SOCIAL MENACE 
 OF THE ORIENT 
 
 WHITE OR YELLOW 
 
 VOLUME II 
 
 JEAN TURNER ZIMMERMANN, M.D. 
 
SOCIAL MENACE 
 OF THE ORIENT 
 
 WHITE OR YELLOW 
 
 VOLUME II 
 
 JEAN TURNER ZIMMERMANN. M.D. 
 
Copyright. 1916-1921 
 
 By 
 J. T. Zimmermann 
 
/ earnestly thank every man and woman in 
 Chicago, the United States, the Orient and the 
 Islands of the Seas, who has aided me in my beloved 
 f T women and children. 
 
 Jean Turner Zimmermann 
 
 The Author and three little Chicago Sisters. Their father is an invalid, their 
 mother supports the family by working in a restaurant. 
 
The Social Menace of the Orient 
 
 CHICAGO and NEW YORK 
 
 "Good-by, Bertha, take care of yourself and be a good girl ; you'll get 
 on fine, I know. Good-by, daughter, wish you didn't have to go, but you're 
 going to a friend so pa and I won't worry and Bertha, don't forget to say 
 your prayers," and a mother's gaunt, knotted hand waved and waved until 
 seventeen-year-old Bertha rounded the corner of the little green-hedged 
 white church her mother's church and hers, and was gone, gone to Chi- 
 
 BERTHA 
 
 Mrs. Ross and ex-Policeman Dorsey Chambliss are now serving a five-year 
 sentence in Joliet Penitentiary for this crime. Through popular subscription, 
 Chicago paid the mortgage on the Kansas homestead. 
 
 Chicago Woman's Shelter cared for Bertha's mother during the long trial 
 following her death, and aided in caring for money subscribed in payment of 
 mortgage on farm. 
 
 cago with clean heart and strong arms, to earn money enough through the 
 coming winter to "keep up" the little left behind family out in Kansas. 
 
 On the porch of the shabby farmhouse sat the father, paralyzed, help- 
 less. Around him were his four younger children. Two years of suffer- 
 ing had almost wrecked his hopes, his life. Like a hunted animal his eyes 
 turned this way and that across the frontage of his little farm. Every 
 acre that met his gaze was mortgaged. Every small crib of grain licked 
 
 5 
 
over by coming interest. Life looked dark to the father that morning, but 
 he was still a young man and hope, though feeble, wavered in his heart. 
 Then, too, Bertha was going to work this winter, was going to Chicago to 
 work with a girl friend they had all long known. Bertha was a careful girl, 
 a Sunday School and church girl. She would save her money and in the 
 spring, when planting time came around again, she would come home and 
 buy seed and clothing, shoes for mother and the boys, and then she and 
 mother would run the farm again next year. Yes, and there were the 
 cattle; ten of them. They at least were free from debt and their sale in 
 the spring would mean the saving of the home place and and by that time 
 he would be well again could walk, work. Had not the doctor promised? 
 He felt better right now and had not mother prayed, believed? Question 
 after question miraged the brain of the sick man as he sat that morning 
 on the broken porch of the western Kansas farmhouse, the home place he 
 and mother had worked so hard to build and hold and each question was 
 answered by strengthening hope yes, all would finally be well. 
 
 I saw her first in the shadows of Thirty-second Street, just east of 
 Wabash Avenue. She was walking hurriedly, evidently trying to avoid 
 attention, evidently though looking for someone. She was very young, 
 almost a child in appearance, not over seventeen. Her light curly hair 
 was clean, well combed, and the gloss of youth was upon it. Her form 
 was straight and trim, her eyes clear and steady.- A uniformed Negro 
 policeman sauntered down Wabash Avenue. The girl stepped out into 
 the light. "Beg pardon, but can you direct me to an express office? I 
 want to have my trunk sent down to Sixty-third Street ; I have work in a 
 restaurant down there." "Why, yessum," answered the officer. "I see you 
 are a stranger in Chicago, come this way and I will show you an express 
 office." "O, well, it was all right after all," I thought to myself as I passed 
 on. "The girl knows what she is about. She had common sense enough 
 to ask a policeman. This is a bad part of the city, but this girl knows how 
 to care for herself." 
 
 The rest of the story is public property written in the records of a 
 hundred newspapers. 
 
 Christmas in Chicago. Over on Michigan Avenue a great cathedral 
 chime breathed out sweet bronze music. "Joy to the world, a Lord is 
 come, a Lord is come." The falling snowflakes caught up the night notes 
 and carried them restful, healing to ten thousand hearts, furred, jeweled 
 hearts trailing in the avenue traffic and on and on to cold, hungry hearts in 
 the sunken side streets of the vast, gray near-by city district. On crept the 
 notes of the music, on through snow crevices and up to an attic room, past 
 sickening odor, past filth, past long dead ash pile "A Lord is come, a 
 Lord is come." A white face stirred, mirrored a moment's intelligence. 
 "The church, the church, home, mother !" A broken shadow form raised 
 itself. "A pencil, paper, quick, before it's dark." A thin hand touched a 
 filthy paper margin. A burnt-out ash a note. "Help, I'm dying." Keep 
 ringing, church bell, keep ringing! One more effort little done-to-death 
 . girl of Kansas farmhouse, the wind-swept plains. "Brace up, push the note 
 through that snow crevice, quick, through the broken place, push hard, 
 chance it." Darkness, the darkness of the city, the darkness of the Ross 
 dive. 
 
"Bring in the stretcher, men, this girl's done for, she'll never walk 
 again." The police officer's voice was gruff, but his eyes were full and 
 his hand was tender as he picked up the twisted, decaying body of the 
 seventeen-year-old girl the girl of the Kansas farm country and carried 
 it out of the Negro dive and over to that vast place of hurt and sick 
 people, the Cook County Hospital. 
 
 "Go, mother, go quick, to-night! Bertha's dying, go, bring her back, 
 we'll nurse her and she'll get well again out here in the sunshine and the 
 love." The sick man's eyes stared stone. "O, I remember, no money 
 mother, the cattle, ten of them, mortgage them, go !" A month later out 
 on the snow-wreathed Kansas plains, out by a little green-hedged white 
 church, a Sunday School class looked up into the star faces of the early 
 evening heavens, up toward God's eternal habitation and chanted to twenty- 
 
 old Chinese Den at 2130-32 Armour Ave., Chicago 
 
 five millions of American women a hope a requiem, "Lead kindly light 
 the night grows dark, lead, lead." 
 
 "What finally becomes of all this big army of borderline girls, officer, 
 these young 'cruisers,' who half naked from throat to breast-line and 
 from ankle to knee, walk until the early morning hours all the near-in cen- 
 tral streets of Chicago. Why, they count literally into the thousands on 
 State Street, West Madison and Clark Streets, Wabash Avenue. Every 
 street within and near the Loop has its quota and the congested outlying 
 neighborhoods are full of them. Where do they go, these little dark things ; 
 when twelve o'clock, one o'clock comes, is there no one to look after 
 them, have they no homes, no families?" 
 
 The police officer to whom I was speaking was himself a father and 
 after a moment's hesitation frankly he answered me. "O, most of them 
 
 7 
 
are 'spoiled' as we police say, long before they have strolled the streets a 
 year. Do not talk to me, doctor, of the parents or homes of these girls. 
 Why, they do not know the meaning of these words. In the first place, 
 half, yes, two thirds of them come into the world utterly unwanted hated. 
 A very large per cent of them come tainted from birth with transmissible 
 tendencies, transmissible disease. Early they learn to despise the weakness 
 of their parents, the uncertainty of their care, for a large per cent come 
 from homes so-called, where drink, drugs, desertion have played havoc. 
 To be sure, many of these girls have decent, hard-working mothers who 
 spend their days in factories, their nights scrubbing office buildings. Their 
 children are turned out to, in a great measure, shift for themselves. They 
 go to school or not as the truant officer compels. Anyhow, they spend 
 
 Chicago's First Real War Baby. Ward of Chicago Woman's Shelter 
 
 their evenings, their Saturdays, their Sundays in the alleys and ash-heaps 
 of their slum neighborhoods. At twelve years of age they know more 
 about licentiousness, can use as much vulgarity of speech as the hardened 
 criminal. At thirteen these girls are running around their own and other 
 neighborhoods until midnight, and at fifteen they are down in the Loop, 
 meanly yet flashily dressed, always hungry, always hoping, though, with 
 their vamped hair, naked breasts, and the thinnest of clothes to 'stick' some 
 'green one/ or, O, joy, some 'millionaire' for a meal or lunch and a movie 
 ticket. By the time they make sixteen they are known as 'cruisers' and are 
 soon allied to some 'pimp' or 'thieves' gang, Rapidly they drift to the very 
 worst. Every 'outlaw gang,' every murder guild in Chicago has its legion 
 of 'women' and these 'women' are rounded up by the dozen after every 
 startling crime but are quickly turned loose again. They are among the 
 
 8 
 
most pathetic cases that come into the hands of the police. Most of this 
 great 'camp following' of the Chicago crime army are very young, a large 
 per cent under twenty-one years. They may be well dressed or not, accord- 
 ing to the success of their 'gang' in thievery, hold-ups, or to their own 
 success in general harlotry, and in court they are the 'alibi-alices' of their 
 men. They are the problem of the police, the menace of society, for prac- 
 tically all of them are diseased, a millstone around the city's neck, and 
 there are five thousand of them roaming the night streets. Say, why don't 
 you church and club women try to do something?" 
 
 My heart flashed as this veteran police officer talked on and on about 
 the girlhood of my city. "But, officer," I again questioned, "what finally 
 becomes of these girls ? Where do they drift to, tell me." 
 
 "O, as Chicago grows hotter and hotter for them, they go to other places, 
 to the border cities of Texas and the Pacific Coast. There they come in 
 direct contact with the 'international' dealers in women, the 'slavers' of all 
 the world." 
 
 Please bear in mind as you read that these girls are still very young. 
 The great majority of them never finished the grade schools, that they came 
 
 Tiny Somoliland (Africa) Girl. For nine weeks ward of Chicago Woman's Shelter 
 
 into the world ill-balanced in mind and body with the failings of inheritable 
 disease, that, through no fault of their own, they are impulsive, weak in 
 judgment, unstable, yet usually likable and ambitious. Many of them are 
 the daughters of immigrants, a few of them educated or have friends", 
 money. Speaking of them as a whole, they are the girls who never had a 
 chance. 
 
 Following the cue of thought the officer had given me, I began to 
 look the field over. For years I had known intimately of Chicago's vast 
 trade in crime of various kinds in women known the men who ruled it 
 who had ruled it for years, known the McGoverns, Colosimo, and his 
 former alleged wife "Madam" Rocco, Mike Heitler, "Mike the Greek," the 
 Everleighs. For years they had stood in the forefront of Chicago's sub- 
 merged world, where most of them stand to-day at the very toeline. 
 "And," continued the officer, "in the western coast cities these girls come 
 in direct touch with the vicious demands of all the Oriental world and are 
 easily induced to go on and on to Siberia, Japan, China, the sea islands 
 of all the south countries raging death." 
 
 9 
 
I have had some experience with the "trade" here in Chicago, and to one 
 who has lived for many years in the vast festering sinks of humanity that 
 lie smelly and submerged in such districts as those found in the West. Side 
 purlieus of Sangamon Street, Morgan and Monroe Streets, and all the 
 sunken lawless neighborhoods that raise their toad-stool heads in that great 
 underworld territory bounded on the north by Chicago Avenue and on the 
 south by Fortieth Street with long lines of side streets filled with the filthy 
 and underbred that lay splattered out from the river on the east to the 
 County Hospital on the west ; to one who has walked past the corner of 
 Halsted and Madison Streets at a late hour and faced the army of men, 
 seen there after theater hours, men living by hook or crook off of women, 
 men who slink out of their rooms or cellars, or from the back end of some 
 
 Japanese Geisha 
 
 sinister slimy saloon and join themselves together as the night grows old, to 
 buy and sell and deal in human blood ; to one who has lived among these, and 
 kept life and limb intact, the traverse of the far-stretching plains and moun- 
 tains, the graves, the heathenism of the interior of Asia holds little to make 
 afraid. 'For a number of years my work as superintendent .of one of Chi- 
 cago's large institutions for the protection and practical aid of stranded 
 women and girls has led me nightly into that city's most sordid quarters 
 not always quarters of poverty, but many times tinseled and glittering, yet 
 always the same old slimy filth, filled with a million germs of frightful 
 disease that within a few years hands out its notice and takes its toll of 
 death from those who dabble in it. I had been pondering over and over 
 in my mind the question, "What finally becomes of the 'cruiser,' the street 
 woman just starting on her long walk of death? She is too strong to die 
 
 10 
 
yet where does she go? She does not stay here long, she must go to 
 New York to the North the South." So one day Christine Kuppinger 
 (my partner and companion in travel in many a far-off corner of the world) 
 and I took a train to New York to see if we could find her there. We stayed 
 for days and weeks at an old-time hotel near the great street walking 
 grounds, grounds where men and women go every night to hunt innocent, 
 or "near innocent" blood, blood of girls and boys to stir and mix it, to 
 alloy it with frightful disease, and turn it finally into gold, gold for the slave 
 master, gold that one day will sink as completely the health and vitality of 
 this nation as was sunk the health and life of old Rome. We went around 
 everywhere, looked over the pavement crowd, visited the night court, the 
 woman's municipal lodging house. We went down into Chinatown and 
 through all its great surrounding slums, many times into the midnight 
 mission on Doyer Street, into all the homes for girls spent days around 
 
 A Girls' School in our Samoan Islands 
 
 Ellis Island, walked the streets until our feet ached, but found few girls 
 we had known in Chicago. 
 
 "This is winter and they go South in winter," said a wise one. "All 
 right," we said, "we'll go South and find them." So South we went. We 
 stopped a week in Washington, perhaps some of these girls were there. 
 We were particularly looking for some of the six or eight hundred public 
 slave women held on Armour Avenue, Dearborn Street, Dearborn Alley, 
 Twenty-second Street, etc. (Chicago), up to the time of the Wayman raids. 
 We knew very many of these women well enough to speak to them. They 
 were the women held in such slaughter pens as those operated by "Jim" 
 Colosimo, the "Jew Kid," Madam Rocco, "Mike the Greek," the "Waup," 
 "Black Mag," "Mike" Heitler, "Monkey Face Genker," the Friedmans, and 
 the Blooms. We knew the "ring," the "gang," the gunmen we knew Roy 
 Jones and his infamous dive of murder, "Duffy the Goat," and decaying 
 Moresco. We knew them all, their blood-red hands, their evil, bulging 
 faces and we knew their women. We were determined to somehow or 
 other find out what becomes of these women who have once been bartered 
 across the counter of Chicago's public slave auction block. 
 
 11 
 
THE SOUTH 
 
 A block back of the rear of the Queen and Crescent Railroad passenger 
 station and running out and across to the old Saint Louis Number two 
 cemetery in one direction and down toward the old Absinthe house near 
 the French market in another direction, comprising blocks and streets of 
 territory, lies New Orleans' vast soul market. Two or three blocks away 
 stood the wreckage of the Hotel Royal. At the time of our visit there, 
 several years ago, this ancient relic of a past reign of "Far South" slavery 
 still held its head above the street. Shreds of wonderful tapestry and 
 exquisite carving still clung to its skeleton form. Picking our way across 
 the building under the guidance of an old Negro woman, we came at 
 last to the' immense ancient rotunda with its old auction block at the far 
 end of the room. It was dark and damp in there. There were puddles 
 of slimy water on the dirty floor. I saw the rafters covered with slime. I 
 
 A Marist Sister of the American Samoans. Eighteen years she has worked 
 alone in these islands. 
 
 saw spiders on the wall we walked over to the "block." Lizards and 
 crawling things slunk away it was the South's old slave auction. I 
 looked again at the block chipped and broken by a thousand tourists. My 
 mind and vision wandered up among the colonnades, and back again to that 
 block of black slavery. A great procession of sixty years ago seemed going 
 by. I saw a black baby snatched from the flabby breast of a whipped 
 black mother. I saw a girl in whose veins flowed the Aryan blood of old 
 Virginia forced out on the block under the knout of a brutal driver. I saw 
 her dress torn from her trembling limbs, I heard a voice that seemed 
 to come from Hades hiss that they were straight, well made I heard 
 another hiss "and she's intact, what am I bid?" I saw a trembling woman 
 a mother clutch the girl? no, the air I staggered over to the window, 
 I looked across to the great white slave market of the beautiful Southern 
 city, a loved city, for my blood is Southern blood, the heavens seemed 
 brass over it all I looked again, something seemed to glow, to hang 
 
 12 
 
over New Orleans in hopeful shade yes, it was a shadow the shadow of 
 the Cross and it fell again over a white market in my Southland and with 
 its shadow came healing, liberty Salvation. 
 
 Out of the old Royal we went, glad to breathe the fresh air again. 
 We strolled down into Liberty Street, Liberty Street with its hundreds 
 of peculiar little Southern "cribs." Whites, blacks and breeds all mixed 
 together, reeked and smelled along the side streets and alleys. A girl sat 
 smoking inside a doorway. The "men" controlling the block were resting 
 in a shady corner saloon. "Let's go in," Mrs. Kuppinger said, "I believe 
 I know her." Sure enough we did know her and she knew us. "Where 
 did you use to work?" we asked. "Out of Madam Leo's in Chicago," 
 answered the girl. "On Armour?" asked Mrs. Kuppinger. "Sure," an- 
 swered the girl. "I'm so glad to see a 'North' face again. I'm lonesome 
 down here among all these niggers." She was one of the girls so uncere- 
 moniously hustled out of Chicago when the city partially cleaned up its 
 vast segregated red light district a few years ago and in the course of a 
 
 Kamahamaha Palace, Honolulu, Headquarters Pacific Division Red Cross, 1917-18 
 
 ten days' stay in New Orleans we found and learned of quite a number of 
 girls forced into Southern cities by the great wave of action against public 
 vice in Illinois, Iowa and other Northern States. The women were filthy, 
 abject, while hundreds of greasy men lounged through the district drum- 
 ming up trade, bartering, guaranteeing their respective "houses" to be free 
 from disease and putting out all the allusions and inducements usually 
 offered by the "cadet" of such a district. Above and over all was the 
 master. He held no visible whip in his hand, but he held something a 
 hundred times more dreadful, for he held drink and drugs, absinthe, 
 mental terror, and he held them in a hand gloved in velvet. A whip is not 
 always necessary though it is many times used. One drug, morphine, 
 cocaine, even whisky a few doses, a few drinks, a habit, the victim is 
 helpless. 
 
 Asked the girl from Madam Leo's: "Say, do you know if it's true^or 
 not that 'Big Kate' and 'Jew Rosie' went to China?" "No, I don't know," 
 answered Mrs. Kuppinger, "I hadn't heard of it; did you girls hear they 
 had ?" "Sure ; you know Kate used to be in that house that was filled with 
 white girls for the use of Chinese you know that house on Armour 
 
 13 
 
Avenue back in Chicago ; well, somehow they got her to go over to 
 Shanghai and she's never been heard of since, nor has Rosie, and Rosie's 
 mother a widow, too, and lives in Russia somewhere, and Rosie use to 
 send home money to the old lady and the kids. I wonder if they did go?" 
 
 THE WEST 
 
 "Hey there, you! I mean you two women." Christine Kuppinger, niy 
 traveling companion, and I paused a moment and turned around to see where 
 the call came from. As we stopped, officer 789 of the San Francisco 
 (Cal.) police force came hurriedly over to where we were standing. It 
 seemed we were on either "historic" or "forbidden" ground. Anyhow, 
 we were at the corner of Commercial Avenue at the spot where Bartlett 
 Avenue debouches into it, about half way up the hill from old Barbary 
 Coast. We were surrounded on every side by hundreds, even thousands 
 of Orientals. From one direction came the shrill call of a street "hawker," 
 from another the shriek of a woman in distress, from all sides came the 
 smirk of strange yellow ^aces. It was Saturday night in the Oriental 
 prostitution district of the city. "Did you mean us?" we asked as 789 
 caught up with us. "Yes," answered the officer. "I was afraid you ladies 
 might be going to walk through Bartlett Avenue and I wanted to stop you." 
 "Why did you want to stop us?" we asked. "O, you know the police do 
 not allow decent women to walk on some of these streets, it's dangerous, 
 you know," and 789 leaned against the lamp post (everybody walks in the 
 middle of the street in this section of San Francisco) and looked as official 
 as possible. "But we want to know why, why we cannot walk on Bartlett 
 Avenue or any other street in San Francisco," we kept asking. 
 
 Officer 789 looked puzzled, and officer 667 lounging on an opposite 
 corner, seeing the conversation unusually prolonged, came over to see what 
 was doing. "O, well," answered 789 finally, "there's a lot of white girls 
 in there and the Orientals and others interested do not like to have visitors, 
 that is, women visitors, around too much." Here 667 came to the rescue 
 of his brother officer. "I'll tell you what to do," said he, "you go down and 
 see the police commissioner of the district and see if you cannot obtain a 
 permit. If he says it is all right to walk through, why, you go through. 
 See?" "All right," we answered, "Only we've been through already." 
 "O !" and officer 789 looked still more disturbed. We asked him if he had 
 ever been out of San Francisco. "Well, no," he answered, halting, "I have 
 always lived here." "All right, we'll see you again," we answered, and 
 walked on down Commercial Avenue toward the car line and Barbary 
 Coast. 
 
 Away to the right, perhaps half a mile, Market Street was ablaze with 
 beautiful flowers and brightest lights. Women, the city's fairest, threw 
 flowers into the air and smiled a smile of welcome to the crowded street 
 the stranger within the gate the Golden Gate. Men trailed great auto- 
 mobiles up and down, machines that were loaded with a wealth of bloom 
 and beauty for was it not the Portola Festival the festival of the Gate? 
 But no sound of joy or music floated up to that other festival on the 
 
 14 
 
reeking hillside that night, the festival of men's debauchery, only yellow 
 smirks as gold was exchanged for white flesh, only foreign damning oaths 
 women's screams it was the Festival of Death. 
 
 THE ORIENT 
 
 Japan practically controls the passenger shipping of the Pacific Ocean 
 and certainly she controls the Asian Pacific Coast line from Vladivostock 
 to Manila. In the fifty years she has been in contact with the Western 
 world she has planted her vast, government-taxed, government-upheld 
 yoshiwaras in every city in every country she has been allowed to enter. 
 Her young women, leased or sold by the seke system, are to be found 
 in great hordes in every Oriental city. She rules the commercialized 
 
 Nectarine No. 9, Yokohama, Japan 
 
 prostitution of the Western oceans. Even in Honolulu and Manila; under 
 the very shadow of the Stars and Stripes, she has established great dis- 
 tricts and filled them with not only her own women, but with the women 
 of all the world. Coast line Siberia is overwhelmed with her geisha, her 
 harlots. Every Japanese passenger ship leaving our American coast is 
 supplied with her publicity propaganda, her advertisements of this great 
 "house" and that great yoshiwara. She is known the Western world over as 
 "The Island of Girls" for she everywhere from the "Picture Bride" of 
 California, west to "Nectarine No. 9" in Yokohama, from North Siberia 
 south to 55 Gardenia Street, Manila, legalizes and deifies the prostitution 
 of her own and other women. She is the social menace of the Orient, the 
 world, and for the benefit of those who shall read this, the writer, after 
 numerous journeys through Siberian waters, through Japan, China, the 
 Philippines, Australia, and the South Seas, gives out the following infor- 
 mation, gathered through six years of patient investigation as a warning 
 of existing conditions in the countries that wash their faces in the lap of 
 the Pacific Ocean America's slowly but surely back door. 
 
 15 
 
A great ocean-going steamer was backing away from her slip in the 
 wharves of San Francisco. Good-bys had been said, flowers, masses of 
 gorgeous bloom had been thrown on board, handkerchiefs were waving, 
 a mammoth ship, a passenger ship, had turned her nose toward Asia and 
 all beyond. On board of her were a little party of missionaries going out 
 to work in the "foreign fields," going out ardent, enthusiastic, to help 
 raise the standard of the Cross against Buddhism, Shintoism, against Con- 
 fucius and his world-old doctrines. 
 
 Among this party was a very fine looking young woman. Tall, light, 
 enthusiastic, verdant as the hills of her own central Western state, she 
 was at twenty-four years of age going to Asia to become a missionary. 
 
 There was a noticeable passenger on board the steamer as she slipped 
 out of the gate and into the sea. He was a kind and affable man, he was a 
 physician, Dr. Sargent of Seattle. Naturally on the ocean there are times 
 when medical advice is much sought after and Dr. Sargent was in demand. 
 As the days went by Dr. Sargent began to be seen much with the young 
 
 Yoshiwara, Yokohama, Japan 
 (Note regulation opaque lights that round the world advertise Japanese prostitution) 
 
 missionary. "Be careful, Miss Blank," warned an older woman in the 
 partv, "sea acquaintances and friendships sometimes prove burdens on 
 land?' 
 
 The time passed rapidly and as the ship neared the Japanese coast 
 Dr. Sargent ardently pressed the girl to go on down to Shanghai, China, 
 and there marry him. Waveringly she refused. The ship touched a 
 Japanese seaport, the girl's destination. 
 
 "I will return and visit you," whispered the doctor as she left the liner 
 for her field of work. This girl's older friends heaved sighs of relief. 
 "One ship flirtation abruptly ended," they declared. 
 
 Our little missionary entered the great compound of a sister faith to 
 await her transportation to a language school near by. This compound 
 situated within a rock-hewn entrance and on a hill overlooking the United 
 States consulate, the flag, would seem to any ordinary observer, a safe 
 place for any woman. Its corps of workers could not be surpassed all 
 was well. 
 
 Two weeks after this time Dr. Sargent walked deliberately up the steps 
 of the Mission building, rang the bell and asked for Miss Blank. She 
 
 16 
 
came downstairs to meet him. He insisted on taking a little walk. She 
 refused unless accompanied by a chaperon. Miss Blank called a friend 
 of the writer's to go with them on the proposed walk. Dr. Sargent, hear- 
 ing the conversation between Miss Blank and the resident missionary, 
 brought such pressure to bear on Miss Blank for a few minutes' private 
 conversation that they started to walk slowly to the entrance of the Mission 
 compound. In a minute almost the trap was sprung. The woman mis- 
 sionary in the compound came down with hat and gloves ready for the 
 walk. She missed the young woman. Immediately a search was started, 
 but Dr. Sargent had turned to the left instead of the right on leaving the 
 compound and instantly he and Miss Blank were swallowed up in a 
 crowded, jamming street. Thoroughly frightened now and entirely lost, 
 Miss Blank demanded that the doctor take her back to the Mission. A 
 ship lay at anchor in the bay, a ship for Shanghai, China. "Come on," 
 said the doctor, "we will go and have some Japanese lunch and then be 
 married and leave this country this afternoon." 
 
 "I cannot, cannot," cried Miss Blank, "I still owe -my passage money 
 to my Board. I cannot leave." "Yes, you will leave," said Dr. Sargent. 
 They had wandered on and on. The girl in one way was helpless, but 
 physically she was a strong woman, a college girl. Dr. Sargent seized her 
 as they came into a secluded part of the street. She fought him \vjth stout 
 arms and a now thoroughly aroused stout heart. He threw a silken scarf 
 about her neck and tried to choke her. She snatched it away and throwing 
 all her strength into one mighty effort broke loose from him and dashed 
 away. After- an exciting run she escaped him and in the course of an 
 hour or so was able to find her way back to the Mission. Dr. Sargent 
 went down to Shanghai and afterward was cool enough to write to Miss 
 Blank, still asking her to join him in that city. 
 
 One would naturally think that surrounded by every protection a power- 
 ful Church could give and remembering the fact that all missionaries go 
 out in parties, each party accompanied by someone going out for a second 
 term of service, our girls going to Asia would be safe enough ; but when 
 one realizes the intricate thorough workings of the organized white slavers 
 of the Trans-Pacific business of commercialized dealings in our women, 
 one can only wonder and fight back in the best way possible and trust for 
 laws and legislation that will forever put a stop to these "sea wolves" and 
 their death trade of the Pacific. 
 
 No British woman is allowed to prostitute herself in any British colony 
 where flies the Union Jack. In all the great armies of white slaves in the 
 Orient, the American girl predominates. She is closely followed by the 
 Jewish and the French girl. Many Russian women, too, are noted in these 
 vast districts, for women, near the military camps in such cities as Peking, 
 Shanghai and Hongkong in fact, women of all the nations are con- 
 gregated in these immense flesh markets, American leading all in exports 
 to them. We fall behind in many ways in our trade with the Orient, but 
 in the shipment of our young American girls by all the slimy traders in 
 womanhood from all the world, we at least lead the way, until the words 
 "American woman" have become by-words in many parts of Asia. I ask the 
 club-woman and the Church-woman of the United States to take this matter 
 up to take it before their congressmen, and ask stricter legislation regard- 
 
 17 
 
ing the leaving an American port for Asia by the woman who has little 
 proof of her object or the destination of her journey. A great commercial- 
 ized vice ring reaches around the world, it is systematized, its organization 
 is strength itself. A girl is missing to-day in Chicago or New York, a 
 month later she is found in some remote American city or in the dives of 
 the Orient, or worse yet, she is never found nor heard of again. We drag 
 our rivers, and our police forces are kept busy trying to find her body, while 
 on some trans-Pacific steamer, thousands of miles away, some swart, shrewd 
 man, born and bred leagues from our shores, treads the deck and congrat- 
 ulates himself that in the cabins are a few American girls going out as 
 actresses (?) or governesses (?) or companions (?), and for each one he 
 lands he will get a thousand dollars cash and all expenses paid. One of our 
 
 Christine M. Kuppinger and author leaving gate of old Royal Palace, Seoul, Korea 
 
 American girls taken to China is first placed in a high class house (see cut 
 of Zaza Van Buren's house in Shanghai, the House of the Golden Stair), 
 and is kept there about three months, that is, providing business is good. 
 If it is not good and girls are slow coming in, she may be kept longer, 
 but if things go right and trade is brisk, she will likely be sent to a lower 
 class house, as soon as it is known she is diseased. The prevailing venereal 
 disease of all the Orient, the Philippines and the South Seas is "yaws." It 
 is highly contagious and is greatly feared throughout Asia. It is, correctly 
 speaking, a species of syphilis, many times called Oriental syphilis. No 
 girl escapes it and beset as she is by other diseases usually is compelled to 
 leave a first-class "house" within a short time after entering. A girl enter- 
 ing China without a full knowledge of where she is going and with strong 
 earnest friends to meet and care for her, can be lost forever in one minute. 
 I remember well the afternoon Mrs. Kuppinger and I for the first time 
 entered from the cars the railway station at Peking. A thousand coolies 
 pressed us to the wall, dirty, filthy hands snatched at our luggage, half- 
 blinded eyes leered at us, close, a thousand struggling, fighting, coughing 
 men were screaming at the top of their voices. They could, as we found 
 out afterward, be heard two miles away from the station. Not a white face 
 was in sight. We knew not which way to turn we could speak no word 
 of their language and there remained but one thing to do, simply beat off 
 the crowd with our walking sticks and defend as best we could our valuable 
 
 18 
 
cases. They were determined to carry them away to our hotel. They were 
 reckless, starving, any one of them would have risked a perfect rain of 
 blows in the face to have gained one cent for the little job of work. We 
 stood our ground and slashed right and left. A moment more and Miss 
 Fearon of the American Methodist Mission had us by the arms. I touched 
 with my walking stick two men to carry our luggage, another minute we 
 were in rickshaws, out of the crowd and at our hotel. 
 
 A girl who once loses sight of a white face in the Orient, of a friendly, 
 strong hand, who for one single minute gets into the power of her destroyers, 
 is lost forever. She might stand in the middle of the station at Peking in a 
 crowd of a thousand and scream her head loose and not one soul would so 
 much as look around to see what the matter was, unless it chanced a white 
 man stood by. Interference in affairs between whites and yellows in Asia 
 is not common unless the case is very pronounced. The girl once off the 
 ship or, for the matter, even on it, is absolutely under the control of those 
 who have her in charge. 
 
 I was scarcely prepared for the sights I met at Tientsin, China. To the 
 woman sold into a life of shame in the seaports of the Orient only one fate 
 can come. A year or two in some dark hole, nothing to eat, vile, filthy sur- 
 roundings, vermin of every kind, opium, frightful disease, "yaws," (Oriental 
 syphilis), torturing, tearing into the vitals of life, gray dead leprosy, in- 
 sanity, the general (insane) hospital death. 
 
 For every girl who reads this, I want to paint a real life picture of gir! 
 slavery in the Orient. I want to tell you of one sick, starving girl in Tien- 
 tsin, chained all day in the cellar of an Oriental dive, forced to the door of 
 the hut above as the evening shadows fell, to stand stripped to the waist 
 and beg the white, black and yellow faces of the world to come in. One 
 came at last. She shuddered, every nerve in her grew tense as hardened 
 steel. The one who came cared not that her eyes were half-blinded, that 
 her limbs bent this way and that. He was one of her kind. He was a leper 
 "Unclean," she shrieked, and tried to flee the foul embrace, only to be 
 forced forward by a dozen blood-yellow hands armed with hot metal chop- 
 sticks. Into all the torment behind her, the torment she knew so well, she 
 still shrank back, back from the gray lumpy leper her hand flashed to her 
 bosom a hidden knife it reached her side it entered it, and down against 
 the bamboo bars of that reeking Asiatic cellar, down at the feet of the 
 rotting leper fell a scarred, huddled white American body, and a tortured, 
 twisted soul a soul of tears and blood fluttered out past the Stars and 
 Stripes flying less than half a mile away, and with shrieks against its burn- 
 ing stain and wrong, went back to the God who gave it. 
 
 For real information regarding social conditions in Peking, China, we 
 were deeply indebted to Mrs. Dr. Chauncy B. Goodrich, National President 
 of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union of China. It was through 
 Mrs. Goodrich that we were admitted to the Peking Rescue Home for 
 Chinese prostitutes, and it was surely a wonderful place. Now, the China- 
 man is nothing if not philanthropic. He gives to charity and believes in 
 his giving. So Peking has a real rescue home for fallen women or rather 
 slave prostitutes. When in or near foreign concessions, a Chinese slave 
 prostitute is so beaten or tortured that her screams become an annoyance to 
 the people living near, and people live very near each other in China, or, 
 
 19 
 
when in these tortures a leg or arm may be broken or an eye destroyed and 
 these things become known, this girl may be taken (in Peking and Shang- 
 hai) before what is known as a "mixed" court, that is, a court where one 
 magistrate is an American or European and one a Chinese, and if this court 
 deems her as having been cruelly treated she may be taken legally from the 
 owner and placed in a rescue home. So, in company with Mrs. Goodrich we 
 "rickshawed" out to the Peking home. Visitors are not usually admitted to 
 this institution, but our friend's social standing, her elegant Chinese speech 
 and etiquette opened the barred door in the heavy wall and we were ad- 
 mitted. In the military guardhouse at the gate we must have tea and 
 cake, as is the inevitable (and I think it is a beautiful one) custom in both 
 Japan and China. We were ushered through two more gates and walls 
 and finally came to the matron's office and on beyond to the huts of the 
 girls themselves. On the morning we were there, there were about eighty 
 or ninety scarred, half-blinded, sick girls confined in the place. A few were 
 beautiful a few well. They scattered like sheep as we entered the place, 
 most of them to their wretched cells. Many, many of these girls were half- 
 demented, many stunted. More were repulsive with venereal disease. All 
 were cold, wretched, for it was a zero day and the poor of Peking have no 
 fire. Very few Pekinese, even among the wealthier class, have any fire in 
 winter excepting a brazier of burning charcoal. 
 
 Well, on this morning in question we met and smiled at many of the 
 cold little prisoners of the rescue home. Their ages ranged from four 
 years up. Little, torn, hungry slaves I might write the words "little dogs" 
 of humanity scarred, lost, some of them, though sweet and lovable, some 
 like animals ruled by a slaver's knout. As we entered the walls of the 
 compound we noticed posted all over the stones and on sort of billboards 
 dozens of pictures resembling our old-fashioned wood cuts. Around these 
 pictures were hundreds of struggling, swearing, filthy coolies. We asked the 
 matron what these men were doing and what the pictures represented. 
 "Why," she answered, "those men are there to pick out concubines." Each 
 girl as she comes in here is photographed and numbered and the picture 
 and number posted on the wall, the men come and look the pictures over 
 until they find a girl they think they would like. For a small fee the girl 
 may be given over to this man as a wife, concubine or slave. He takes her 
 to his home, keeps her awhile. If he is satisfied with her, if she works well, 
 he keeps her, but if he does not happen to like her, he brings her back any 
 time within three months, bruised and bleeding and exchanges her for 
 another girl. Good-by, rescue home ; good-by, little bruised, scarred hope- 
 less girls. May the efforts of the Church of Jesus Christ in China be held 
 up on mighty wings of love and prayer and gold, as it stands in that vast 
 Oriental country and speed its arrows of a human-divine salvation into the 
 darkened lives and broken, cursed, tortured bodies of Chinese girlhood ! 
 
 I do not want to particularize at all on China or Chinese customs in 
 this little volume, but I want to make understood the clear fact of woman's 
 position in China. The position of a woman in China is exactly that of a 
 chattel, a slave. I realize the fact, too, that through the wonderfully suc- 
 cessful efforts of the missionaries many, many women and girls are being 
 broadly educated, but these students and emancipated women number at a 
 maximum estimate one hundred thousand while China has one hundred and 
 
 20 
 
fifty millions of women within her borders. All praise, all honor to the 
 step forward the girls of the newest Republic are making, the girls on the 
 shore-line of that great nation, yet the fact remains to the careful traveler 
 in the interior and to one who goes away from the European influences of 
 the large coast cities, that the women of China are slaves pure and simple. 
 Now to get at the question of the status of the white woman in China. The 
 white woman who marries a Chinese and goes back to China to live with her 
 husband utterly and forever loses her standing and caste both among whites 
 and Chinese. The Chinese will only receive and treat her as a Chinese 
 woman. If she rebels and her husband chooses to uphold her, he is at 
 
 In spite of Kipling, East and West meet in friendly fellowship 
 
 once boycotted, first by his family, who really in the eyes of the law own 
 her body and soul, then by the entire Chinese city or community in which 
 they live. They are cast absolutely adrift. As to the white element receiv- 
 ing the husband and wife of a "mixed marriage," this is as seldom done 
 as is the reception into our own white society of a mixed marriage couple of 
 black and white. The thing is utterly repellent, repulsive and impossible. 
 Now I get back to my subject our white women in the Orient who have 
 been lured there through various promises and sold into a life of public 
 prostitution. 
 
 The white prostitute in China, aside from her money-making value, is 
 less thought of by the Chinese themselves than the dog that haunts the out- 
 lying graveyards of the country and lives by gnawing the body and bones 
 of the murdered baby left there for him. She is neither thought of nor is 
 she considered as a human being. In fact, for years China treated all Amer- 
 ican women coming into the empire with as much contempt as she dared, 
 because she judged all American women by the great hordes of American 
 
 21 
 
prostitutes plying their trade along the coast of Asia and in the islands of 
 the seas. As we study this question, keep in mind one great fact: "No 
 British woman is allowed to ply the trade of prostitution in any of England's 
 colonial possessions or treaty ports over which fly the Union Jack." Why 
 not be able to say the same of the United States and the Stars and Stripes? 
 We left the rescue home that cold morning and drove away to the little 
 English Church in the British legation compound of Peking. There stood 
 the heavy walls protecting the half mile square of ground, backed by the 
 United States legation grounds, which include a part of the great wall of 
 Peking, forty feet broad on the top, sixty feet broad at the base and forming 
 the back wall of the American compound. The wall of Peking, which at 
 this point is near the water gate of the city, is considered a strategic portion 
 in case of trouble for the legations. A year's rations of food are stored in 
 bullet-proof structures on its summit, and it is constantly patrolled by the 
 United States and other troops at this place. Since the Boxer rebellion of 
 
 Chinese House of Prostitution, Hongkong 
 
 1900 the foreign legation grounds of the city of Peking have never been 
 out from under the eyes of the allied troops of all the nations. All buildings 
 within half a mile of the legations were burned away at the time of the 
 rebellion and this space is constantly covered with cannon, which also com- 
 mand the sites of the Hotel Peking, Hotel Wagon Lits, the Methodist mis- 
 sionary compound and the foreign business district. We climbed up on the 
 wall of Peking, looked across the United States compound, and beyond. 
 Yes, there it was, the British compound with its little Church inside. It 
 was the compound where, (when the mad, frothing Boxers in June, 1900, 
 took Peking) were gathered together for months all the ambassadors, lega- 
 tion employees, army guards and missionaries of practically all the countries 
 of the world, to withstand, as God should help them, fifty thousand raging 
 Chinese. It was here in this compound that men of every country on earth 
 fought and dug and bled and died to save white women and children it 
 was here that women sobbed and prayed and raved with thirst and hunger 
 until death was a prize, a Godsend, an answer to prayer. It was here that 
 Frank Gamewell, a missionary who had been a civil engineer before he took 
 Church orders, demonstrated that a preacher in a pinch could do more than 
 preach, and scientifically fortified the strategic points of the compound walls 
 
 22 
 
until five hundred men armed with modern guns held them against fifty 
 thousand cowards who clamored for their blood and wives and children. 
 It was here too, that when the rescue came, women with the best blood of 
 our nation in their veins, consecrated women of the Churches, women of 
 Britain, France, Germany, Chinese women, all women of all nations, after 
 they had kissed little babies' graves and washed the wounds of loved ones 
 with their tears, climbed up on the wall, and cried and sang together as 
 women sometimes can, "O ! come, let us sing unto the Lord, let us heartily 
 rejoice in the strength of our salvation." Sang as only women can sing 
 who have escaped the Great Curse, sang it up past Confucius, up past 
 
 Shelter Ward who now has the advantage of school, music and a beautiful home 
 
 Buddha, on up past the Cross, the clouds, until the music beat white against 
 the very throne of God and was caught up by angel voices and wafted 
 back again to earth to cap the great already laid foundations for the salva- 
 tion of China, and Chinese women for the Kingdom of Right. 
 
 We quietly and with thoughts and hearts melting with the Great Deliver- 
 ance of the women of the world from the hands of the Boxers of Peking, 
 turned and walked down toward the north end of the legation grounds. We 
 came to a heavy jutting corner of the wall. It was here that the troops were 
 massed, who night and day defended the weaker portions of the wall. 
 Away up high at the corner of the wall was the smooth surface of a rock. 
 Some soldier boy, perhaps he was a "Tommy Atkins," had climbed one day 
 high above all the others and with a paint brush scratched Kipling's words 
 "lest we forget" that all who walked might read. "Lest we forget." Forget 
 what? Why wives, children, woman's honor forget to shoot forget to 
 pray! 
 
 23 
 
We walked slowly along, it was a glorious winter's day we looked down 
 'Telegraph lane the flags dimmed away into the backgrounds, the music of 
 parade grounds scarcely reached us the psalm with its glory sounded 
 fainter we looked again yes, there they were, our own American girls 
 dragging, diseased, prostituting among all the troops and gamblers and 
 hangers-on of all the nations of the earth to be found in this great Asiatic 
 center. They led and after them came another vast death army of girls, 
 Jewish, French, Russian, Japanese, until in that army almost every flag on 
 earth was represented. We have to leave you there, girls, until we can go 
 home and do our share toward arousing the club women and Church 
 women of at least one of God's nations to help you. Leave you there on a 
 shoreless sea whose wreckage bumping into you is the awful beast-man of 
 the world, the eyeless leper, the blinded beggar, the hatchet-faced coolie, 
 the bloated, bulging, festering body of your owner but we have read the 
 
 Little^ Christian Korean Girl on her way to Sunday School. 
 Hymn Books. (Methodist Mission, Girls' School, Seoul.) 
 
 Note Bible and 
 
 letter thirty-three of you wrote and sent to Mrs. Goodrich. "We are awash 
 on a sea without a shore, you can do nothing for us, we are lost dead, but 
 won't you try to save our younger sisters?" Yes, we will try to save them, 
 try to save you. We will do all we can, God helping us to tell your story 
 and have at least a little part in bringing about your final rescue and salva- 
 tion. 
 
 It is in the city of Shanghai that we find the white slaver really in the 
 open, unalloyed trade in American girls. Great houses operating by the 
 dozens, little houses, dives and cellars everyone not only a foul-smelling 
 market within itself, but an underground shipping point to all the interior 
 cities of Asia. The entire traffic in white girls as I have found it throughout 
 Asia is one of the most appalling things in the world. Certainly the girl 
 who sails away to a foreign country of any kind, anywhere, without fully 
 recording herself with her own government is a simpleton, and deserves 
 punishment, but not the kind she receives in Asia. Moving pictures are 
 beginning operation in Japan, China, the Philippines and for these hundreds 
 of girls will be sent out by men who "understand how to get them through" 
 and will be lost forever. I see a girl here to-day, to-morrow next year I 
 look across into Asia I see a little show window there, a parched face, a 
 
 24 
 
bruised, scarred back, a lost body. I ask, "Where did she come from ? Why, 
 she's white." The answer comes from the nurse in the General (insane) 
 hospital, "O, she came from America last year." "Diseased?" we asked. 
 "Yes, it settled in her brain." 
 
 * I have the highest regard and love for the Chinese. I believe China to 
 be the coming nation of the Orient. China had opium thrust upon her, 
 consequently she smokes opium. China has public prostitution commer- 
 cialized thrust upon her, literally jammed down her national throat. Hence, 
 she has prostitution, opium smoking and of later years, tobacco and whisky, 
 until now a great coolie class, a class that never knew what a square meal 
 was, can be employed by the adventurers of Asia's shores the "beach 
 combers" to do anything on earth for a quarter. 
 
 The people of China do not want opium, do not want prostitution, but 
 
 Zaza Van Buren's great "house," 16 Soo-Chow Road, Shanghai 
 
 these things are utterly forced upon them. In their hearts they prefer 
 early marriage, a concubine added now and then, or a slave girl. The real 
 Chinese likes to go to bed at dark and get up at daybreak. But the great 
 white slave syndicate of Asia and deafers all over Europe and America are 
 forcing rapidly the open house of prostitution into China. She is helpless 
 and must swallow the whole thing bait and hook. Poverty is everywhere, 
 and then the Chinese themselves are overridden in every coast city and in 
 many of the cities of the interior by thousands of the vilest, bloated creatures 
 of all the nations of the world gathered to lie and steal and cheat and rape 
 until the Chinese underworld, the world around, falls in with these and the 
 harvest of cruelty and blood goes on and on always. I am writing from a 
 long experience in the Orient and after investigations that covered coast 
 cities of Japan, China, and the Ph'ilippines and that reached away into the 
 interior of all these countries. 
 
 In Yalu Road, Shanghai, we made very thorough investigations. This 
 old road was once known as Scott's Road, but it became so murderously 
 notorious that even in Shanghai it was deemed necessary to change the name 
 of the lane to Yalu Road. At the end of the Yalu Road on the east is a 
 bridge. I do not know the name of the bridge, but it is known to everyone 
 as suicide bridge. At high tide, say midnight, the water from the sea 
 
 25 
 
reaches almost to the floor of the bridge. Alone and disguised at the middle 
 hour of the night, many and many a white girl has crept out of some Chinese 
 den, drunken with opium, rotting with filthy, incurable disease, insane, 
 though with thought enough yet left to want to die and slipped noiselessly 
 into the yellow, muddy water and Eternity. Maybe she floated out to sea 
 with the tide, more likely she sank forever into the bottomless ooze of mud 
 to decay in the old canal. 
 
 God only knows how many white girls have been deceived and smuggled 
 into China. I don't know how many are there by actual count, but I do 
 know that there are hundreds and thousands of them and I know by all 
 obtainable facts that the American girl leads in numbers those of any other 
 
 Yalu Road, Shanghai 
 
 race, barring always the Japanese, and I do also know that the great 
 majority of white girls who are sent to Asia for purposes of commercialized 
 vice never return to home or friends and that they are lost forever. 
 
 It is almost an endless task to write of Yalu Road, Shanghai. Each 
 "house," which is nothing really but a wretched hut and cellar, has its door 
 barred with heavy bamboo poles, while at the side of the door is a little 
 window about eight by ten inches in size." This window contains no glass, 
 no protection, and, chained to these windows, her face the drawing adver- 
 tisement and attraction of the "house," stands a white girl. Hundreds of 
 these girls are used for the purpose of securing patronage for the house. 
 Some of these girls standing at the windows are insane, some die there, 
 standing ; a few maniacal girls, a very few, escape. These girls standing in 
 the windows are known as "show women" or "actresses" and woe to the girl 
 in America who is ever led into the Orient for theatrical or show purposes. 
 
 26 
 
It is the Yalu Road proposition which confronts her when she gets into 
 China, and from the Yalu Road there is no escape. 
 
 No British woman can prostitute in any English colonial or legation ter- 
 ritory over which floats the Union Jack ! 
 
 You and I live beneath the only flag in all the world that has never 
 known defeat, and the very basic principle upon which that flag is builded is 
 human liberty and human protection, and so by personal work and co- 
 operation with every other reform and labor organization for the uplifting 
 of womanhood by work everywhere, by prayer and by the Power of the 
 Cross, let us set ourselves to help those helpless ones of ours until the angels 
 shall take up the story of shame and bitterness and wrong and bear to all 
 the world and to Heaven itself the swift acknowledgment that we are our 
 brother's keeper. 
 
 A Sister to Chinese Women and Girls. (American Church Mission) 
 
 27 
 
Give Chicago's Helpless Woman and 
 Child a Chance 
 
 Cfjtcago Roman's Belter 
 
 It cares for Emergency cases brought in at any hour Day or Night 
 1356 W. Monroe Street 
 
 Open Day and Night 
 
 The Shelter is one of the City's greatest Practical Char- 
 ities. It gives instant Aid, Food, Lodging, Clothing to the 
 Widowed, Sick or Unfortunate Woman, to the Helpless 
 Baby and the Hungry, Half-frozen Public School Child. 
 
 The Shelter is in the center of Chicago's mighty surging 
 downtown district. It is within twenty minutes of all the 
 large railroad passenger stations, courts, police stations, and 
 is within six minutes of Cook County Hospital and the West 
 Side Medical Center. 
 
What the Press and Public Say of the Shelter 
 
 W. B. Millard, Executive Secretary of the Church Federa- 
 tion Council of Chicago in a letter Feb. 4, 1919, to Dr. Jean 
 T. Zimmermann says: 
 
 "The directors in session peb. 4 desire me to express to 
 you the appreciation of the Church Federation and Night 
 Church for the many years of consecrated and effective serv- 
 ice you have rendered by which tens of thousands of people 
 have been reached and benefited. 
 
 "We feel that you deserve well of the Churches of Chicago 
 and wish you the utmost blessings of God as you continue to 
 serve Christ and the Nations here or wherever you may go." 
 
 The Tribune, December, 1919, says : 
 
 "One week's help at the right moment may save a woman or child 
 from eternal failure and despair. 
 
 "The Chicago Woman's Shelter, a temporary home for stranded out- 
 of-work girls and women, is located at 1356 W. Monroe Street. The 
 shelter, which is open day and night, has for the president of its execu- 
 tive board Mrs. Inez Rogers Deach, a well-known club and church 
 woman. It is said to be the only institution of its kind in Chicago and it 
 cooperates with existing charities. It is also affiliated with the League 
 of Cook County Clubs." 
 
 Dr. Jean Turner Zimmecmann, Founder and General Super- 
 intendent Chicago Woman's Shelter, is the daughter of the 
 late Wm. H. Turner, Surgeon of the old Second Iowa Infantry 
 Regiment of Civil War fame and a niece of Annie Witten- 
 myer, former National President of Woman's Relief Corps 
 of the G. A. R. and Regent of Pennsylvania for Daughters of 
 the American Revolution. She is a member of the governing 
 board of the American Asiatic Association, the Chicago Art 
 Institute, the Woman's City Club, and for two years was a 
 member of the Speaker's Committee Illinois Division Council 
 of National Defense. 
 
No Woman or Child Is Ever Turned from the Shelter 
 Unheard or Unaided. 
 
 ONE WEEK'S HELP AT THE RIGHT MOMENT 
 MAY SAVE A WOMAN OR CHILD FROM ETERNAL 
 FAILURE AND DESPAIR. 
 
 Average Yearly Work of the Shelter during past Eight 
 Years has been : 
 
 No. Nights Lodging, Yearly Average 10,800 
 
 No. of Warm Meals, Yearly Average 35,850 
 
 No. of Pieces of Clean, Warm Clothing Distrib- 
 uted (Nothing Sold) 6,350 
 
 Cases Sent to State and City Institutions 96 
 
 Emergency, Charity, Carfare and Special Meals. . 158 
 No. of Calls (Court, Police Stations, and Various 
 
 Institutions) , 2,028 
 
 "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these, 
 ye have done it unto Me." 
 
 Christine M. Kuppinger is Assistant Superintendent of 
 
 the Shelter and in charge of its Social Work. Mrs. 
 
 Kuppinger is of Danish parentage and a member 
 
 of the Chicago Methodist Deaconess Home 
 
WHY NOT GIVE CHI- 
 CAGO'S CHILDREN 
 A CHANCE? 
 
 A Dozen "Missions" in 
 Chicago feed without 
 question the "down and 
 out" man. The Chicago 
 Woman's Shelter feeds 
 the hungry woman and 
 child. 
 
 The Shelter is Feeding ONE HUNDRED Underfed, Thin 
 Clothed Public School Children EVERY NIGHT at Six 
 O'clock. These meals will continue until May 1. WE NEED 
 YOUR HELP and NEED IT NOW. 
 
 The Shelter cares for an aggregate average of over Twenty 
 Thousand Women and Children every year. 
 
 Open to Visitors every evening (except Sunday) at Six 
 O'clock. Come over and see our work. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 JEAN T. ZIMMERMANN, M.D., Superintendent. 
 
 MAIWA 
 From East Somoliland 
 
 In the past five years 
 the Shelter has cared for 
 Women and Children 
 from Every State in the 
 Union and from Europe, 
 Asia, Africa and South 
 America. 
 
en 
 
 T87