Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 May 1920 — With the Salvation Army On Home Service [ARTICLE]

With the Salvation Army On Home Service

By SUSAN K. SHAFFER

This is just one ol the many cases of misery which comes to the daily notice and receives relief from the Salvation Army. During May 10 to 20. a committee of leading citizens of this state, headed by Major Arthur R. Robinson, of Indianapolis, will conduct an organized appeal for funds to turn over to the Salvation Army to be used in giving relief to just such cases of distress as are here portrayed.—Editor’s Note.

CHAPTER I. For a week and a day I have worn the Salvation Army bonnet and have glimpsed the misery, the poverty, ihe distress of the world through Salvation Army eyes. And I have seen the lighted faces that come with immediate relief of that distress, relief not red-taped but reaching directly to the need; without bureaucratic Inquiry in that spirit that John Boyle O’Reilly so vividly phrased in his lines: “Organized charity, skimped and iced; “In the name of a cautious, statistical Christ.” I have seen homes where, except for the Salvation Army, misery, hunger, want, privation and dirt are the only visitors. I have seen old people, their rest long earned through days of toil, still struggling to keep a roof over their heads, and doomed finally to failure—except for the tieaven-sent aid of the Salvation krmy. I have seen mothers, soon to be confined, sitting in hovels of unspeakable disorder, patiently waiting their time, too wan and worn to make ihe intimate preparations for themselves and the coming child that means health and strength for both. I have seen women, soon to become mothers, dull and apathetic in their Sodden surroundings; top inured to hardships to count their condition Cad, too unused to joy to anticipate he ineffable happiness that comes Ito most women with the approach of |their first-born. Sees Misery and Poverty. > From the energetic mother of fifteen children, willing but unable to make the provider’s weekly $lB pay check cover their wants and needs, (to the paralytic of thirty-eight years, iunable to move from his bed, tortured by dreams of better days, and Of a splendid vitality snapped off (without warning, I have learned of misery as only the Salvation Armj tmows it, from the impoverished amlly kept in coal and groceries all winter, to the sorry little group just In from a distant city, utterly penniless and friendless. I have learned Es relief as only the Salvation Army nows how to administer it. From visiting the settlement Sunday school where come the ragged urchins of West Washington street, (the "little mothers” of the slums, the bld grandmothers broken down in body and spirit, I have seen the Saltation Army cohorts tactfully, dramatically and with absolute sincerity Interpret the' poor man’s classic—the Bible. _ With each visit and each new fclimpse of misery allayed and a deBree of happiness restored, my admlration for the Army whose infeignia I was wearing changed from Admiration to awe. My blue-bonnet-ed companion, Commandant Prurience Denton, who had seemed plain And humble as we walked along the busy city street, underwent a metafcnorphosls in the wretched homes we Alsited. Instead of a quiet unobtrusive woman in not too becoming costume, I saw her as a veritable angel 0f mercy, clothed in raiment that exstressesf tresses her life—humility and servoe. Her personality, submerged under an exterior of passivity on the street, rose like flame to the spark of the heed of her services in those wretchI places of misery. Her life apared to me what it is—a tribute to b cause of humanity and to the hi formulated seventy years ago in s little attic room of a London uning house when the struggling vivallst preacher received the visi that was tb save millions from, ath and disgrace, close thousands drunkards’ graves yawning for sir victipis, snatch countless numrs of little children from starvation And a life worse than death, and tnake the term “human derelict” an Unnecessary one in any country. Boys Without Shoos In Winter, Our first call under the Salvation Army flag led out to the edge of the pity where streets are unpaved-?-* rivers of mud in the spring, swelters M dust in the summer and drifts of mow in the winter. Here dwellings Are squat and drab, with windows Inamodestly uncurtained. Our destination was the back room of a wretched two-room shack. The littered yard And offensive but houses gave only

slight promise of the disorder tnslde. Two steps lead up to the door, one rotting away and the other broken. Our knock aroused a sound of scuffling within, and a minute later two bright eyes peeped through two jagged holes in the rags that covered the pane of glass in the door. A cautious scraping of the key followed and the door opened as fast as the dirty sacking stuffed under it would permit. x These rags under the door, impeding Its progress in opening, attracted my attentioffn to the floor of the room first, and consequently to the feet of the occupants. There were four small feet, innocent of shoes but well swathed in old rags and stockings; and two large ones in shoes that bulged heavily at the sides. The small feet belonged to Charley and Billie Griffith, two bright-eyed little boys with black faces and clothes in tatters. The large ones were their mother’s, Mrs. Griffith, a huge woman dressed more cleanly in gingham,’her hair parted and plaited down her back. It was evident that a third child was soon to be added to the family. Mrs. Griffith had been crying when we knocked. My companion asked the woman if she needed immediate attention of a physician. “No,” sobbed the woman, trying to calm herself, “but my baby is coming, and I haven’t any clothes, not even a clean towel to wrap it in.”

Army Lassie Promises Clothes. Our promise to send things for the coming little one and shoes for the two boys helped the 'woman to regain her composure. Littie by little she confided her story to us. Lured by the hope of more work and better wages, they had left their home in Danville, Ky. They had sold everything to buy tickets for Indianapolis. But work was hard to get and now they are alone and friendless in a strange city. They can barely afford the $2.00 a month for the wretched place where they live. The four of them, two active boys and herself and husband do not get much sleep in the one bed that the room contains. Sometimes Mr. Griffith, after shoveling coal all .day, sits up or lies on the floor all night. The children go to sleep on the bed with their clothes on to keep warm, early at night and after they are tight asleep their father lifts them off onto a pile of dirty clothes gathered in one corner. There they spend the rest of the night and the parents occupy the bed. When there is food enough on hand to be cooked, it is served for all on the two china plates they own, and eaten with four tin spoons or with the fingers.

No Water and Little Light. W’hile my companion was getting this information in halting sentences from Mrs. Griffith, I made mental inventory of the room. The stench, noticeable the moment the door closed behind us, is almost overpowering. It tells its own story of filth and dirt, lack of ventilation and lack of personal cleanliness. Cleanliness is made almost Impossible because of the great distance to the nearest point of obtaining water. The only light comes through the glass pane in the door. v Patches of worn-out linoleum cover spots on the floor. Cracks in the wall paper are pockets for years’ accumulation of dirt. Grimy clothes and dirty rags litter the floor. The bed, three quarter size, with two soiled pillows and a single coverlet, sheds straw from its mattress every time °a gust of wind shakes the house. Confused voices and fretful walls from the inhabitants of the other room fn the shack are heard constantly. A movement from my companion told me it was tiipe to go. I was glad of the stiff March wind that rushed against us as we stepped out of that room, cleansing our clothes of the heavy smell of dirt and human odors. But no wind that blows will ever purge my memory of the scene of the poor helpless mother facing deepest physical misery in dirt, poverty and alone. Her one friend is the Salvation Army.

This is just one of the many cases of misery which comes to the dally notice and receives relief from the Salvation Army. During May 10 to 20 a committee of leading citizens of the state, headed by Major Arthur R. Robinson, of Indianapolis, will conduct an organized appeal for funds to turn over to the Salvation Army to be used in giving relief to just such cases of distress as are here portrayed. —Editor’s Note.