Page 134 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Immigration and sweatshops

make a living. I worked for this Gutterman a year or so, and being a
landsman I was ashamed to ask him for more pay, although I knew my
work was worth more. I already was doing work on parts of the
garment for which others received three times what I did—they told
me so, but I, being of a timid nature, did not like to ask for more.
At the time I had started working for Mr. Perlman, immediately
after landing in this free country, the next day another newcomer
came to work at that shop. He was put next to me and shown how to
sew seams in the sleeve linings. He was not as timid as I was, so he
began to talk to me first, and we became friends. He was a tall fellow,
blond with high cheekbones, broad shoulders, big hands and clumsy
fingers—he had a hard time mastering the machine. I helped him
learn to sew, but he was not cut out for that work. Unfortunately, he
had no other trade and no English, so he was doomed to stick in
those sweat shops and be exploited. He was a Talmudist and ex-
soldier from Lithuania, near Vilna, an intelligent fellow who could
read Hebrew. His name was Morris Pliskin, a Russian name and he
looked like one. When I went to work for my benefactor Mr.
Gutterman I brought him over and he worked there also, but, as I
said before, he did not have the hands for working at a machine and
kept on at sleeve lining all the time.
Being not long from the old home, I was still adhering to my
religious beliefs and customs, and we two used to go to shul on
Sabbath, study the Talmud or other books a little, and walk fifty
blocks to the New York Museum and back. We also visited the union
hall every Saturday, looking for something better. It had become very
slow in Mr. Gutterman’s shop, and I had learned enough and had
enough confidence in myself to get another job. I asked Mr.
Gutterman for a raise; I wanted ten dollars a week. He said
sarcastically, “I will give you a raise on your back. You are getting too
much already.” So I then went to work in another place as a sleeve
maker, and received sixteen dollars a week. When I went back the
next week to get my final pay from him, he got sore and jumped all
over me, calling me a greenhorn, blaming all greenhorns who came
here to shovel gold so easily, and saying, that is what you get for
helping a landsman.

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