How false all Payne's pretensions were I did not know 
 then, although I suspected much. Yet I was in the postion 
 of the drowning man grasping, at a straw. The straw was what 
 was left of my faith in humanity, my trust in ultimate justice and 
 my fear that perhaps I might be wrong. I therefore clung to 
 Attorney Payne, and his promise that he had "taken care" of 
 everything, and that I would be released in a matter of a few 
 days. 
 
— 293 — 
 
 In Kankakee, I was shocked to receive a letter from Mr. 
 Payne, which read, in part, as follows: 
 
 "My dear Mrs. DeRose:* 
 
 "This is to acknowledge receipt of your letter which was undoubtedly 
 written before you left the County Jail. I want you to know that we fully 
 understand your problems and will do everything to insure your best 
 interest. The only way out of the difficulty before Judge Crowley was the 
 manner in which we proceeded. 
 
 "You understand that your release from Kankakee depends 
 entirely upon the manner in which you cooperate with the 
 doctors and nurses there. I am sure that you will do every- 
 thing to assist me in effecting your release at the earliest pos- 
 sible moment, and I am sure that your behavior will be such 
 that no one in the institution will question your sanity." 
 
 Contrast with the above, the statements in Mr. Payne's 
 letter of July 8, which I also quote, in part: 
 
 "Dear Mrs. DeRose: 
 
 "Yesterday morning when I arrived at the office, both of 
 your letters awaited me. Believe me when I say that I fully 
 understand your position and the distress that your confinement 
 in the hospital must occasion you. This, however, must be 
 endured until you have been there about two months at which 
 time a psychiatrist will be engaged to examine you 
 
 "The employment of a psychiatrist for your defense in 
 the Criminal Court necessitated the expending of funds out of 
 my own pocket; this in itself should convince you that my sole 
 interest is in accomplishing your best good. 
 
 "There is but one thing for you to do while you are in 
 the hospital, and that is, to seek to regain completely your 
 poise and your balance so that you will be able to assist me in 
 bringing to a successful conclusion the long and arduous litiga- 
 tion in which you became involved." 
 
 *In spite of my frequent protest and corrections, Payne kept address- 
 ing me as Mrs. DeRose. 
 
— 294 — 
 
 It will be noted that Mr. Payne had expended sums out of his 
 own pocket, forgetting about my $3,750.00; and that my "best 
 good," was to send me to Kankakee to get me out of the way. 
 Not one word about the $120,000.00 he was to have had for me, 
 under the decree, nor about any of my other matters, for which 
 he charged the $3,750.00. It was clear that I had the wrong 
 lawyer, and f that I must have an attorney who might look after 
 my "best good" and get me out of Kankakee, not put me in. 
 
 I wrote to Mr. Fine from Kankakee and he came out to 
 see me. Before leaving Chicago he examined the court files. 
 He found that my own attorney, Payne, had brought about my 
 insanity hearing and confinement at Kankakee. He also found 
 that "everything that happened in my court is forgiven," as 
 stated by judge Crowley, was not carried out, for the order 
 confining me at Kankakee provided that upon my release 
 I should be delivered to the Sheriff to be held for trial in the 
 gun case. I told Mr. Fine to proceed to secure my release. He 
 filed a petition for writ of habeas corpus. This had the effect 
 of alerting the Kankakee medical staff for a prompt examination. 
 Mr. Fine wired me that the writ was granted. 
 
 At 8:00 the next morning I was called into a large conference 
 room. I was confident, yet had fears. The judge, the jury, the 
 court psychiatrist and my own lawyer had contrived to have 
 me declared insane when they knew I was not. My appeal to 
 the court for justice, which the judge held to be contemptuous, 
 was otherwise regarded by lawyers and laymen then in the 
 court room. One newspaper man was heard to say that it was 
 the best defense oration since Clarence Darrow. Expressions 
 such as "brilliant," and "powerful," were also heard. I was 
 congratulated. Tears flowed. Yet I was declared insane. What 
 would prevent this assembly of medical men and psychiatrists 
 to follow that pretense? True, T felt, even if they would do so. 
 
— 295 — 
 
 the habeas corpus proceeding would accomplish my release. 
 
 Dr. Harvey, smiling., called me in. I was seated at the 
 end of a huge table. Seated around it were some twenty people 
 including several women. I was introduced to the various men 
 and women as if I were the guest of honor at a banquet. They 
 asked me what had happened to aggravate me, and I related 
 briefly the events which brought about my reduced circum- 
 stances. I told the assembly that I merely touched the highlights, 
 in a general way, as I did not wish to burden them with legalisms 
 and detail. I also cautioned them that if I were tempted to give 
 them more than the outline, that they could reasonably come 
 to the conclusion that I was subject to fancies, romance, illusions 
 and day-dreams. I said that a story of all the things that happened 
 to me since rent control moved into my building would be 
 fantastic and would shock belief. 
 
 I continued: "The question to be decided then, ladies and 
 gentlemen, is if this devil's dance of events had not deteriorated 
 my nervous system and mentality. I believe I held up very well, 
 and I challenge any man of brawn and brain to come through 
 such circumstances as well as I did." 
 
 "How do you feel about Adams? will you kill him if and 
 when we release you?" 
 
 "No, doctor. On the contrary, I have cause to fear his 
 death, as I cannot sue a corpse." 
 
 "How do you like the Kankakee institution?" 
 
 "Well, there can be no complaint against it as an institution. 
 I have been well cared for, and the food is good. But my 
 problems are out there," pointing to the space outside the win- 
 dows. I continued to discuss the many things awaiting my 
 attention. Questions were showered at me, but the questions and 
 my answers turned into parlor conversations. I spoke casually, 
 touching various problems and analysing viewpoints. Their 
 
— 296 — 
 
 attitude gave me courage. I could see in their faces and hear 
 in their voices that their opinions were favorable. 
 
 On Sunday morning I went to church, Catholic in the 
 morning, Protestant in the afternoon. I prayed fervently sup- 
 pressing my tears. The priest intoned, "To the sincere at heart, 
 the believer's prayers of help are answered of the Blessed 
 Sacraments during July." Yes, prayers are answered, as they 
 were at the Mayo clinic where light came through the great 
 darkness. Now a ray of light shines through darkness 
 at Kankakee. 
 
 The blessing of the church is real. From it we come light 
 of heart, and a sweet friendship for everything around us. My 
 fellow inmates rejoiced that I would soon go home, all wished 
 me luck and asked me to write and to visit them. Our attendant 
 asked if we wished to stop at the commissary. Do we wish to? 
 Do we ever refuse? We bought ice-cream, sandwiches, whipped 
 cream pie and coffee. Ain't we got fun! 
 
 Fourth of July was festive. We had a huge lawn party, 
 with the old folks invited, blankets spread on the lawns, trees 
 decorated, flags waving in the breeze, all reminding me of long 
 ago, long before destina tossed me into the raging waters of a 
 sometimes unwelcome life, long before .... 
 
 There were singing, dancing, comedy entertainers, acrobats, 
 a parade of Indians, baton twirlers, adorable children. Pink 
 lemonade, candy and nuts and a variety of goodies and games, 
 all free. Doctors and patients mingled freely and cordially, a 
 white nurse walking along with her arm around a Negro girl 
 patient. 
 
 Walking along, greeting and being greeted, a woman beck- 
 oned, saying, "There's the woman who is turning." "Turning 
 what?" I asked. "Turning white," she replied. Sure enough. A 
 Negro woman sat on a bench toward which I was walking. She 
 
— 297 — 
 
 was definitely turning white. Her calves and upper arms were 
 decidedly dark, the rest was as definitely white. Her face was 
 dark brown to the chin, her neck and chest had become 
 thoroughly white. It was an amazing sight. 
 
 I discussed the phenomenon with the woman who called 
 it to my attention. She was colored. "To what race will she 
 belong when the lady turns completely white?" And will it 
 make so much difference when she does turn white, or if a 
 white person turns dark? Isn't the difference pure fiction, 
 excepting as to the superficiality of color? I wonder! 
 
 HP HE writ of habeas corpus was served upon the Superintendent 
 of the Kankakee hospital. There had already been a 
 unanimous decision by the entire staff that I was sane. Attorney 
 Fine came out to take me back, but the local sheriff could not 
 leave, so it was decided that one of the doctors would drive me. 
 I was met by my parents with their family attorney. That 
 Attorney and my parents decided to hold the writ in abeyance 
 and to go back to Kankakee. Here I am again. One lawyer 
 gets me out and the other sends me back. Whom should I 
 believe? But having been declared sane, Kankakee couldn't 
 keep me even if I had wished. At any rate, upon returning to 
 Chicago for the second time, I faced the gun charge. It came 
 up for trial, and who should be the prosecutor, but State's 
 Attorney Boyle — in person! Apparently, an assistant could not 
 be trusted with such a desperate case. However, the State's 
 Attorney lost his case, and I was discharged. Now I am free 
 at last. I was now free to fight for whatever the law may allow 
 me out of my losses, if my dwindling bank account would last 
 for the fight. 
 
— 298 — 
 
 rriHE Adams' case was called again. I appeared with my 
 family's Attorney who, contrary to Payne, said that he could 
 be present at the trial, but, like Payne, said that he could not 
 address the court.* Somehow, thus far, excepting in the habeas 
 corpus proceeding, when I was not present, my attorneys were 
 short of argument. I had to supply the arguments, which got 
 me into jail and, with the help of Attorney Payne, into Kankakee. 
 Let not the reader get the notion that I was niggardly in payment 
 for legal counsel. My attorneys, since the destruction of my 
 building, have taken some $20,000.00 from me. They did not 
 tell me that they were charging me for their silence. Yet in 
 court they were speechless in my behalf. Here I again stood 
 before the court facing another continuance. Again and again 
 Adams had warned me that his case would never come to trial; 
 and again and again I was warned anonymously over the tele- 
 phone that I am wasting my time. I was determined to act as 
 my own attorney and to address the court. I stepped before 
 the court and asked if I would be permitted to speak. The judge 
 (not the one who sent me to jail) said I should "go ahead," and 
 I spoke: 
 
 "Your Honor, I am the complaining witness in this case. 
 "Approximately fifteen continuances have thus far been 
 granted to the defendant. I attended all and was ready in 
 each instance to testify. The grounds for the many continu- 
 ances were the same — the illness of the attorney. Now, 
 Mr. Adams tells us that his attorney again collapsed^ this 
 time in Arizona. I suspect that if this case is again con- 
 tinued, Mr. Adam' attorney will again come before your 
 Honor and repeat his favorite phrase, T collapsed last 
 night.' If the attorney expects to collapse again, would it 
 
 •I later learned that an attorney may appear in any case in protection' 
 or for guidance, of a prosecuting witness, and may have leave of court to 
 participate in the case as amicus curae (friend of the court.) 
 
— 299 — 
 
 not be fair to the court and to me that we be so advised 
 here and now?" 
 
 "I agree with you," said the judge. The judge set the 
 case for trial, with subpoenas," meaning there would be no 
 further postponements. It was later sent to another court. 
 
 * •& * 
 
 f^kCTOBER, 1952. Hear ye, hear ye. This branch of the 
 Criminal Court is now in session. Honorable Daniel A. 
 Covelli, presiding. 
 
 People of the State of Illinois versus George C. Adams. 
 
 Trial. Camille DeRose, prosecuting witness. 
 
 * * * 
 
 I wish to digress here to quote from the official manifesto 
 of the NAACP "Guidepost to Freedom'' which is reproduced 
 later in this book. Every American, white and Negro, should 
 take a keen and solemn interest in that manifesto, for it may be 
 the key to the threatening world war between the white and 
 colored people. Our danger No. 1 is not communism but the 
 seething cauldron of race conflict. But more of this later. At 
 this point it will suffice to consider the following from the 
 manifesto : 
 
 "The NAACP has geared its legal, legislative, and educational 
 programs toward a vast expansion of the Negro vote," and 
 further : 
 
 NAACP COVERS THE COUNTRY 
 
 "The Association's strength is in its membership — a 
 quarter of a million strong in forty-five states and Territory 
 of Alaska . . . more than a thousand branches . . . head- 
 quarters in New York . . . maintains a Washington Bureau 
 (in which most of the legislative activity is centered) . . ." 
 And from an accompanying pamphlet, we read: 
 "Through its 1,000 branches and 263 youth councils 
 and college chapters, the NAACP carries- out its pro- 
 gram . . ." 
 
— 300 — 
 
 And more significant: 
 
 "EQUAL TREATMENT IN THE COURTS. 
 
 "Much progress has been made in securing the right 
 
 of every citizen of a fair trial and equal treatment by the 
 
 courts . . ." 
 
 It will be noted that the NAACP has made "much progress," 
 which is to say that there will be more progress. The pretense 
 is that what the Constitution of the United States could not do 
 what the citizens could not accomplish unaided as citizens, 
 through our laws and enforcement apparatus, the NAACP is 
 accomplishing outside of that apparatus. Such a manifesto 
 must not be confused with the avowed objects of various ethical 
 and religious organizations, such as the Knights of Columbus, 
 the Masons, the B'nai B'rith, and others. None of these pretends 
 to "twist the arm" of the law. These organizations disseminate 
 information favorable to them, respectively. The NAACP does 
 not rest with information, nor even with legislation, but presumes 
 to step in at the point of administration and enforcement. 
 
 It is folly to argue that the NAACP movement is presently 
 too feeble to carry out its "militant" program to impose its de- 
 crees and to influence the courts. We must anticipate its possible 
 gathering of strength. We must not wait until the "movement" 
 attains momentum to be a menace, which would most surely 
 engulf all citizens. 
 
 From small acorns big worms grow. 
 
 TTERE is a convenient place to insert a few pages of testimony 
 in the prosecution of Attorney Adams before Judge Covelli: 
 It will be recalled that I had employed Attorney George 
 
 C. Adams for the simple purpose of advising me on rent control 
 
 questions, so that I may strictly comply with all rules and laws. 
 
 He led me into a violation, then advised me to place a $65,000.00 
 
— 301 — 
 
 mortgage on my building, then to place the title to the building 
 in a trust, then to assign the trust to him, then to invest my 
 mortgage money in fake oil stock and other swindles; then to 
 destroy my building in race riots planned by him and confed- 
 erates. Adams was indicted for one of the swindles, involving 
 an $8,500.00 mortgage which he sold me. He was defended by 
 an Attorney identified with the NAACP whose wife attained an 
 appointment to the United Nations through the influence of the 
 NAACP. The stenographic report covers hundreds of pages. 
 I will reproduce here some pertinent testimony, so that the 
 reader can make up his or her mind as to the guilt or innocence, 
 under that testimony. 
 
 Question (to Mr. Adams) : What was the occasion for the 
 conversation that you had with Mrs. DeRose, concern- 
 ing a mortgage on the property at 2057-59 W. Wash- 
 ington Boulevard? 
 Answer: While I was sitting at my desk, Mr. Jack called 
 me over the telephone about two or more different 
 occasions. 
 Q. Who is Mr. Jack? 
 A. He was the attorney representing the trustee in the 
 
 mortgage on the property. 
 The court: Tell what you said and what she said. 
 Adams: She asked me how much was the mortgage that 
 I was discussing with Mr. Jack and I told her $8,500 
 and she said to me: "Why don't you and I buy the 
 mortgage and save your client from all that trouble, 
 and tell this foreign so-and-so to go jump in the lake. 
 You put up $4,250.00 and I will put up $4,250.00 and 
 we will buy the mortgage together, and we will save 
 the woman the trouble until such time as she can get 
 it refinanced and not have a foreclosure on the prop- 
 erty. I said to her, "I can't afford to put that kind of 
 
— 302 — 
 
 money into this property at this particular time." And 
 she replied: "Well, then I will loan you $4,250.00 with 
 which to buy the mortgage, and you give me your 
 note." I answered: "I don't think I want to do that 
 even. I don't want to be involved in somebody else's 
 property. I represent her and want to do everything 
 I can to save her from foreclosure, but I don't want 
 to be involved in giving notes in that way." So then 
 she proceeded to have a lot to say to me, by saying, 
 'You are not as interested in your client as you make 
 out like you are. You pretended to this lawyer that 
 you wanted to do the woman a whole lot of good and 
 don't want to see her lose her property and now when 
 I am willing to help you save it, you don't want to do 
 anything yourself. One thing I don't understand how 
 you lawyers can be so false to yourselves. 3 * 
 
 Q. And what was said with reference to the mortgage or 
 the loan of the money to you, which you have just 
 related, if anything, other than what you have already 
 told us? 
 
 A. She said, "You can give me a note for $4,250.00 and 
 we will buy it together and you can save this woman 
 
 all this trouble." 
 
 *Having been evicted from my building, harrassed by the 
 hounds of the law, standing in jeopardy of the loss of what re- 
 mained of my life's work, in flight to save myself, I overhear a 
 conversation about some mortgage, and cry out "save that wo- 
 man," a woman I had never seen, and offer to toss in $8,500.00 
 of my dwindling fortune. My lawyer Adams, boasting about 
 his vast holdings, doesn't offer to "save that woman," in fact, 
 he resists my offer of $8,500.00. Also, I say "Tell the foreign 
 so-and-so . . ." Without having seen him before, the crystal ball 
 told me that he is foreign, that he is a so-and-so, that he is a 
 lawyer, and the full nature of the conversation. 
 
— 303 — 
 
 Q. Now at the time you had this conversation with her, 
 and you told her you would give her a note, what did 
 you do, if anything? 
 
 A. I made out the note, signed it and gave it to her and 
 she took it and examined it and said it was satisfac- 
 tory** . . . she returned later on that afternoon with the 
 check for $8,500.00 . . . immediately in her presence 
 I picked up the telephone and called Mr. Jack's office. 
 
 Q. Well, at the time that he came, did you at that time 
 obtain from him a trust deed and note? 
 
 A. I did. 
 
 Q. And the trust deed and note which you obtained was 
 on what piece of property? 
 
 A. At 2057-59 Washington Boulevard. 
 
 Q. Was that the same property that you had discussed with 
 Mrs. Camille DeRose prior to that time? 
 
 A. Yes, same property. 
 
 Q. And after you had given Mr. Jack the check and you 
 had received the trust deed and the notes secured there- 
 by... what did you do with this trust deed and note? 
 
 A. I took it to my office where Miss DeRose was sitting... 
 and I said, "Miss DeRose, here is the mortgage and 
 the trust deed, rather, and the note, the fire insurance, 
 the mortgage and assignment of insurance," and I 
 handed them to her. 
 
 **Now Adams is to give me a note for $4,250.00 for my 
 $8,500.00, if I would agree; he gave me his note first and I 
 brought the check later. That was June 14th, 1951, and, there 
 was to be a sale of that property. Nothing could be more 
 false. 
 
— 304 — 
 
 Q. Did she say anything to you? 
 
 A. After she had examined them completely, she then 
 said, "Well, you keep them. You are as much into it 
 as 1 am. I made you a partner on this so as I don't 
 have to pay you for attorney's fees." "Well," I said, 
 "I'm not interested in the mortgage only you put up 
 money and I am not interested in that side of it at all" 
 and she said, "Well, I am loaning you the money, I am 
 going to hold you responsible for $4,250." 
 
 Q. Had you prior to that time given her a note for $4,250? 
 
 A. Yes. 
 
 Q. After the trust deed and the note was given back to you 
 by Mrs. Camille DeRose, what did you do with it? 
 
 A. I took it, when she handed it back to me, I then put 
 it in my desk drawer. 
 
 O. Did you at any time subsequent to the date this trans- 
 action took place on June 18th, 1951, say to Mrs. 
 DeRose that "I do not have them with me, I left them 
 in another suit, or coat pocket at my home when I 
 changed clothing this morning? 
 
 A. No. 
 
 Q. After June 15th, 1951, did Mrs. DeRose come to your 
 office, bringing the installment note which you had 
 given her on June 14th, 1951, and say that this piece 
 of paper or this note is only half of the money which 
 I gave you, or words to that effect? 
 
 A. No. 
 
— 305 — 
 
 Q. Now, this note which you executed, dated June 14th, 
 
 1951, did you after giving to Mrs. DeRose this note, 
 
 make any payment on it? 
 A. / did . . . on July 16, 1951 ... I paid her $100.00* . . . 
 
 she figured out the interest herself and I paid $14.00 
 
 and some cents.* 
 
 Q. Now, at the time that you spoke to Mrs. DeRose concern- 
 ing the purchase of a mortgage . . . were you represent- 
 ing the owner of the parcel of property at 2057-59 
 Washington Boulevard? 
 
 A. I was. 
 
 Q. Did you have any conversation with Mrs. DeRose, prior 
 to the date that the trust deed and note was purchased, 
 concerning the details of the property? 
 
 A. I did . . . I hold her . . . that the property was worth 
 more than the amount, that she had a prospective 
 purchaser who was willing to pay $30,000 for it.** 
 
 The following are some questions and answers given by 
 Adams upon cross-examinaiton by the Assistant State's Attorney: 
 
 Q. Mr. Adams, you stated that you represented a woman 
 by the name of Mrs. Walker who was the owner of the 
 property referred to. How long had you represented 
 Mrs. Walker? 
 
 *On July 16th, 1951, Adams gave me $100.00 and interest. 
 (That was the "come-on" in the confidence game.) 
 
 **So, he did talk with me before the telephone conver- 
 sation when I cried "save that woman." Also, he told me he 
 had a purchaser willing to pay $30,000.00, with only $8,- 
 500.00 against it. So why "save that woman?" That wo- 
 man might have saved me! 
 
— 306 — 
 
 A. Oh, quite some time . . . maybe two years. At one 
 time / collected rent for her.* 
 
 Q. Did you know at the time that you were negotiating the 
 purchase of this trust deed and note covering the 
 property at 2057-59 Washington Boulevard, that the 
 owner of that note was preparing to foreclose on it? 
 
 A. Yes, that was the purpose of doing it, to prevent the 
 foreclosure. 
 
 Q. You, as representing Mrs. Walker, were interested then 
 in purchasing that note before the foreclosure took 
 place. Is that right? 
 
 A. Yes. 
 
 Q. You also knew at that time, that the note was in arrears 
 of payment, is that right? 
 
 A. Certainly I knew it and I so told Miss DeRose. 
 
 Q. When did you first talk to Miss DeRose about purchas- 
 ing this trust deed and note? 
 
 A. We had several talks about it . . . some time prior to 
 14th of June, 1951. 
 
 O. Mr. Adams, up until that time you were more or less 
 acting in advisory capacity for Miss DeRose, is that 
 right, insofar as financial matters were concerned? 
 
 A. I couldn't say I was. She was advising me as to that. 
 
 Q. So was she coming to your office for advice on financial 
 matters in the investing of the money she had available? 
 A. No, she was there for other purposes. 
 
 *Adams was collecting the rents for the woman I was- 
 to save. Also, the purchase of the $8,500.00 mortgage was to 
 prevent the foreclosure. "We had several talks about it," 
 Adams testified. 
 
— 307 — 
 
 Q. You testified that in January, 1951, she had retained 
 you, and that you had an attorney and client relation- 
 ship with her, is that right? 
 
 Al. For some other matters, yes. 
 
 Q. Did you give her advice on financial matters and as to 
 how she should invest her money? 
 
 A. Not particularly. 
 
 The Court: The witness, I think, it is undisputed, was rep- 
 resenting the prosecuting witness as a lawyer and he 
 has repeatedly stated he gave her no financial advice. 
 
 Q. Isn't it a fact, Mr. Adams, that you advised Miss De- 
 Rose in relation to the purchase of oil stock in June, 
 1951? 
 
 A. / talked to her about it. 
 
 Q. Had you at any time turned over any monies to Miss 
 DeRose, in reference to that mortgage ... on the prop- 
 erty at 2057-59 Washington Boulevard? 
 
 A. I had not collected any, therefore I did not pay over 
 any ... I paid her on the 6th of July out of my own 
 funds the $100.00 plus interest. 
 
 Q. Mr. Adams: Isn't it true that when Mr. Carter of Mr. 
 Payne's office came to you and made a demand for the 
 papers involved in this indictment, that you at that time 
 did not in fact tell him that you were a partner with 
 Miss DeRose in regards to those papers? 
 
 A. No, I didn't. 
 
 Q. When is the first time you told anybody that you had a 
 half interest in the trust deed and note? 
 
 A.. Well, I don't recall that. It has never been material as 
 far as I know of. I don't remember right now. 
 
— 308 — 
 
 But the following discloses the swindle of the ages. Before 
 the court the following "exhibits" were presented. One is the 
 receipt for my $8,500.00 which he testified he had given me at 
 the time (but which he gave me much later, under pressure) 
 which specifically provides that the mortgage was bought for 
 the purpose of foreclosure, viz: 
 
 "Received of Camille DeRose trust deed and note on 
 the following described property: 
 
 (Legal description of Mrs. Walker's property) 
 
 To be foreclosed or collected, upon which she has 
 advanced the sum of $4,250.00, which said sum is due and 
 owing to the said CAMILLE DeROSE. 
 
 "It is further agreed that the said note bears interest 
 at the rate of 5 per cent per month, and that the said 
 CAMILLE DeROSE is to receive 2 per cent commission* 
 for making said loan if and when the same is collected as 
 above stated. 
 
 (signed) Geo. C. Adams** 
 
 The following, also, is a document which Adams obtained 
 from his client, the woman to be "saved," and for whom he was 
 collecting rent, granting him authority to receive $720.00 of her 
 money. 
 
 *I was to receive 2 per-cent commission for making the loan, to "save 
 that woman," and which Adams had overlooked in his testimony. 
 
 **Earlier I described the incident where I had run out of Adams' 
 office, in tears, because of this $8,500.00 swindle, when Keys called Leighton 
 down and together went into Adams' office demanding that mortgage. It 
 was then that I received the receipt for $4,250.00, and Keys asked if I can 
 prove that T had given Adams the money. That was an incident not readily 
 forgotten. Yet, when the Assistant State's Attorney asked Leighton and 
 Keys to testify to those facts, both said that they didn't remember. They 
 were not subpoenaed and didn't come to court. 
 
— 309 — 
 
 August 9, 1951 
 
 "Mr. Jack, 
 
 Chicago, Illinois. 
 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 You are hereby authorized and directed to pay to 
 
 George C. Adams the $1,000.00 heretofore deposited with 
 
 you less the amount of charges that you have coming to you 
 
 of $279.80. 
 
 This letter will act as a receipt to you for said sum. 
 
 (signed) Fannie Walker." 
 
 The $720.20 represented by the above, plus the rents col- 
 lected by Adams was to be applied by him against the very small 
 mortgage against her $60,000.00 worth of property. There was 
 no need to "save that woman," as another loan for several times 
 the balance due could have readily been obtained. However, 
 armed with the mortgage, and in possession of the rent collections 
 and the $720.20, and under the pretense of "liquidating" the 
 indebtedness, he had Mrs. Walker sign various documents where- 
 by he swindled her out of her property. She is now penniless. 
 
 The mills of the gods grind slowly, but sometimes it seems 
 that the devil does the grinding. 
 
 T> EFORE the Chicago Bar Association Adams said that 
 "there won't be any conviction." The first Assistant State's 
 Attorney assigned to prosecute the case against Adams was a 
 Negro, prominently identified with the NAACP. I caused him to 
 be withdrawn. Before the grand jury Mrs. Walker testified 
 against Adams. After the indictment, at one or more of the many 
 continuances, Mrs. Walker appeared to testify. She told the 
 Negro Assistant State's Attorney how Adams had also swindled 
 her. She was told that she would get her property back. One of 
 the new Assistants who was to prosecute was likewise a Negro 
 identified with the NAACP. On the night before the trial, Adams 
 called at the home of Mrs. Walker and told her there would be 
 
— 310 — 
 nothing to the trial and that she need not appear. When she 
 didn't show up, I hired a taxi and had her brought to the court, 
 but she was not called to testify. 
 
 Although Mr. Adams, besides being a lawyer and what 
 not, is also a detective and clairvoyant and his wife a fortune 
 teller, it wasn't the crystal ball that told him, "there won't be any 
 conviction." 
 
 T> ELEASED from Kankakee, I went to Browning to see what 
 progress had been made in my absence on my manuscript, 
 and was met by an alert Mr. Browning who said that he is ready 
 to go to work seriously and had arranged to take off two weeks 
 and devote himself exclusively to completing a rewrite of my 
 manuscript ready for the printer. For some six weeks thereafter 
 I called at Mr. Browning's office at times dsignated by him, but 
 he was seldom there. I waited around until late at night, wrote 
 some more in longhand, answered some questions, then ac- 
 companied him from place to place, without rhyme or reason, 
 once to a barber-shop while he had a hair-cut. He had me be- 
 lieving that my handwritten manuscript was being rewritten with 
 proper punctuation and my narrative added in proper sequence. 
 On a given date he asked me to be at his office at 7:00 P.M. to 
 meet the publishers to discuss terms and turn over to them the 
 completed manuscript for publication. At great inconvenience 
 I complied with his request and arrived at his office at the ap- 
 pointed time. Neither Mr. Browning nor publishers were there. 
 Mr. Browning came in at 9:00 P.M. and apologized for being 
 late. He had talked to the publishers and everything was set. 
 
— 311 — 
 
 I called to his attention my anxiety to complete the manuscript 
 and my disappointment that so little was done during my absence. 
 He ceremoniously explained that he had employed a skillful 
 writer from the Chicago University, but that before he completed 
 the work the writer collapsed and died. Also that he, Browning, 
 had been in the hospital with a heart attack. I then recalled 
 that Attorney Payne also had collapsed and was taken to a 
 hospital. I felt that I am bad luck to those people, as both, 
 those who were with me as well as those opposed were collapsing. 
 
 Little by little I withdrew parts of the manuscript by pretend- 
 ing to be correcting it. From the first installment returned to me 
 I understood that nothing was done with my handwritten pages 
 excepting that some parts were typed, and here and there punctua- 
 tions and typographical errors were corrected in pencil. I asked 
 Mr. Browning why he hadn't worked on the manuscript and he 
 replied, "Why, I found no corrections were necessary. It is a 
 masterpiece, just as you wrote it." He had suggested on several 
 occasions that I should go with him to New York to negotiate 
 with publishers. 
 
 I asked him for the final section and that I would like to 
 review it. When he turned it over to me, I told him that I was 
 leaving, not to return. He excitedly commenced to make more 
 promises. I raised my voice and said, "Now I know how your 
 gang operates — enough is enough." Walking out, I felt I was 
 hanging on to a useless struggle, like the Christians among the 
 lions. 
 
— 312 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 As a modern Magdalen, I wish to address myself to the great 
 white race who are now armed with stones. I have already been 
 stoned in Cicero and the stones had blinded my building, as I was 
 myself blinded by accident. I ask that you hear me before you 
 
— 313 — 
 
 cast your stones. I don't mean physical stones — these have 
 already been thrown. I mean moral and temperamental stones — 
 they can also kill. I wish to ask you what you would do with 
 the Negro if you had omnipotent power. Would you destroy 
 him? Would you erect gas chambers and conveyor belts to throw 
 Negroes in furnances as Hitler did Jews? Or would you throw 
 them to the lions as Caesar and Nero did Christians? 
 
 If you are Irish, do you know that here, in this land of the 
 free, some 75 years ago, signs appeared warning Irish not to 
 cross a certain path at the risk of being shot? If Italian;, do 
 you know that but half a century ago, and less, certain neighbor- 
 hoods were closed to them? If a Catholic, do you know that 
 discrimination, (of a less poisonous nature to be sure) has dogged 
 them to this day? And if you are Protestant, you have not always 
 been exempt from prejudice and persecution. Don't we all 
 realize that we have been wicked, vicious and stupid? 
 
 No one says that you must "associate" with Negroes, nor 
 even with white people, excepting those white people you find 
 acceptable. What about the command, "Love thy neighbor as 
 thyself?'" Does that mean "Love thy neighbor as thyself, unless 
 he is a Negro?" Or, don't you believe in the bible, nor in God? 
 If you don't that also is your privilege. Then, of course, you 
 are a God unto yourself, and as such, you are bound to use reason. 
 
 Is the Negro inferior? For the sake of this argument, let 
 us assume that he is inferior. Then I say to you that as an 
 individual, you also have superiors. Do you expect your supe- 
 riors to practice discrimination against you? Again, if the 
 Negro is inferior, then he is under a disability. What is your 
 disposition toward anyone disabled? Is it hate? Repression? 
 Prejudice? Intolerance? Isn't it just and human to have com- 
 passion for those living under disability? Isn't the Negro under 
 disability because of discrimnation ? Why would you inflict a 
 
— 314 — 
 
 disability on a human being and then hate him because he is so 
 afflicted? Or am I crazy? 
 
 May I speak to the lady of culture and dignity? Isn't there 
 something unusual about a woman who showers tenderness, care 
 and kindness upon a pup, giving it medical care, the best of food 
 and expensive vitamins, and yet looks at a Negro child with 
 disaffection? Now, dear lady, I don't ask you to trade your 
 precious dog for an unprecious colored child. By all means 
 keep your dog, coddle it, and leave a legacy for a mausoleum to 
 preserve his canine carcass. That's your privilege. But, please, 
 dear lady, don't throw shafts of scorn against a Negro child, 
 whom many white people, myself included, throw shafts of 
 genuine love. 
 
 But, dear reader, the science of life rejects the theory of 
 superior races. There are variations, but no basic difference. 
 The people "back of the yards," are different from those on the 
 Gold Coast, but in a generation or two there will surely be an 
 interchange to prove there is no basic difference. 
 
 Isn't it true that there is no biological discrimination? Do 
 you know that by far the greater majority of Negroes are of 
 mixed ancestry? The white men and women from whom our 
 Negroes descend didn't find them unwelcome biologically. Now, 
 I am not preaching assimilation. And the truth is that what 
 you believe or preach, or what I believe or preach, will have no 
 final effect upon race relations. Nature takes its course. And 
 the resistance against widespread assimilation is about equal on 
 both sides, believe it or not. But that is beside the point. 
 
 What is in point is the imminent danger which both Negro 
 and White are germinating. Unless reason takes hold we are 
 heading for a worldwide race conflict. Our danger is not only 
 communism, but race stupidity. Truthfully, there is really no 
 segregation neither on the great South Side of Chicago, nor in the 
 
— 315 — 
 
 vast Harlem, New York, nor in many of the great centers of 
 population. It may be conceded that lack of opportunity, repres- 
 sion and discrimination have contributed to an admittedly notice- 
 able regression of the Negroes. It is true that such conveniences 
 as loans and insurance are restricted in Negro neighborhoods, 
 not based upon prejudice but upon risk experience. It is also 
 said that sex laxity is more prevalent among Negroes. But before 
 making our decision on that point, let us consider the some 
 100,000 children in Germany fathered and deserted by American 
 GI's. I know of no greater perfidy than the desertion of a child 
 and its mother by the father. 
 
 All of us of the white race are immigrants who fled oppres- 
 sion from the lands of our origin. We have taken this land from 
 the Indians whom we have routed and mistreated. We cannot 
 pretend to have our pages of history lily white. Moreover, we 
 are inviting disaster by blind, senseless division and conflict, 
 when history, justice and reason cry out for mutual understand- 
 ing and sportsmanship between our citizens of all sects, languages 
 and color. Are the Negroes different? Surely, they or their 
 ancestors exposed themselves over much to the sun! So what? 
 Nature rejoices in variety in everything. Would you have lilies 
 as the only flower? Cabbages as the only vegetable? 
 
 I confess that I have a great interest, even an affection, for 
 the colored people, not because they are colored but because 
 they are people. I am sorry for the "under-dog." May be that 
 is so because I was myself an under-dog from which class I 
 struggled to escape, became a landlady, only to find myself several 
 flights below the under-dog. Is your life free from burdens 
 and sorrows? If it is, close this book, because we are of a 
 different breed and speak a different language. If your burdens 
 and sorrows are real, then you know how thoughtless and unkind 
 are those who would add to them. Would you wish to add to 
 
— 316 — 
 
 the burdens and sorrows of men, women and children for no 
 other reason than the color of their skin? 
 
 But I am not pleading for the colored people. As I said 
 before, I am interested in the colored people, not because they 
 are colored, but because they are people. To all people, I cry out 
 Do you wish peace or strife? Do you wish happiness or horror? 
 Do you wish love or hate? Do you wish the smiles of happiness 
 or pain and bloodshed? Do you wish safety for your husband, 
 child, wife, parents, or do you wish to expose them to injury or 
 death? In short, do you wish pleasant, happy, peaceful race 
 relations or do you wish your home and your loved ones destroy- 
 ed? Which, I say, will you choose? Remember you can't win, 
 and you shouldn't win, if you hold hate in your heart and poison 
 on your tongue for human beings because of the color of their 
 skin. 
 
 It is stupid and sinful to count your ammunition and your 
 power in an unholy war against an opponent. You should walk 
 in the path of justice. If your neighbor is weak, you should 
 strengthen him. You should not employ the advantage of your 
 strength against an unoffending neighbor. Yet if you are bound 
 to count your ammunition and your power, if you are of the 
 "white" race, perhaps your judgment may restrain you, if your 
 honesty and humanity will not. If Cicero's 70,000 citizens should 
 unjustly evict Negroes, the Ciceronians must not complain if 
 700,000 Negroes should decide to evict the Ciceronians. In a 
 world where the white man is greatly outnumbered, prudence, 
 if not honor, should bring him to his senses in a resolve to live 
 in harmony and peace with his dark-skinned neighbors. 
 
 We of the United States proclaim to the world that ours is 
 the land of the free, that here all the races and religions find 
 peace, harmony and security. We bid the world to follow our 
 example. In one stroke, Cicero has destroyed our influence in 
 
— 317 — 
 
 and respect of the whole world. What happened in Cicero 
 exploded in Africa, in Asia and throughout the non-white world. 
 Cicero has lit the fuse which is racing to the explosion of the 
 onrushing race war. What Cicero has touched off, the U.N. 
 if not the U.S., must rush its forces to avert, to stop, now, before 
 it is too late. 
 
 There is no race strife in Russia, so I am told. Shall we 
 invite a Russian remedy? Surely, you must realize that if we 
 fail to get along together peacefully as citizens, we are inviting 
 a whirlwind of strife and destruction. We are inviting a race war. 
 May be dictatorship. 
 
 May I also point out that prejudice is a mental disorder. 
 Those who are prejudiced against Negroes turn their prejudices 
 against their white neighbors when there are no Negroes around. 
 
 Now that I have had my say, go ahead, throw your stones. 
 The original Magdalen escaped being stoned, because Jesus gave 
 her shelter. But it seems that Jesus was not on the Cicero scene, 
 nor in the hearts of those gathered with stones. I was therefore 
 stoned. And the blindness from which I was saved by noble 
 men was inflicted upon my building by those who, perhaps, 
 were without sin. 
 
 * 
 
 ¥J OW futile are my words! And who am I that my words 
 should be heeded, after all? Yet my problems are not 
 exclusive — I merely had more of them. At any rate, my final 
 problem was how and where to cry out against the weight of 
 injustice under which I found myself pinned. My lawyers were 
 either inarticulate or collapsing. My lawyers having muffled me 
 with their warnings, I decided to throw off the muzzles and cry 
 out. I found myself first in jail, then in Kankakee. Muzzled 
 
— 318 — 
 
 again. I had commenced writing my story. Again my "editors" 
 collapsed. Muzzled again. But returning to my message to the 
 "paleskin" members of our great nation, now that I am breaking 
 into the unfamiliar role of author, and consulting literary talent, 
 I am told by one pundit that the greatest line of all literature is : 
 "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." 
 What I would like to say is that I don't believe Jesus meant 
 to protect Magdalen alone in that command. He meant to 
 protect those with stones, also. For casting stones boomerangs 
 and often strikes the caster with even greater force. That it did 
 to Cicero, who not only lost materially, but brought on itself the 
 scorn of the entire world. The officials of Cicero now seek an 
 escape by changing its name to Normandy, or some other name. 
 But, "all the perfumes of Arabia," will not wash those hands 
 which threw those stones nor the hearts which condoned them. 
 
 * * 
 * 
 
 T NOW wish to address myself to my Negro fellow-citizens. 
 You must admit that "tolerance" has made great progress in 
 this country and is continuing to make progress. I spoke of 
 color as a Negro disability, even if the disability is merely 
 "artificial." I ask the white man who considers color a disability 
 to have compassion for it as he would for any other disadvantage. 
 I now ask you to have compassion for the white man who suffers 
 under a disability. Predjudice is definitely a disability. It needs 
 a cure. It cannot be cured by blind, rough treatment. It takes 
 patience and understanding to cure anything. I wish to make a 
 further observation. Take my disability as an instance. My 
 temporary blindness, although calling for compassion, hindered 
 me in many ways, just as the flight of years hinders one for 
 competition with those younger physically and leaves the younger 
 behind in competition mentally. What I am trying to say is 
 
— 319 — 
 
 that we all must find adjustment to the world outside of us, 
 which is in most respects momentarily inflexible, rather than to 
 try to immediately change the world about us. 
 
 The old gag about irresistible force meeting an immovable 
 object is to be thought of here. In the conflict of races, one is 
 not irresistible and the other not immovable. We are all brothers 
 under the skin. There are no black angels, neither are there 
 white angels. People of all races have lots to learn, so lets not 
 expect too much of human beings. The pressures of life cause 
 many mental, physical and moral distortions. Whether misdeeds 
 are punished or condoned, they are still misdeeds, and human 
 beings are what they are. We can be saved by a sense of humor 
 as well as a sense of justice, of mercy, of forgiveness and of 
 understanding. 
 
 I have great respect for Negro scholars and the many Negro 
 people of good character and principle. But there should be 
 some method to effectively warn the Negro citizens against their 
 politicians and so-called "leaders." These opportunists pretend 
 to devote themselves in the cause of Negro "rights." By exag- 
 gerating discrimination and denial of "civil rights," they are 
 able to whip up Negro fears, hate and prejudice against their 
 white neighbors. Every casual quarrel is blown up to suit the 
 pattern. There are fights and brawls among Negroes themselves 
 aplenty, as there are among white people, but when the "color 
 line" is crossed, then it becomes a signal for exaggeration of the 
 "incident" by those traitorous opportunists. 
 
 We can point to the so-called "Cicero Race Riots." Those 
 riots were deliberately planned by Attorney , Adams and followed 
 through by the NAACP. Negroes and orientals are not new to 
 Cicero. Had Harvey Clark truly intended to live in my build- 
 ing, he might have moved into it quietly, as I said before. Per- 
 haps the other tenants would soon become accustomed to the 
 
— 320 — 
 
 Clark family and would have become friends, just as my family 
 during my childhood was first resented, then accepted. But 
 such was not the intention at all. The NAACP membership had 
 been dwindling and their leaders were hard put for an occasion 
 to support a drive for funds and memberships. At the same time 
 Attorney Adams found a situation which he could maneuver to 
 support claims and lawsuits. He therefore staged a Roman 
 holiday for the entry of the Clark's and Adams's to take over in 
 Cicero. 
 
 A ND as I said before, the rent control "incident" created an 
 economic riot, when the race question had not yet come to the 
 front. The race difference was implemented by Attorney Adams 
 to bring on a race riot just as the class difference had been imple- 
 mented by the New Deal to bring on a class conflict, with the 
 tenants on one side and the landlords on the other. I wasn't 
 thrown out of Cicero because of any question of color, but because 
 I was one landlady against 19 tenant families. What Adams did 
 with the otherwise inert race difference to create riots, the 
 Cicero authorities did with the rent question to create confusion 
 and turmoil. What was the motive for such upheavals? There 
 are several motives. One of them would come to light upon an 
 investigation of the method whereby those who created the con- 
 fusion in the rent-control rules and laws profited by buying 
 the properties which rent control forced on the market. 
 
 What started with the cry "Tbrow the landlady out," ended 
 with the cry, "Throw the Negroes out." It was rent control 
 which brought on the "throw out" public complex. Prejudice 
 and discrimination are flames which set fire in their track. It 
 set fire to me as a landlady first, and when 1 was disposed of, 
 it put the fire under the race issue. 
 
— 321 — 
 
 And just as discrimination may be found between classes 
 among the white, it likewise exists between classes among the 
 colored. That is to say, all the faults of the white are shared 
 by the colored. Neither can detach themselves from the faults 
 which plague the human race. 
 
 We dislike the unlike. And in those things which your own 
 child is unlike, you will disassociate yourself from him. I know 
 I don't make myself clear so I will try again. You, mother or 
 father, will be unwelcome at a gathering of your children with 
 their friends, just as your child, whom you love, will be unwel- 
 come at a social gathering of your church or club among the 
 elders. At those particular moments we dislike the unlike. 
 Visiting another city, you will look for the colored church, club, 
 and neighborhood. Those will be your preference. You like 
 them because they are like you. This country is great because 
 the many peoples from all over the world migrated here, and, 
 after the lapse of time, have become alike, or more nearly alike. 
 Time will take care of our unlikeness, as time is showing signs 
 of developement of an American type, where the white are be- 
 coming browner and the dark are becoming lighter. Eventually 
 Americans will become closer in color to the American Indian. 
 But it is not likeness in color alone that I have in mind. Our 
 so called "culture" makes its impression upon our citizens. Over- 
 looking the truly unimportant matter of pigment, the young 
 generation is ever more alike in taste, outlook, speech, dress 
 and thought. This, therefore is my advice to all citizens. Take 
 pride in your great country, refuse to join any hate or revenge 
 group. You are only hating and seeking revenge against your 
 own country. Don't let smart-aleck lawyers and politicians 
 mislead you to your destruction. Let me tell you what is happen- 
 ing in your area. 
 
 We have eminent public servants from among the colored 
 
— 322 — 
 
 citizens. Judge Wendell E. Green, of the Circuit Court, is 
 everywhere regarded as among the highest type of jurists. I am 
 told by an attorney for whom I have great respect that Judge 
 Green is qualified for the Supreme Court of the United States. 
 There are other highly qualified colored public officials. In the 
 selection of citizens for public office the colored citizens at times 
 show good judgment. On the other hand, politicians make 
 political trades to deliver the Negro vote en bloc. This boast 
 gives them power and prestige. It also means that the politicians 
 would lose their power if the colored population would spread, 
 instead of remaining within a confined district. You can under- 
 stand, then, that there would be no advantage to the politicians 
 to have colored families move away from the South Side into 
 Cicero. So we have this paradox: that the pretense of moving 
 Harvey Clark into Cicero will keep the colored citizens on the 
 South Side! Have I made myself clear? Colored citizens in 
 Cicero can do no good, or little good, to colored politicians on 
 the South Side. 
 
 Therefore, the scheme of "moving" the Clark's to Cicero was 
 to keep the Clark's and others on the South Side. It did more! 
 It whipped up excitement about "civil rights," discrimination, 
 and race hatred. All this in turn set the stage for "rallies" held 
 in churches, in the Coliseum and in public school auditoriums 
 to raise money. The plan worked so good for the NAACP that 
 other rival Negro organizations rushed in to get some of the 
 flood of gold. It also gave support for a lawsuit against the 
 Town of Cicero for $200,000.00. In other words, the riots paid 
 off. Don't get the idea that this is merely a charge which I can 
 prove only like they say in court, "by the preponderance of 
 evidence." The proof is better than that. It is documented. 
 It ia incontestible. The intention then was (and may be still is) 
 
— 323 — 
 
 to have a series of such incidents. Only by such incidents can 
 the NAACP carry on. 
 
 But there are implications smouldering in this plan of 
 Negro segregation, of greater danger than appears on the sur- 
 face. The fault of this segregation can be laid on the doorsteps 
 of both colored and white. I am conscious that my repetition 
 of "colored" and "white" is of itself highly undesirable. The 
 Constitution of the United States and of the several states, pro- 
 claim in no uncertain language that we are all free and equal 
 and that we are endowed with an inalienable right to life, 
 liberty and pursuit of happiness. Let no one try to twist our 
 rule of life in these United States. Those who disagree are at 
 liberty to go anywhere else in the world which will admit them. 
 The implications are that the false leaders among the colored 
 people, by their constant harassment of their people, are moving 
 toward a fratricidal conflict. There is in the offing a civil war 
 between the colored people and their paler brothers. I do not 
 charge that such is the intention of the politicians. Neither was 
 it Mussolini's intention to bring upon his country a destructive 
 war from which it may never recover. But it is the inevitable 
 end result of this constant harrangue in the colored press, and 
 of the political "leaders" whom it sponsors. 
 
 The ugly name of "nigger" is used more often by the colored 
 people themselves, in their petty quarrels, than ever used by 
 white people. Yet when some irresponsible white person uses 
 the term it becomes not a private insult, but a major blasphemy 
 against the entire race. Let's not be that sensitive. But above 
 all, look with suspicion upon any politician who runs on a plat- 
 form based upon race hatred. It is natural for you to vote for 
 and elect a Negro candidate. But make sure that the candidate 
 represents the best material available. Vote like an American, 
 not as a Negro, because you are an American first. Give no 
 
— 324 — 
 
 encouragement to any politician who runs on a race-hate plat- 
 form, or to the press which sponsors them. 
 
 T N the Psalms (who wrote the Psalms? Was it David or 
 Solomon?) we read, "Diffidence is the diadem of the wise." 
 "Diffidence" means modesty, or self-doubt. "Diadem" means a 
 crown or wreath. (I looked it up, and wish to save you the 
 trouble.) In other words, modesty is the crown of the wise. Let 
 us avoid offensive boldness and bluster. Remember, the fellow 
 who thinks or tries to make you think he is better than you 
 are, usually isn't. If he insists upon bluffing, he is only bluffing 
 himself. Let him live in his fool's paradise. You weren't paid 
 to teach him. Schooling is too expensive. Don't give it to him 
 free. Let him learn the hard way. Your sense of humor should 
 come into play. 
 
 The voices of true colored leaders seem to have been 
 drowned by the clang and clatter of those who seek to turn the 
 colored voters into a mob. The Cicero riots were an ill wind 
 that did me no good, but it brought into high relief some con- 
 trasting attitudes. I say that what is good for one race is good 
 for both. The happiness and well being of all Americans are 
 indivisible. We have all heard the time-worn phrase about a 
 house divided, and that we must either hang together or we 
 will hang separately. We might draw an example from the 
 recent presidential election. Bloc votes were solidified, the 
 "labor" vote and, yes, the Negro vote. Both favored Stevenson. 
 Inevitably, if one group organizes on racial, economic or other 
 divisive basis, the voters outside of those groups will meet the 
 challenge by marking the rival column in the voting booth. 
 Therefore, the uniform opinion of white church leaders denounc- 
 ing the instigators of the Cicero riots, should warm the hearts 
 
— 325 — 
 
 of all who love their fellow man and equally love liberty. Again, 
 from the bulletin of Chicago Council Against , Racial and 
 Religious Discriminaton, we quote: 
 
 THE CHURCHES 
 
 Cicero is a community containing an estimated 28,000 
 members of the Roman Catholic Church and 10,000 mem- 
 bers of the Protestant churches. The Warren Avenue 
 Presbyterian Church is only one block from the building. 
 Dr. Bartlett Hesse, the minister, talked briefly with the 
 Clarks when they attempted to move into the building in 
 June. On Saturday, July 14th, Dr. Hesse and his office 
 called other Protestant ministers in Cicero and urged them 
 to make statements from their pulpits asking that their 
 people stay away from the violence. Some ministers made 
 such statement on July 15th. The newspapers reported that 
 the Rev. Joseph L. Hughes of the Millard Avenue Baptist 
 Church, which has a parsonage in Cicero and which is 
 moving its church to Cicero, told his congregation that "the 
 people of Cicero did not respect the rights of their fellow 
 Americans. Most of the property owners seem more con- 
 cerned about the dollars and cents value of their land than 
 they do about the rights of a fellow American." Rev. James 
 T. Patton of the Crawford Congregational Church at 2614 
 South Keeler — out of Cicero but with Cicero residents in 
 the congregation — said that news of the riots "will make 
 fine reading at the Moscow breakfast tables." 
 
 On July 17th, the Church Federation of Greater 
 Chicago released the following statement: "As leaders of 
 the churches in Cook County, we hang our heads in shame. 
 We are not unmindful of the fact that the virus of racial 
 hatred is in the minds and hearts of many people in other 
 communities than Cicero, and that wherever this terrible 
 evil is to be found there is the potential threat of mob 
 violence, We accept our share of this breakdown of basic 
 
— 326 — 
 
 morality in our community. Let's remain sane, both white 
 and colored, and avoid undemocratic and un-Christian 
 practice in this situation." Dr. Gerald W. Grauer, president 
 of the Federation, praised the "restraint" of the Negroes 
 in the face of mob violence. Leaders of several other de- 
 nominations spoke up, including John A. Dawson, president 
 of the Chicago Baptist Association. 
 
 On July 19th, ten Protestant ministers in Cicero and Berwyn 
 met at the Warren Park Presbyterian Church and issued the 
 following statement: "We believe that the world at large 
 should know that the actions of last week were not the 
 actions of our entire community, but the individuals from 
 several communities. We deplore the action of destruction 
 perpetrated in our community. Disregard of law and order 
 has increased the problem and subsequent violence can only 
 add to the magnitude of the damage now sustained by the 
 community. It is our hope and prayer that our people may 
 " invoke the forgiveness of God on behalf of our community 
 and, further, that our leaders may ask God's way of love, 
 revealed by Jesus Christ, in the affairs of men." 
 
 The white churches showed no preferences in the area of 
 race and color. They do not exist on the scale of justice and 
 citizenship. We either have "civil rights" for all or for none. 
 Civil rights do not exist if I must weigh so many pounds, or 
 must use a certain brand of cosmetics to get it. Also, civil 
 rights takes with it civil liabilities. The rights of citizenship 
 take with them obligations of citizenship. You cannot have 
 one without the other. The white churches promptly met their 
 obligations, in their declarations and commands. And here 1 
 wish to throw in a few words about the Negro churches. 
 
 1 have attended Negro churches and will continue to visit 
 thrtn from time to time. Like the white churches, they arc the 
 
— 327 — 
 
 spiritual foundation of our American Way of Life and American 
 thinking. There is a lot of talent in the colored churches, both 
 on the pulpit and in the music section. It would therefore be 
 fitting that the churches do not profane their mission and their 
 sanctuary by permitting political and commercial activities to 
 take over. The church is and should remain "The House of 
 God," whereas politics are godless. I have reference to the 
 activities of the NAACP phoney rallies for the Harvey Clark's. 
 These were phoney in more than one particular, one in the 
 ballyhoo about the losses sustained, which were greatly exag- 
 gerated, another in the gathering of large funds ostensibly for 
 the Clark's, whereas the Clark's were being used as spearheads 
 by the sponsors of those rallies for their own purposes. 
 
 The churches also permitted the sale of subscriptions to 
 "The Enterprise," then a newspaper promoted by Adams. 
 
 The church in the United States is enjoying not only 
 freedom but subsidy. Church property is exempt from taxation. 
 All the very costly public service is donated to the Church. In 
 return the Church performs a most valuable service to the 
 people and their government. Racism and race nationalism is 
 more dangerous than communism. Communism can make no 
 headway in these United States, and the Church is alert to 
 communism's attempts at infitration. But racism and race 
 nationalism is a creeping paralysis which are not so readily 
 recognized. The white people who are afflicted with the dry rust 
 of race prejudice receive plenty of rhetorical spanking from the 
 Church and press. The Church and press serving the colored 
 segment of our citizenry should likewise be alert against the 
 same dry rot. The "Youth Movement," and the spreading 
 tentacles of the NAACP, of which it boasts, should be suppressed 
 They will bring upon the colored people the scourge which 
 Mussolini's "Youth Movement" brought upon the Italian 
 
— 328 — 
 
 Nation. It is blindly following a path leading to race conflict 
 Please study the "manifesto" of the NAACP here reproduced. 
 You will get wise to the mischief it is bound to lead you into, 
 THE NATIONAL OFFICE, WASHINGTON BUREAU AND 
 3 REGIONAL OFFICES COVER OUR VAST COUNTRY 
 
 The Washington Bureau serves as a watchdog on the 
 legislative front. 
 
 Regional offices coordinate local programs and exercise 
 general executive and administrative authority in their areas. 
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL LEADER 
 
 The NAACP is an international leader for human rights, 
 opposing racial injustice wherever it appears. It supports the 
 United Nations, opposes colonialism and imperialism in every 
 form, and musters support for oppressed peoples, whether they 
 be in India, South Africa, Tunisia, Indonesia, or anywhere else. 
 Its activities are closely followed all over the world, particularly 
 in countries where the populations are largely non-white. News 
 of the Association's conferences, legal cases, and other activities 
 is widely disseminated by the Voice of America. 
 
 NAACP COVERS THE COUNTRY 
 
 The Association's strength is in its membership — a quarter 
 of a million strong in forty-five states and the Territory of 
 Alaska. Members are organized into more than a thousand 
 branches, which in turn form thrity state conferences and several 
 regional conferences. 
 
 Even the national office staff covers the country. With its 
 main headquarters in New York, the Association maintains a 
 Washington Bureau (in which most of the legislative activity 
 is centered) and three regional offices — Birmingham, Dallas and 
 San Francisco. Field workers are sent wherever they are needed. 
 The entire organization is geared to combat racial segregation 
 and discrimination wherever they occur. 
 
" - 329 — 
 EQUAL TREATMENT IN THE COURTS 
 
 Much progress has been made in securing the right of every 
 citizen to a fair trial and equal treatment by the courts, but 
 regrettably recent events have shown that a sheriff can still shoot 
 Negro prisoners and escape with impunity by claiming "self- 
 defense," a Negro can be tried for "assault" for merely looking 
 at a white girl 75 feet away, and a Negro can be put to death 
 for a crime for which no white man ever pays a similar penalty. 
 
 * -3f * 
 
 Our laws and public opinion are sufficient to protect us 
 against discrimination. Time will take care of the rest. The 
 NAACP merely keeps alive race differences in the public mind. 
 We have a colony of orientals here which goes unmolested and 
 without serious discrimination. We also have Polish, German, 
 Swedish and other ethnic groups. And there exists traces of 
 "discrimination" among them, too. Racial strifes were not 
 unknown as between the various groups, but time has all but 
 healed them. We are perhaps, gradually but inevitably, growing 
 toward a "one happy family" concept in human relations in 
 this country. The way to progress is by avoiding agitation, 
 such as the NAACP and political leaders are keeping alive. 
 Look, friends, the "White Circle League" and similar "move- 
 ments" just do not make headway among the white people. They 
 represent the last dying breath of prejudice. The NAACP is 
 rocking the boat, which may sink and explode. As I said, it 
 is kept alive by lawyers and politicians for their personal benefit 
 and against your interests. It is a live bomb ticking toward an 
 explosion. The colored people are being sold "down the river" 
 by their own emotions whipped up by a group of lawyer- 
 politicians, who exaggerate the prejudice of their white neigh- 
 bors. They are still playing "Uncle Tom's Cabin," where uncle 
 Tom is being brutally whipped by the white Simon Legree. On 
 the other hand, white women are in mortal fear of walking 
 
— 330 — 
 
 in colored neighborhoods. Again and again I have to explain 
 to them that I have lived in colored neighborhoods, have freely 
 mingled with them, and, in fact, have been protected by them 
 against white hoodlums. This, too, requires the healing balm 
 of time. This, too, counsels avoidance of agitation emphasizing 
 color differences. 
 
 TO CICERO, ILLINOIS 
 
 Cicero has HOME RULE. Home rule is not too unusual 
 for a small town to have. But to Cicero it is like giving a child 
 a dangerous firearm. Home rule confines the town government to 
 its exclusive, tightly-knit, official coterie. By co-operation, which 
 might be termed a conspiracy, it has become an independent 
 dukedom, with the dukes ordering the lives of its subjects. In 
 the crisis which the officials helped to create, it failed to protect 
 life and property, as was its sworn duty. 
 
 The Congress of the United States had passed an Act ending 
 rent control for various sections of the country, and modified 
 controls in other sections by giving towns and cities the privilege 
 of petitioning the Housing Authority to end controls upon a 
 declaration that housing shortage no longer exists. The Cicero 
 officials let out an Indian "war-whoop" and promptly came 
 forth with a "resolution." A properly worded resolution required 
 but a simple statement of the inducing fact of the end of housing 
 shortage, to bring the community within the meaning of the 
 Congressional intent, and to declare the Town's intention to end 
 rent control, then to submit the resolution to the Housing Author- 
 ity for approval. 
 
 Cicero officials did something else. They drafted a resolution 
 which read like "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 signifying nothing." It contained a confused medley of breast- 
 beating, tear-jerking phrases, with something like a parody 
 
— 331 — 
 
 of Patrick Henry's "Give me liberty or give me death," shedding 
 crocodile tears over the sad plight of owners of rental property. 
 This was read, with great fan-fare, to a meeting of apartment 
 property owners. While lathering the owners with the soft-soap 
 resolution, tenants were advised, without fan-fare, that controls 
 would stay. With all the sob-stuff in the featherbed of words, the 
 essential facts, that no housing shortage exists, were omitted; 
 and the resolution, as I was later informed, was never presented. 
 Surely, the Cicero Town Attorney must have known that 
 the bleeding-heart "resolution" was a fraud. In fact, after the 
 "resolution" was published, the Town Attorney left for a six- 
 month vacation in Florida, out of reach nf the property owners. 
 This resolution circus was repeated a year later, and a final 
 resolution, being the third, was drawn, all adding up to continued 
 procrastination over a span of some two and one-half years. 
 During this span maintenance costs climbed steadily, while at 
 the same time seventeen additional non-paying tenants came 
 into the building. That made fertile soil for subtlety and pressure 
 by Attorney Adams to swindle me out of my building. 
 
 The State Militia was called to suppress its misgovernment. 
 Members of the militia took lots of abuse without a single overt 
 act. Their restraint was exemplary. It showed a tolerance which 
 Cicero should not soon forget — and emulate. The indictment 
 of the officials and the light sentences also showed great tolerance. 
 It should be a warning, but is it? 
 
 Admittedly, the riots were planned and provoked. But the 
 citizens of Cicero should not allow themselves the luxury of 
 being provoked. No provocation justifies spitting in the faces 
 of men, women and young children, whoever they are. The 
 government of these United States is derelict in its duty and 
 opportunity to forever settle this question — now! A star chamber 
 proceeding should take place. A congressional investigation 
 
— 332 — 
 
 should be made. It is not a case where a few hoodlums committed 
 a crime to be taken care of by local authority. It is far more 
 provocative — explosive! The Cicero churches should not relent 
 until the town makes amends and apologies and until it shows 
 a change of heart by opening its arms to Negro families. 
 
 Under every rule of law and decency the town of Cicero 
 is obligated to restore the damage, to turn back to me the title 
 to my property, and to permit me to invite one Negro family 
 into the building to belie the slander of prejudice. And I don't 
 like the constant reference to Negro. These dark-skinned people 
 are Americans, in every sense on a par with the best citizens 
 of Cicero. And in asking for neighborly tolerance I am not 
 suggesting it as a sort of penitence, but as a privilege to uphold 
 our American Way of Life. How can we boast ours as the land 
 of the free when it is denied to a class of citizens, any class. 
 If it can be denied to one class today, it surely will be denied 
 to another class tomorrow. Get wise to yourself. You are 
 surely building your own concentration camp if your prejudice 
 
 now builds it for another. 
 
 * * 
 
 \\7" HATEVER you compress must explode, be it chemicals 
 or human beings. If all sections would emulate Cicero, 
 they would organize, concentrate a rebellion. A group of people 
 must either scatter or concentrate. Which do you wish? You 
 must remember that if you force a concentration of a particular 
 sect, segment or race, you must be ready to stand guard to en- 
 force that concentration. Such a concentration hasn't arrived, 
 l>\ any means, bul you are inadvertently co-operating with thr 
 NAACT and Negro politicians to accomplish the concentration. 
 If you wish to learn what a Negro thinks, you can onl\ 
 examine your own thoughts. The difference you see between 
 him and you is no greater than between you and your white 
 
— 333 .— 
 
 neighbor. Therefore, you must expect of him if you spit in 
 his face your reaction to a similar outrage. Isn't it better, I 
 plead with you, my dear Ciceronians, to live in peace and 
 harmony, while you do yet live? How senseless to bear grudges 
 and prejudice in the life that is so fragile, so insecure and so 
 short! How pleasant this life would be if we could have 
 imagination to understand the many problems which beset 
 all people and to avoid adding to them. 
 
 Think of the tiny nation which caused the 1st world war! 
 Little Cicero may spark a similar explosion. The stone thrown 
 in my apartment sucked my red draperies into the open and 
 fluttered over the infuriated mob, and supplied the flag of 
 rebellion and disorder. They replaced the stars and stripes 
 of justice, freedom and liberty. Take heed, oh Ciceronians, 
 that my draperies do not become your permanent flag of 
 destruction. 
 
 MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN 
 Discrimination, segregation, denial of civil rights — all are 
 really not a race question. All are part and parcel of man's 
 inhumanity to man. Race is not a cause but a result. Can't 
 you see that if you have justice in your soul and kindness in 
 your heart, there can be no race question? And can't you see 
 that those who are lacking those human qualities will be un- 
 just and unkind to their own race as much as to another? What 
 about the incredible inhumanity to those in jails and peniten- 
 tiaries? Firstly, who are those in jails and penitentiaries? Do 
 they not represent a cross section of humanity outside? There 
 are many in jails and penitentiaries who had nothing whatever 
 to do with the crime for which they were convicted. There are 
 many crooked prosecutions, states and federal - — do you wish 
 me to prove that? Please, I ask, give me the chance. In such 
 
— 334 — 
 
 cases the guilty prosecute the innocent, the crooks stay out of 
 jail and the honest are committed. 
 
 But I speak of those who did commit an offense. Do they 
 not represent a sprinkling of the great army of offenders out- 
 side? Think! Sex crimes alone would fill all the jails of the 
 nation daily. We of the vast army of the uncaught are throwing 
 our stones. And we are crucifying those victims with starvation 
 and wormy food, and there aren't even enough worms to go 
 around. Do you wonder that prisoners in steel cages rebel 
 though facing muzzles of guns held by sadists? Life in prison 
 is horribly uncomfortable and even more unbearable with gnaw- 
 ing hunger. Don't tell me they're "criminals!" They're no 
 different than you and I. The boy of 22 has died a thousand 
 deaths since he committed a "crime" five years ago, a crime 
 of which he hardly has a memory. How about the young girl 
 betrayed by her seducer, unable to face her parents and a 
 monstrous world, in desperation destroys the child. She draws 
 a sentence of fifteen years, from a righteous judge, who attained 
 
 his wisdom as a precinct captain! Well, let's stop — it's useless. 
 
 • * 
 
 Law Enforcement 
 
 "Law enforcement broken down in Cicero." the newspapers 
 editorialize. Why only Cicero? Travel everywhere — even in Mex- 
 ico — and you will be told that law and justice is a mockery, not 
 in Cicero alone, but in Chicago, and when told that Cicero ad- 
 joins Chicago, the expression is, "no wonder." I have neither 
 the space nor daring to report what I hear daily about lawyers 
 and judges in Chicago. And I am not just being diplomatic when 
 I say that I hear, too, that there are learned and eminent judges 
 in Chicago. My present attorney tells me that just at the present 
 moment there is a more competent judiciary than at any time 
 within the past fifty years. If that is so, these eminent judges 
 
— 335 — 
 
 are chargeable with the slander from both lawyers and laymen 
 in Chicago as well as from every quarter of the United States. 
 Judges should organize to eliminate the incompetents on their 
 bench. 
 
 One of the worst influences in Chicago as the Chicago Bar 
 Association, not in what it does but in what it fails to do. If that 
 group could get lost in their social wigwam, the Illinois Bar or 
 another Bar could take over and do an efficient job. I am told 
 that the New York City Bar Association removed four judges 
 for what would be overlooked here. Recently I read that an 
 Eastern bar association disbarred a judge for misconduct. Such 
 threats are unnecessary to qualified and competent judges, but 
 would be a warning to those who bring scandal and suspicion 
 upon what might be a distinguished panel of judges. There is 
 no good reason why in Chicago there should be so many un- 
 scrupulous lawyers. on the prowl. Nor do I wish to infer that 
 lawyers are to be looked upon with suspicion as a class. For 
 years my parents before me, and I thereafter, put our property 
 and our trust in the hands of lawyers without disappointment. 
 But since my rent control entanglement I have been defrauded 
 of my lifetime of toil, piecemeal, by one lawyer after another. 
 My complaints to the Chicago Bar Association has thus far been 
 
 fruitless. I had no trouble but 
 what was created by lawyers of 
 
 both races. 
 
 The first blow came from : 
 
 George C. Adams, lawyer, publisher 
 and author, statesman, real estate 
 and loans, rental agency, banker, 
 radio commentator, orator, spir- 
 itualist and minister, real estate 
 owner, insurance agent, oil stock 
 broker, Detective Agency (see re- 
 production from classified tele- 
 phone directory.) 
 
 Detective Agencies (cont'd) 
 ADAMS GEO. C. 
 
 Specializing in 
 
 Expert Colored 
 
 Operatives 
 Male & Female 
 
 Industrial & Domestic 
 
 Investigations 
 Licensed & Bonded 
 
 DEarborn 2-2515 
 
 64 W. Randolph DEarborn 2-515 
 
 If No Answer Call OAkland 4-0234 
 
— 336 — 
 
 "Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude." 
 
 But I don't wish gratitude. I want nothing given me as a 
 token of gratitude. In doing a beneficence, in extending a 
 helping hand, in going to the rescue of anyone in need, I would 
 ask, please, oh please, do not give me anything in return in 
 the form of a repayment. If I wish to perform an act of kind- 
 ness, I surely do not wish to place the recipient under obligation 
 to me. The only obligation I wish is that he or she stand ready 
 to likewise go to the rescue of someone in need. And while this 
 episode happens to involve the Harvey Clark's and me, of 
 different color, I wish to show that not the color but the attitude 
 makes the real difference. 
 
 You will recall early in this book I told of Harvey Clark's 
 lament in Adams' office that he doesn't know which way to turn, 
 that he is penniless, homeless and his family is hungry. Despite 
 my great losses and uncertainty of the future, I "loaned" Mr. 
 Clark $200.00. Thereafter came the rallies and the gathering of 
 funds, pianos and orchids. Mr. Clark knew, if others did not, 
 that it was my furniture that went on the pyre, my belongings 
 destroyed, my curtains flying in the breeze. By then Mr. Clark 
 knew that my money was all gone. Clark was present when 
 Adams and Stanley put over the oil swindle. He probably knew, 
 as I didn't, that I was "taken." Yet the Clark's did not offer to 
 come to my rescue. Indeed, I received not as little as a postcard 
 when in jail and later when in Kankakee. Not a "thank you" 
 card for the $200.00. 
 
 Further, the NAACP, in its recent pronunciamento in the 
 Chicago Defender told the world that the NAACP stands for 
 the advancement of all people. Yet its President Leighton 
 
— 337 — 
 
 commanded, "Go to a white lawyer — we're interested only in 
 our civil rights case." It was Leighton who effected my 
 separation from Attorney Keys; and it was Leighton who 
 counseled Keys not to take care of my legal matters. Where 
 were my civil rights? Wherever they were, they were of no 
 concern to the NAACP. 
 
 The segregation which the NAACP was presumably warring 
 against, it enforced against me! Here was a clear case of "Jim 
 Crow" by the colored against a white woman. The "civil rights" 
 which the NAACP demanded for colored citizens they denied 
 me, a white citizen. 
 
 And where do I stand as I come to a completion of this 
 book? I am now told that the penalty for carrying a gun is 
 not more than $300.00 fine and not more than one year in jail. 
 I am now told that in similar cases offenders have been given 
 a fine of $25.00, or even discharged, when there was no criminal 
 intent. But upon my discharge from Kankakee I was "counseled" 
 by an attorney summoned by my family that a ten-year sentence 
 was staring me in the face. I was frightened into paying a total 
 of almost $9,000.00 to the lawyer and to a politician. 
 
 And, therefore, where do I stand? My building is gone, 
 my funds scattered among the lawyers, and with my losses my 
 spirit has died down to a mere flicker. 
 
 The Great Insurance Fraud! 
 Again, dear reader, are you under a delusion that you are 
 insured, because you are paying for an insurance "policy"? Of 
 course, you do hear, here and there, that someone received pay- 
 ment for a loss. But. again, are you under the false impression 
 that you are insured? Tf you are. just listen! T had been paying 
 for $100,000.00 insurance for "full coverage" on my building, 
 holding policies from four companies. One of the companies 
 cancelled their insurance just one dav before the date of the riot. 
 The other three companies were stuck for the loss, or part of the 
 loss, which they paid to the holder of my mortgage. But, these 
 companies, in turn, received what is known as a "subrogation" 
 
— 338 — 
 
 against my building. In other words, if you own a building 
 with a mortgage, you are not insured, the mortgage holder is, 
 and you insure the company. Do you understand the gimmick? 
 In your policy you will find a clause to the effect that if a fire 
 loss occurs on your building, the company pays for the loss (if 
 you hire an adjuster and even a lawyer) and you must pay back 
 to the company whatever they pay to the holder of the mortgage. 
 
 I didn't read my policy — neither did you. But if you will 
 read your policy you will find that clause. Now that my building 
 is foreclosed, I must pay the insurance company the amount they 
 paid if I wish to redeem the building. Otherwise, under their 
 clause, they can redeem and get my building for the compara- 
 tively small amount they paid under their policy. 
 
 An honest judge once remarked that whatever the insurance 
 policy gives in large print, it takes away in small print. Insurance 
 is a swell racket because none of us read the small print. And 
 where is the Insurance Commission which is paid out of your 
 tax money? Your insurance policy is as wormy as prison food. 
 The insurance policies are crawling with worms in small print 
 which eat away your protection. Instead of protecting you, 
 you are protecting the insurance company, and you pay for their 
 protection, not yours. 
 
 THE AFTERGLOW OF THE LEGAL TREADMILL . . . 
 
 My telephone just woke me from a restless sleep. I reached 
 for the receiver and placed it against my ear. "Hello — 
 Camille?" inquires a voice. "We're just finishing printing the 
 second run of the 'Camille DeRose Story' — we find we have a 
 few blank pages at the end — can you add about a thousand 
 words on what happened since the first run?" 
 
 "What for?" I ask. "Readers will get tired of me, if they're 
 not so already." 
 
 "That's just it, Camille. They're calling up our office — 
 they ask what's happened with your court matters, what's hap- 
 pening to you, and if you were successful against those wolves 
 you mention in the book. They're shooting lots of questions 
 
— 339 — 
 
 at us. We're book publishers, not an information bureau. You 
 see, Camille, it isn't as if you had written a novel, about imagi- 
 nary people and fantastic places. You gave names of real people 
 and places found in the telephone book. Your story strikes 
 home. You wrote an American scene, a local scene, and yet 
 local to all Americans. The story seems to strike a responsive 
 chord, it sets tongues chattering, reviewers writing and news- 
 papers and magazines asking. Get going — give!" 
 
 Truthfully, a thousand words would harly suffice. What's 
 happening from day to day would require a running column in 
 a newspaper. But enough is enough, the book must end. But 
 I will oblige my publisher with a page or two, to take up the 
 blanks. 
 
 The reader will recall the decree in Judge Haas' court 
 which Attorney Payne put over by sending me to the State's 
 Attorney's office. That decree failed to mention the $4,750.00 
 oil swindle, and provided for the sale of my building, against 
 my will, and to pay 7% per cent of the proceeds to a Jewell 
 Young, said to be a grand-neice or something of George C. 
 Adams. It was that provision which sent up my blood-pressure 
 to bursting and I reached for a gun. 
 
 But here's something for the books! Upon further exam- 
 ining of that fraudulent decree, I find that the 7% per cent goes 
 to Jewell Young, and — Attorney Stephen Love! 
 
 In the cast of characters I had thus far omitted the leading 
 player, Stephen Love. Who is this Stephen Love? Let me tell you. 
 
 Attorney Stephen Love is Attorney for Polish Alliance in 
 the foreclosure of my building. He is said to be Professor of 
 Law at the Northwestern University and high in the councils 
 of the Chicago Bar Association. 
 
 The chief defendant in the foreclosure is this same Jewell 
 Young, who fraudulently holds the title to my building, for 
 which she paid nothing, and for which Adams paid nothing. 
 Before I can even attempt to redeem the building I must get 
 rid of Jewell Young. To do so I must have the fraudulent 
 decree set aside by Judge Haas, 
 
 But in that proceeding before Judge Haas, Attorney 
 Stephen Love represented Jewel Young, and of course, George 
 
— 340 — 
 
 C. Adams. So, it works out like this: Mr. Love is the attorney 
 in the foreclosure against Jewell Young; and before Judge Haas 
 he is for Jewell Young, to prevent me from redeeming my 
 building. 
 
 Thus the "friendly foreclosure" of which Adams boasted 
 becomes understandable. Mr. Love also represents Adams in 
 defending him before the Chicago Bar Association in a disbar- 
 ment proceeding. With Mr. Love representing Polish Alliance 
 in the foreclosure against Jewell Young, representing Jewell 
 Young in my proceeding before Judge Haas, and representing 
 Adams in various matters including the Chicago Bar Association, 
 the foreclosure is not only friendly, it is hilarious. It doesn't 
 seem real. It seems like one of those fantastic opera stories, 
 "Laugh, clown, Laugh!" 
 
 My incarceration in Kankakee was part of the scheme to 
 keep me from trying to redeem my building and to permit the 
 thieves from being disturbed in their thefts. My first concern 
 was to get the fraudulent decree set aside. Since filing my peti- 
 tion we had many stormy hearings before Judge Haas, in which 
 my attorney is opposed by a roomful of lawyers, all crowding 
 in with their hypocrisies, strutting, objecting and confusion. They 
 mill around, make various motions, grin, grimace, bluster and 
 bluff, all to dalay and kill" time, so that the time to redeem might 
 expire. 
 
 -X- -X- -x- 
 
 Again and again, Attorney Love shouted passionately to 
 Judge Haas that the Judge was without power to enter any order 
 in my favor. Again and again Mr. Love warned that the decree 
 must stand, that it must not be set aside, not even modified, 
 because the power over the decree is in Love's hands, not in the 
 Judge's. Again and again Mr. Love told the judge that if the 
 decree is set aside, or if the Judge enters an order contrary to 
 Mr. Love's demands, that he will appeal to the Appellate Court, 
 and that regardless what the Appellate Court might decide, the 
 time to redeem the property will have expired during the pen- 
 dency of the appeal, and that I, Camille DeRose, will not even 
 get the crumbs which I might get by having Mr. Love sell m\ 
 building and divide the proceeds! 
 
— 341 — 
 
 What is the meaning of such a stand by an "ethical" lawyer, 
 a professor of law, and among the bigwigs in the Bar Associa- 
 tion? It means that having brought about the entry of a fraudu- 
 lent decree, the Judge who was imposed upon must not correct 
 the fraud. By sending me away when the decree was presented, 
 by bringing about my incarceration at Kankakee, the damaging 
 decree was put over on the court. The court was used to defraud 
 me. Now, if the court should wish to correct the error, to grant 
 me some measure of justice in my heavy losses, Mr. Love won't 
 have it. He will appeal, and will make use of the Appellate 
 Court to defeat me by the running out of time. Justice? Ethics? 
 Those are words for the classroom! They have no place under 
 practical circumstances. I must make my choice, either to sub- 
 mit to the tender mercies of Mr. Love, and the wolves he rep- 
 resents, or I will be defeated by the Appeal to the Appellate 
 Court and lose my right to redeem by the lapse of time. 
 
 Not wishing to rest upon the above dilemma forced upon 
 me, Mr. Love thought of another angle. He addressed the court : 
 "Your Honor! Did you know that Miss DeRose wrote 
 a book? In the book which she wrote, she herself confesses 
 to an unconventional past. She even confesses to having 
 consorted with a Negro lawyer!* Your Honor will also 
 take in consideration that Miss DeRose was confined in the 
 Kankakee State Hospital. Therefore, if your Honor should 
 set aside the decree, she will still be unable to redeem, 
 because she will be unable to secure another mortgage, 
 because of her past." 
 
 You can imagine what storms he aroused within me, and 
 how I had to restrain myself from blurting out what came to 
 my mind. But, I said to myself, "Camille, calm yourself, remem- 
 ber Judge Crowley — contempt - — gun — Kankakee ■ — 
 ne exeat — habeas corpus . . . ." I pulled at my attorney's coat- 
 tails and insisted that he get me the right to speak — the right 
 to answer Mr. Love's weasel words. My attorney made the 
 
 *Mr. Aaron H. Payne immediately rose to tell the court that he was 
 not the colored attorney involved — Heavens no! His innocence and 
 purity was not to be questioned. 
 
— 34a — 
 
 request to Judge Haas, who granted it. I wanted to say: 
 
 "Now Stevey, I did confess my past, but I rose out of 
 it. It is you, Stevey, who is doing your darnest to throw me 
 back. Whatever my past, Stevey, I got my building hon- 
 estly. But your client took it away from me, dishonestly. 
 And now, Stevey, you represent, you fret, strut, and blow 
 your top for your hidden client, Jewell Young, to take from 
 me a cut of what I might yet redeem, and for your other 
 client, whom you seem to have adopted, who wants to 
 share in the loot." 
 But when my turn came and I did speak, I said: 
 
 "Your Honor! I stand ready to abide by your Honor's 
 decision. I will not appeal. If Mr. Love wishes to appeal, 
 and by his appeal to have my time for redemption to expire, 
 as he threatens, and if his conscience and sense of justice 
 doesn't stop him, he may go ahead with his appeal. 
 
 "My building is now decontrolled, the rent has been 
 doubled. Based on present income value, the building is 
 worth $160,000.00. Mr. Love proposes to sell it for $120,- 
 000.00, or about $25,000.00 above the mortgage, receiver's 
 fees, attorney's fees, costs and expenses. And here before 
 you stand the attorneys who have already robbed me to 
 divide what's left. Jewell Young and Mr. Love demand 
 7% per cent; Attorney Payne, 20 per cent; and Mr. Adams 
 $17,000.00. Never before did I have partners, now I have 
 many. No, your Honor, come what may, as I have stood 
 alone until now, I stand alone before your Honor. All I 
 ask is simple justice. 
 
 "Mr. Love speaks of my past, but I take pride in my 
 past because I never harmed a soul! If I did anything 
 wrong, it was to myself. In this court I was used to rob 
 another lone woman as I was robbed. The $8,500.00 I gave 
 to Adams for the mortgage on Mrs. Walker's property was 
 uesd to swindle her out of that property, and she is penni- 
 less and helpless. I am more ashamed of that swindle than 
 of anything in my past. 
 
 "Your Honor, even that proposal for the sale of the 
 building is mere conversation. Each of my attorneys who 
 
— 343 — 
 
 now appears here against me had "buyers" for my building 
 and each named one hoodlum or another. One of the 
 hoodlums was reported killed by a rival mob. But no buyer 
 ever really came forward. This talk about buyers, your 
 Honor, is just another blindfold to keep this case pending 
 and inactive, so that my time to redeem will run out. As 
 I said, I stand ready to abide by the court's decision, what- 
 ever it may be." 
 
 For the record, I might mention that there was a barrage 
 of offers to buy my building, directly and through "grapevine," 
 by sub-rosa characters. These offers continue to date. None- 
 theless, I suspect that legitimate buyers are in the background, 
 to come forth with a fair price, after the forced sale is com- 
 pleted, so that a wide margin of profit awaits my "partners." 
 
 Judge Haas finally decided against Mr. Love's motion to 
 strike my petition so that the fraudulent decree will probably 
 be set aside. 
 
 Judge Haas was curious about that $65,000.00 which I was 
 to have received for the mortgage Adams advised me to take 
 out. My attorney wrote the following and handed it to 
 Judge Haas: 
 
 RECEIVED, after commission and charges $63,000.00 
 
 PAID 
 
 To George C. Adams, for (fraudulent) mortgage 
 
 on his property $12,500.00 
 
 To George C. Adams, Fannie Walker mortgage 8,500.00 
 
 To George C. Adams, on oil swindle 4,750.00 
 
 To George C. Adams, fees 425.00 
 
 To the government, rent violation settlement 2,600.00 
 
 To Attorney Keys, loan 2,000.00 
 
 To Attorney Keys, fee 150.00 
 
 To Attorney D'Angelo 1,800.00 
 
 To Attorney Joseph A. Rosin... 500.00 
 
 To Attorney Payne, fee.... 2,750.00 
 
 To Attorney Payne, for influence. 1,000.00 
 
 To Attorney Robert R. Porto 3,750.00 
 
— 344 — 
 
 To a Mr. Rago, for influence (?) 2,500.00 
 
 To Charles P. Browning, and attorney 1,100.00 
 
 Add to the above court costs, court reporters, transcripts, photo- 
 static copies, present attorney's fees and a variety of daily expenses, and 
 the full amount of the $63,000.00 was exhausted. 
 
 * * * 
 
 I appealed to the State's Attorney's office — personally and 
 by letter, to take action against the politico who stalks the 
 Criminal Court building and who bilked me for $2,500.00, for 
 which nothing was done; against Adams for the various 
 swindles; and against those who swindled me out of my furni- 
 ture. No action was taken by the State's Attorney. The Chi- 
 cago Bar Association, likewise, has thus far taken no action. 
 Yet, don't get the idea that my experiences are unusual. In 
 fact, they follow a pattern, as many others who find themselves 
 in similar situations will attest. We should be thankful, how- 
 ever, when we do get a break, such as I see before me in Judge 
 Haas' court. Were it not for the honest men and women, fair 
 and impartial judges, the kindness of neighbors and their 
 genuine sympathy and understanding, life would be indeed un- 
 bearable. Happy are those (as I was) who go through life with- 
 out the disturbances which rent control and a lawyer-swindler 
 threw me into. That happiness I can understand even if denied 
 me. I am reminded of a thought expressed by a friend, who said, 
 "Life is like sitting at a poker table hoping to win 
 
 tomorrow what you lost today, while time takes its 
 
 daily rake-off, so you have less and less of the chips 
 
 to cash in." 
 
 I had much more chips when I tried to cash in than I now 
 
 have, and I am playing against those with marked cards. 
 
 # * -x- 
 
 Also, since the first printing, I filed an Intervening Petition 
 in the suit in the Federal Court by Harvey Clark, Minerva 
 Adams (wife of George C) and others, against the Town of 
 Cicero and the Cicero officials. In that suit for violation of 
 their "civil rights," they also mention the destruction of the 
 furniture. As I have already shown, most of that furniture was 
 mine, not Clark's. The suit was started by Attorney Keys, but 
 
— 345 — 
 1 was not mentioned as one of the plaintiffs. I was not men- 
 tioned at all! An order was entered by Judge Barnes to board 
 and padlock my building. Still I wasn't mentioned nor con- 
 sulted. Do I also have "civil rights?" Do I have any rights? 
 Apparently Judge Barnes didn't think so. The Judge asked for 
 a "brief" of the law, which my Attorney supplied. At the hear- 
 ing Judge Barnes dismissed my intervening petition, saying that 
 I was "messing around." According to Judge Barnes, I shouldn't 
 be "messing around." What if my building was boarded and 
 padlocked on the Judge's order! Why should I "mess around" 
 about my building being boarded and padlocked? I filed an 
 appeal to the United States Court of Appeals, which is now 
 pending. Three robed judges will now pass upon the question 
 of my rights to "mess around" when my building is taken over 
 by a court, without notice to me, without considering my rights, 
 and without permitting me to be represented in that court. 
 What happened to the $65,000.00? It slipped away by 
 "messing around." 
 
 Outside of Judge Barnes' court Mr. Keys was surprisingly 
 cordial. I wished to be practical and asked him about the 
 $2,000.00 he had borrowed from me. He asked me to see him 
 and that he would arrange to make payments. I called at his 
 office a number of times, but failed to find him in. A few days 
 later, on the South Side, I approached the address of the 
 apartment building in which Mr. Keyes lives and looked around 
 for the bells for his name. Unsuccessful, I left and walked on. 
 Before I was 300 feet away, I was arrested by a policeman. 
 The charge was "disorderly conduct." The warrant was later 
 signed by a Ruth Hannah Miller, who said she was his house- 
 keeper, for which Mr. Keys appears to have great talent. Neither 
 Ruth nor Keys showed up at the final hearing, and I was dis- 
 charged. But I had to post bond, had to make several appear- 
 ances in court (because Mr. Keys' buddy asked for continu- 
 ances), and had to pay a lawyer to appear for me. 
 
 I almost fell into a similar trap with Mr. Love. In the 
 hope that I might yet meet a decent person, I telephoned Mr. 
 Love for an appointment. Mr. Love promptly called the police. 
 
 What happens to lone women caught in a web of fraud? 
 
— 346 — 
 
 What happened to Mrs. Walker whom Mr. Love's client and 
 protege defrauded out of her $50,000.00 property? Mrs. 
 Walker was knocked out in the first round. She is now ill, 
 penniless, defeated. I am still fighting on all fronts. I am 
 determined to see it through, even against my ever-present 
 
 nemesis, the Bar Association's Mr. Love. 
 
 * * * 
 
 At the moment I was visited by an editor of a Cicero news- 
 paper. He asked me many questions, which I believe I was 
 able to answer satisfactorily. One question was how all these 
 characters got mixed up with my affairs, and my building, since 
 the Cicero affair. I thought of a simple and truthful explana- 
 tion. My aloneness, my lack of protection, having been exposed, 
 I became the center of a gold rush. Here was a lone woman 
 with money. I thought of Jimmy Durante's clever remark: 
 "Everybody wants to get into the act." They struck pay dirt. 
 They staked their claim. It was a free-for-all. 
 
 # # # 
 
 "MANIFESTO" OF THE NAACP 
 
 The National Office 
 
 Washington Bureau and 
 3 Regional Offices 
 Cooer Our Vast Country 
 
 The Washington Bureau serves as 
 a watchdog on the legislative front. 
 
 Regional offices coordinate local 
 programs and exercise general execu- 
 tive and administrative authority in 
 their areas. 
 
— 347 — 
 
 Even the national office staff covers the country. With 
 its main headquarters in New York, the Association 
 maintains a Washington Bureau (in which most of the 
 legislative activity is centered) and three regional 
 offices — Birmingham, Dallas and San Francisco. Field 
 workers are sent wherever they are needed. The entire 
 organization is geared to combat racial segregation and 
 discrimination wherever they occur. 
 
 EQUAL TREATMENT il the COURTS 
 
 Much progress has been made in securing 
 the right of every citizen to .a fair trial and 
 equal treatment by the courts, but regret- 
 tably recent events have shown that a sheriff 
 can still shoot Negro prisoners and escape 
 with impunity by claiming "self-defense," 
 a Negro can be tried for "assault" for looking at a white girl 
 75 feet away, and a Negro can be put to death for a crime for 
 which no white man ever pays a similar penalty. 
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL LEADER 
 The NAACP is an international leader for 
 human rights, opposing racial injustice 
 wherever it appears. It supports the United 
 Nations, opposes colpnialism and imperial^ 
 ism in every form, and musters support for 
 oppressed peoples, whether they be in 
 India, South Africa, Tunisia, Indonesia, or anywhere else. Its 
 activities are closely followed all over the world, particularly 
 in countries where the populations are largely non-white. News 
 of the Asaociaticu's conferences, kpJ cases, and other activities 
 is widely disseminated by the Voice at Aaeerfca. 
 
 IIICP CIVEIS TIE eillflY 
 
 The Association's strength is in its 
 membership — a quarter of a mil- 
 lion strong in forty-five states and 
 the Territory of Alaska. Members 
 are organized into more than a 
 thousand branches, which in turn 
 
 form thirty state conferences and several regional 
 
 conferences. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 I wish to say a few words in parting. Perhaps this parting 
 is not final, as I have much to tell of the soul of what is called 
 the "underworld." Yes, it has a soul. In the interim, I do not 
 seek a better opinion of me than what I deserve. For forgiveness 
 I shall only pray to God. I need to ask no forgiveness from 
 those I have not harmed. Yet I would wish to water down the 
 scorn for my behavior which I might have described perhaps too 
 frankly. Even those burdened with incurable race prejudice, 
 and there are such, should ponder my situation. You may recall 
 the Robinson Crusoe classic. Robinson Crusoe was tossed on an 
 island where his tortuous solitude was relieved by his "good 
 man Friday." Friday was colored, remember? 
 
— 348 — 
 
 In utter isolation even a dog is welcome as company. Should 
 I be censured for craving company during frightening isolation? 
 Robinson Crusoe had the freedom of an entire island, undisputed, 
 without predatory animals. I was driven off my sanctuary. 
 I was surrounded, pursued and threatened by one set of hounds 
 while my flight was halted by a ne exeat by another set of canines. 
 Robinson Crusoe was not stoned. I was denounced, thrown in 
 jail, thrown from jail into an insane asylum. 
 
 Should I have refused a helping hand extended to me in 
 my flight for no other reason than that the hand was not white? 
 
 My story is told, not in full, no. But enough of my story 
 to give the reader a picture of what deeds are done in Chicago, 
 in Cicero, U.S.A. The world has a right to know. 
 
 With a book and pencil I write, write, write, ending my 
 unfinished story. I walk and walk wrapt in thought, seeing my 
 readers, frowning, smiling, scorning, pitying, as I bump into a 
 stranger. My lips utter "sorry," without looking. I enter a 
 "club," — more people. I sit down at the bar — almost un- 
 conscious of my own existence — ■ among so many people, seeing 
 shadows, hearing music, withdrawing into my inner conscious- 
 ness, as I write, write, write. Drinks are placed before me. 
 I must have ordered them or they wouldn't be there — what 
 more can I write? I find myself again, walking, walking, my feet 
 seem to move without my consent. I look at a sky of darkness 
 which had become familiar to my cryless eyes — I must hold 
 back my tears because the cry had been taken from me — as was 
 the light. I do cry, within me, in my heart, to God, because I 
 have so little courage to see 
 
 So, good bye, dear friends. Let those who hold stones in 
 their hands, or in their hearts, throw them! For the voice of 
 Him who had forbidden it is not heard in Chicago, Cicero. 
 Illinois, U.S.A. As I said to the judge — I say to you. if you 
 can give it, I can take it ; and I assure you, you won't be bothered 
 by pity for I cannot cry. 
 
 FINITE. 
 
^& 
 
 7