The day book. [volume], April 21, 1913, Image 27

About The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917

Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

                
'-'MOTHER JONES," ON TRIAL FOR HER LIFE,
TALKS TO MARY BOYLE O'REILLY. J
(Editor's Note. Mother Jones, theM.
heroine of a hundred strikes, here
talks of her life and labors. Eighty
years old and an agitator for a quar
ter of a century, she teriears ago
led the united mine workers, out
marching and outmaneuvering state
militia. In 1903 she invaded New
York City with an army of shriveled
. child workers to "get them and their
plight on the .front pages of the pa
pers." In 1904 she was driven from
Colorado when leading the Western
Federation of Miners, 1909 found her
pleading with Taft for Mexican radi
cals confined in United States pris
ons. Last year she journeyed to Mex
ico to obtain from Madero recogni
tion of the peon's right to-organize.
Today, held as a prisoner of war ,In
the heart pf the Kanawha coal fields,
she calmly refuses to accept an am
nesty offered on condition that she
leave West Virginia.
.By Mary Boyle O'Reilly.
Charleston, W. Va., April 21.
Khaki-clad militiamen guard the
house where today. "Mother bones"
is held a military prisoner on trial
for her life. Only' Governor Hat-
liot's order opened the old-fashioned
iron gate to me. Within Mother
Jones sat napping, overcome for an
instant by the insidious sleep of great
age.
"Mother Jones," I ventured, "I ani
a Miss O'Reilly of Boston.
Instantly the steel-blue eyes were,
wide, the soft white hair tpuched to
order, the trimly shod feet uncrossed.
"Then you are related to the 'man
who wrote:
"Fanatic, the insects hissed, till he
taugh them to understand
That the greatest crime may be writ
ten in the highest law of the
land."
eaid Mother Jones.
That a woman of eighty should'
thmk so quickly was astonishing. f
''Nonsense," laughed Mother Jones ;
as I spoke the thought, every merryi
wrinkle ax witness of indominatable'
Irish spirit.
iWhy? I am a woman of one idea.
Whatever bears on that I remembers
The rest L forget. That is one short
cut to success." Again that compel--ling
smile as the grandmotherly old
lady seated me by her side. ' .
This aged agitator wins by the sim
ple magic of being' a real woman.
Short, stockily built, with keen eyes,
bright under auburn lashes, firmly
compressed lips, resolute chin and
the full white throat of a girl this
most successful of strike organizers
is dignified as a dame of colonial,
days. A delicate fleck of rice powder
gives bloom to her smooth old cheek,
the crown of luxuriant white hair is
prettily coiffufed. JMother Jones
dresses in black, well-tailored black,
with graceful lace garnitures and a.m
spot of blue to match her eyes.
"The-woman who-fails to make, the
most of herself is afool," she said
crisply. "Once I ow'ed my good ap
pearance' to my husband. Since he
died I owe it to' myself! It is my work
to lead men, The West Virginia miner,
is just a man. There is no hope of
gaining his .allegiance without first
winning his respect. So I must al
ways be neat and genteelly dressed,
not only at meetings, bufwhen talk
ing to the men on the tipple."
"Tell me about this strike," I ask-.
ed. "What is to-be the outcome?"
Mother Jones' contralto voice erew
searching, her manner intense.
"When this strike is( over," she an
swered, "it will advance the workers
thirty years on the road to industrial.
freedom
"Look- at this district. Yes, they
,'will Jet us , go out Tis. f aras- the pi-'
azza. look. s