Harlem Friendship House News 1942-06: Vol 2 Iss 2

*

Vol. 2, No. 2, June, 1942

F FRIENDSI}

SS

P HOUSE

NEWS

New York, N. Y., 5 Cents

WHAT FRIENDSHIP HOUSE MEANS TO ME

Much water has run under the
bridge since that day in 1938 when
Father Mulvoy said: “Ellen, there’s
a white woman across the street who
has come down from Canada to help
me with the social work. Go on
over there and meet her. And I’m
counting on you to do all you can
to help.”

I went over to 48 West 138th Street
and rang the bell beneath the name
Catherine de Hueck, When I climbed
three flights of steps and entered the
tiny apartment, I was conscious of
two things: an amazingly beautiful
woman — large of stature — and
scads of books. Everywhere one
might have sat — there were books.
Everywhere one looked — there were
books. And so it was natural that
one talked — of books.

“My friends sent furniture at first,”
Catherine de Hueck explained when
she learned that Father Mulvoy had
sent me, “and now I’m asking them
for books.”

“Why so many?” I questioned.

“For the Friendship House Li-
brary,” she said.

“What — er — where is Friend-
ship House?” I asked.

“Why you poor child,” she smiled,
“this is Friendship House. And you
must come around Monday night.
Some of the Newmanites will be
here.”

“The Newmanites? What will they
do?” I looked about me wondering
where anybody would sit in this tiny
room I had been informed was
Friendship House.

“What will they do?” she laughed,
“Well, now, you just come around
and we'll see.”

The telephone rang and I knew I
was dismissed even though Catherine
de Hueck had not said “goodbye”. I
left the apartment confused, suspi-
cious, and a little hurt.

Father Mulvoy knew better than
to bring a white woman into Harlem
to do social work alone, I told myself,
And who did she think she was any-

|

By Ellen Tarry

how with that “you poor child stuff?”
Just another one of those white folks
who feel St. Peter will throw open
the pearly gates as soon as they tell
him they’ve been working for the
“poor, dear Negroes,” The Newman-
ites would most likely turn out to be
a bunch of tea drinking youngsters
who would think it smart to come to
Harlem and try to tell everybody how
to run the place.

But I made up my mind to go to
that Mondey night meeting — just to
tell them where to get off. And I
went.

This time when I entered the apart-
ment, I saw more people than I had
seen books the time before. It really
started before I got inside the room,

MARTIN de Porres

os eames - eee sc om

for there were youngsters even stand-
ing in the doorway. They were sit-
ting on the floor, on the rickety-
looking table, and all over the couch
where I presumed this strange wo-
man slept. Later, I saw that the
books were still with us, but they,
too, were hidden by the people that
stood all around the room.

Just as I had suspected, I soon
learned that they knew nothing about
the Negro. But unlike so many who

come to save us, thesé white men and.

women (there were only three or four
Negroes present) talked about the
Mystical Body. Over and over I
neard them speak of the Brotherhood
of Man under the Fatherhood of God.
The strange, beautiful woman to
whom they referred as the “Baron-
ess”, spoke of Christ in the Negro:
And before the evening was spent,
they had sold the idea of Friendship
House to me. Not only that, they
needed me — they needed me to help
interpret the Negro to them. Id
have to work with them and get more
Negroes to come.

And now, after four years, it is
amazing to reflect upon all that has
happened.

We still have the neal. but there’s
a library to house*them.
still people — who serve and are
served—Friendship House, but there
are five clubrooms and a flat in which
they can spread out. Nobody has to
sit on the floor anymore, even though
the attendance at our Monday night
forums held at the library has as-
sumed such proportions that they
still have to line the walls and clut-
ter up the doorway. But we don’t
mind that in the least, because we
had a hard time getting the Negroes
to trust the white workers and we're
happy that they have finally decided
to accept FH. Then, too, we have told
the Holy Ghost that we really need
one of those huge brownstone houses
that one finds on so many Harlem
side streets and we’re sure the Holy

(Continued on Page 4)

There are _

roe i a ge a ee eg a es

2 HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

Vol. 2 No. 2
34 WEST 135th STREET Tel, AUdubon 3-4892

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

SUITE ED IPI ns cichrncciepcocpenaiinemnscsoryatncnnealaccianne Editor
«See
I IN nici Saveatiasenicacstnnppnsiaiciabceneiaeed Contributing Editor
GRACE FLEWELLING .................................. Circulation Manager

Single Copies .05 - Sub. 50c per Year
Owned and Operated by Friendship House

Printed in N. Y. by Carroll Press

LIVING WITH THE NEGRO

For the fourth time we re-read the letter, from a
Catholic Editor, in which he had asked us to write an
article on “LIVING WITH THE NEGRO”. The more
we read, the more we realized how strange it was, that
such an article should be asked for, written and read

. and as we went on thinking of the implications
behind the request, implications, that alas we knew the
good Editor had never dreamt of . . . and that hurt us
too somehow .. . a great sorrow and sadness entered our
soul, as we sat down and wrote the article. When it
was finished, we changed our mind, we were not going
to send it out to anyone. We were going to share it
with you, our dear friends, with whom we have shared
so much already ... You will understand, the hidden
tears, the hidden pain in it .. . So here it is.

The strangest thing about Catholic America, is that
one should have to write an article about “Living with
Negroes”. If America were a Democracy in the fullness
of its fruition, if Catholics in America were really
CATHOLICS, there would be no need to write an article
like this. For no one would understand why it was
being written, as everyone would be living with Negroes.

Everyone would have Negro neighbors. Go to school
with Negro children. All schools, public, parochial,
private, high, colleges, and universities. Everyone
would be working side by side with Negroes. In hos-
pitals, in Couris, in business. That is the way it is
today in Catholic countries. That it the way it was
yesterday, when the world was Catholic.

But in America, in the Year of Grace, 1942, there
seems to be plenty of room for an article on “Living
with Negroes” as jf one were writing about living in the
wilds of Borneo with a tribe of unknown aborigines.

LORD HAVE MERCY ON AMERICA .. . LORD
HAVE MERCY ON AMERICAN CATHOLICS!

Living with the Negroes? Well, those of us who do,
like it, for the Negro is pleasant to live with. But they
and we both live behind — THE VEIL.

Yes, behind THE VEIL. A strange, unseen Veil that
falls in thick, grotesque shapes over all the Harlems
of America. An opaque Veil, hard to get out from
under. A grasping Veil that suffocates and enfolds all
those who want to lift it and pass beyond its light-
killing darkness.

True it is powerless against us who live with the
Negroes, and who have stepped beyond it to share the
twilight of the Negro life in the Harlems of America.
We have the magic formula that makes it vanish . . .
WE ARE WHITE... And we are sorrowful, too. For
we came to share the burden of Harlem. To help Har-
lem tear the Veil away. And we find it hard to see that
our identification with the Negro is not complete...

oe ee ee eee i a er gp noe ne ee

sorry to have the Pass-Key, through the thick folds of
the Veil... WE ARE WHITE... we can stay and we
can go... THE NEGRO CAN’T.

And yet, living with the Negro means, LIVING,
FEELING, FIGHTING THE VEIL.

Negro Youth, thirsty for knowledge, throngs what
schools and colleges it can get in. Fighting gigantic
battles for that knowledge. Each Negro graduate a saga
of victory. And when the goal IS reached and the
Parchment obtained, at the price of souls, health . . .
The Veil enfolds that Negro Youth in its killing em-
brace . . . and whispers . . . NON-PASSARAN ...
THOU SHALT NOT PASS!

Negro Manhood and Womanhood is eager to work.
Keen brains. Trained brains. Good brains are ready
to serve humanity — America — the World. Talents
hidden deep in minds and souls, cry out for release.
Poetry dies unborn. Songs before they are sung. . .
Music weeps unrecorded. The Veil, like a Molock kills
and smothers. NON-PASSARAN ... THOU SHALT
NOT PASS!

Negro Mothers and Fathers in love and joy beget
their children. Straight-backed, long limbed, smiling
children with eager eyes . . . sturdy bodies. Slowly
eagerness fades. Limbs shrink. Disease creeps in. Bad
housing, bad food, lack of air and sunshine, take their
toll. Fathers and Mothers, strain. Work harder. Ever
harder. Kill themselves working. The Veil whispers...
WHAT IS THE USE? YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

Living with the Negro means watching the Negro’s
search for happiness. Means looking at him laugh and
joke and seek escape in many things. And watch some
more and see laughter die, or become harsh and dis-
cordant .. . Perhaps to cover up tnshed tears . . . for
happiness means freedom. And the Veil bars freedom
and with it happiness. .. .

In Washington ... the Parchment of the Constitution
lies . . . yellow with age. Millions come to read and
rejoice at the words on the Parchment.

ALL MEN ARE BORN EQUAL BEFORE GOD.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO WORK.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO THE PURSUIT
OF HAPPINESS.

The Parchment lists many other rights. The Veil
laughs, refolds itself into thicker folds and whispers —
“DON’T READ... DON’T DREAM .. . DON’T HOPE,
NEGRO. THE PARCHMENT IS NOT FOR YOU...”

In the Catholic Churches of America, Priests read the
Gospel to attentive White Catholic Folks. Softly the
words of Eternal Life fall on their ears . . . “I am the
Vine and you the Branches . . . Love God and your
neighbor. That is the Law ... Whatsoever you do to
the least of My Brethren, you do to Me...”

The Cross on the Catholic Churches in America shines
in the sun. The Doctrine of the Mystical Body of Christ
is being preached within. The Veil draws tighter. . .
Lucifer’s hand is seen rearranging its thick folds. It is
hard to distinguish who laughs and shouts — Lucifer or
the Veil. “The Children of Light are walking in My
darkness .. . The Salt of the Earth is getting flat...
They have forgotten to be their Negro brother’s keepers
. .. They have forgotten to practice the Law . . . My
kingdom is growing .. .”

Living with the Negro is bearing witness to the Veil,

(Continued on Page 4)

<a.
#
e

*

Ree ct

THE BARONESS JOTS IT DOWN

I sit at my desk. It faces a four-
teen foot plate glass window made
ready for Air Raids by reinforce-
ments of scotch tape that criss-crosses
its elegant surface, in even, attractive
patterns, and is supposed to keep it
from shattering into smithereens, that
might hurt the passer-by . . . if and
when ... the fateful day comes .
in the meantime it gives the aspect of
prison bars.

I don’t want to look out, through
them at the Street. I never want to
look out at the Street. And yet I
can’t help it. For there It is, right in
front of my eyes. I hate the Street,
and I love It. I have been looking at
It now for four years . . . I have
fought It also for four years. Ever
since we opened Friendship House.
It is a strange Street. Full of hidden
goodness and holiness. Full of poor-
struggling families, who bring up
their children against every odd in
creation, as children should be
brought up ... and at the same time
It is an evil Street, full of many sins,
tragedies and sorrows.

Yes, I know It well. I almost know
every house in It, and I often think,
they hold few secrets from me. But
about this time I really hate the
Street. It is dusty and not too clean.
Everyone is on it, seeking a little re-
lief on hot days, for It faces the East
River, and there is a breeze from it.

Yet, I hate It, not because of dirt,
nor dust, nor even overcrowdedness.
I love the people on It, I consider
them my people, my friends . . . in
Christ. Now, I hate It because of
children who make It their play-
ground. And It never was meant to
be that. It teaches too much evil . . .
It is so harsh, It hasn’t a tree, nor a
blade of grass... And kids. ... all
kids, should look into the eyes of
God, reflected so clearly for them in
the summer in the country . . . Why,
you can catch a glimpse of Him in
every flower, in every green field, in
the brook, and the pond, the lake
and the river . . . didn’t you know
that? That was what made them so
blue, and so green . . . The smile in
God’s Eyes gives freshness to our
growing things, to our waters and
skies . . . Yes, it does, but nothing
grows on my tragic Street. Nothing
but dust and dirt... sin and evil...

And good priests are making lovely
Camps ready for kids. Kids like those,
who play on my Street, but should
not be there. It will cost this year
FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK to send a

kid to them, into the smiling, re-

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

a

flected Eyes of God .. . into the
country.

HOW MANY WILL YOU SEND,
DEAR FRIEND ...? HOW MANY
WILL YOU TAKE OFF MY DES.-
OLATE STREET ... ? FIVE
DOLLARS .. . FIVE DOLLARS
ONLY ... PERHAPS FOR A
CHILD’S LIFE. DEFINITELY FOR
A CHILD’S HEALTH .. . FIVE
DOLLARS ONLY ... ANY BID-
DERS...? THANK YOU...

We are helping Judge Jackson of
the Juvenile Welfare Council of Har-
lem to open a Toyery. Did you ever
hear of a Toyery? It is a place where
Toys are LOANED to kids that
haven’t any, on cards, like library
books.

WE NEED TOYS... OLD, NEW
TOYS — Send them to us — SO
MANY KIDS HERE HAVENT
ANY. PLEASE . . TO FRIENDSHIP
HOUSE, 34 West 135th Street, New
York City. THANK YOU.

ON LEAVE
By M. K. J.

We haven’t been away from FH
long enough to do much thinking.
Right now we are full of lovely mem-
ories and we are all tinged with sad-
ness because we have had to leave the
fine people we have known here and
because we have left a way of life
which is the best that we'll probably
ever find. We fear that we have all the
earmarks of a sweet girl graduate,
because in a sense we are graduating
from Friendship House. It’s a tough
course, but we made it, Mom!

Our course was varied and we got
in a lot of solid ground work for liv-
ing a practical Catholic life. As a
matter of fact, we got more than that
because it was through Friendship
House that we got our Faith. Before
that our search for God let us into
strange fields that never satisfied. We
ran the gamut of religions . . . from
Congregationalism to Christian Sei-
ence, but we found that neither Mary
Baker Eddy, nor the refreshments
that the Christian Endeavor served
held any answers for us.

Then Providence literally pushed
us into FH, and although we didn’t
take to it easily . . . logic and reason
both pointed to Catholicism, and
because this is so, we know that we
had no other alternative than to be-
come as Catholic as we could.

When we realized the responsibil-
ities that we had assumed we were
frightened. Catholicism isn’t some-

(Continued on Page 4)

STAFF REPORTER By B.R.B.
Dear Friends of Friendship House:

If you have been wondering about
the new Staff Reporters, mentioned
in the May issue, and we hope you
have, here we are, and a little fearful,
too. Mary Jerdo has done such a
swell job her shoes will not be easy
to fill. . . please bear with us.

The Monday Evening Forums are
so packed with interest . . . so excit-
ing and vital, we wish you all could
attend. There was Leslie Hooper,
one Monday recently. A handsome,
energetic, far-sighted young Negro,
who gave us the lowdown on the So-
journer Truth incident in Detroit. He
was there through it all. Educated
as an X-Ray specialist, his color bars
him from earning a living in the pro-
fession he is trained in. This is usu-
ally the case. His own experiences
and difficulties have made him eager
to help other young, people of his
Color.

Then, one Monday night the Bar-
oness left us rather weak. Three
thousand miles through the South
she travelled to see the Bishops . . .
there is a big job ahead for those
interested in Interracial justice.

Another Monday night we listened
to Mr. Adams, who knows all there is
to know about Juvenile delinquency
in Harlem. He’s a Social Worker
who feels, after years of experience
in this over-crowded, vermin-infested
section of our city, that given an op-
portunity and jobs, the Youth Prob-
lem in Harlem would be well on the
road to a solution.

Mrs. Hedgeman, of the Office of
Civilian Defense, and a former Min-
nesotian, was with us one other Mon-
day. Her own personal reactions to
race prejudice made thought-provok-
ing listening for her fascinated audi-
ence. An intelligent, civic-minded
woman, she is working toward remov-
ing influences that tend to disrupt
the unity of a country she loves.

Oh yes... we were forgetting the
WEDDING. A beautiful Catholic
Wedding, John’s and Catherine’s,
with Nuptial Mass. Catherine was
in charge of our Mother’s Club...
so it was a real “Interracial Wedding”
with the Mother’s Club in attendance
100% strong . at the beautiful
Sacred Heart Church in the Bronx.
John has been carrying on F.H. ideals
in the Co-op line. He is one of the
Charter Members of the Highbridge
Co-op, a graduate from Fordham. We
all wish them a great deal of happi-
ness and may God showUmHis Blese-
ings on them. See you next month.

Vol. 2 No. 2
34 WEST 135th STREET Tel, AUdubon 3-4892

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

SOUND, “MII, PSII js ccncsncccinpressasteclapstepncestemmepnictconnated Editor
I = ON eli asec
I I ic oak aaa Contributing Editor
GRACE FLEWELLING .................................. Circulation Manager

Sub. 50c per Year

Owned and Operated by Friendship House
Printed in N. Y. by Carroll Press

Single Copies .05 -

LIVING WITH THE NEGRO

For the fourth time we re-read the letter, from a
Catholic Editor, in which he had asked us to write an
article on “LIVING WITH THE NEGRO”. The more
we read, the more we realized how strange it was, that
such an article should be asked for, written and read

. and as we went on thinking of the implications
behind the request, implications, that alas we knew the
good Editor had never dreamt of . . . and that hurt us
too somehow ... a great sorrow and sadness entered our
soul, as we sat down and wrote the article. When it
was finished, we changed our mind, we were not going
to send it out to anyone. We were going to share it
with you, our dear friends, with whom we have shared
so much already ... You will understand, the hidden
tears, the hidden pain in it . . . So here it is.

The strangest thing about Catholic America, is that
one should have to write an article about “Living with
Negroes”. If America were a Democracy in the fullness
of its fruition, if Catholics in America were really
CATHOLICS, there would be no need to write an article
like this. For no one would understand why it was
being written, as everyone would be living with Negroes.

Everyone would have Negro neighbors. Go to school
with Negro children. All schools, public, parochial,
private, high, colleges, and universities. Everyone
would be working side by side with Negroes. In hos-
pitals, in Courts, in business. That is the way it is
today in Catholic countries. That it the way it was
yesterday, when the world was Catholic.

But in America, in the Year of Grace, 1942, there
seems to be plenty of room for an article on “Living
with Negroes” as jf one were writing about living in the
wilds of Borneo with a tribe of unknown aborigines.

LORD HAVE MERCY ON AMERICA .. . LORD
HAVE MERCY ON AMERICAN CATHOLICS!

Living with the Negroes? Well, those of us who do,
like it, for the Negro is pleasant to live with. But they
and we both live behind — THE VEIL.

Yes, behind THE VEIL. A strange, unseen Veil that
falls in thick, grotesque shapes over all the Harlems
of America. An opaque Veil, hard to get out from
under. A grasping Veil that suffocates and enfolds all
those who want to lift it and pass beyond its light-
killing darkness.

True it is powerless against us who live with the
Negroes, and who have stepped beyond it to share the
twilight of the Negro life in the Harlems of America.
We have the magic formula that makes it vanish . . .
WE ARE WHITE... And we are sorrowful, too. For
we came to share the burden of Harlem. To help Har-
lem tear the Veil away. And we find it hard to see that
our identification with the Negro is not complete .. .

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

sorry to have the Pass-Key, through the thick folds of
the Veil... WE ARE WHITE ... we can stay and we
can go... THE NEGRO CAN’T.

And yet, living with the Negro means, LIVING,
FEELING, FIGHTING THE VEIL.

Negro Youth, thirsty for knowledge, throngs what
schools and colleges it can get in. Fighting gigantic
battles for that knowledge. Each Negro graduate a saga
of victory. And when the goal IS reached and the
Parchment obtained, at the price of souls, health . . .
The Veil enfolds that Negro Youth in its killing em-
brace . . . and whispers . . . NON-PASSARAN ...
THOU SHALT NOT PASS!

Negro Manhood and Womanhood is eager to work.
Keen brains. Trained brains. Good brains are ready
to serve humanity — America — the World. Talents
hidden deep in minds and souls, cry out for release.
Poetry dies unborn. Songs before they are sung. . .
Music weeps unrecorded. The Veil, like a Molock kills
and smothers. NON-PASSARAN ... THOU SHALT
NOT PASS!

Negro Mothers and Fathers in love and joy beget
their children. Straight-backed, long limbed, smiling
children with eager eyes . . . sturdy bodies. Slowly
eagerness fades. Limbs shrink. Disease creeps in. Bad
housing, bad food, lack of air and sunshine, take their
toll. Fathers and Mothers, strain. Work harder. Ever
harder. Kill themselves working. The Veil whispers...
WHAT IS THE USE? YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

Living with the Negro means watching the Negro’s
search for happiness. Means looking at him laugh and
joke and seek escape in many things. And watch some
more and see laughter die, or become harsh and dis-
cordant ... Perhaps to cover up tnshed tears . . . for
happiness means freedom. And the Veil bars freedom
and with it happiness. .. .

In Washington . . . the Parchment of the Constitution
lies . . . yellow with age. Millions come to read and
rejoice at the words on the Parchment.

ALL MEN ARE BORN EQUAL BEFORE GOD.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO WORK.

ALL MEN HAVE THE RIGHT TO THE PURSUIT
OF HAPPINESS.

The Parchment lists many other rights, The Veil
laughs, refolds itself into thicker folds and whispers —
“DON’T READ... DON’T DREAM ... DON’T HOPE,
NEGRO. THE PARCHMENT IS NOT FOR YOU...”

In the Catholic Churches of America, Priests read the
Gospel to attentive White Catholic Folks. Softly the
words of Eternal Life fall on their ears... “I am the
Vine and you the Branches . . . Love God and your
neighbor. That is the Law ... Whatsoever you do to
the least of My Brethren, you do to Me...”

The Cross on the Catholic Churches in America shines
in the sun. The Doctrine of the Mystical Body of Christ
is being preached within. The Veil draws tighter . .
Lucifer’s hand is seen rearranging its thick folds. It is
hard to distinguish who laughs and shouts — Lucifer or
the Veil. “The Children of Light are walking in My
darkness . . . The Salt of the Earth is getting flat...
They have forgotten to be their Negro brother’s keepers
. .. They have forgotten to practice the Law . . . My
kingdom is growing. . .”

Living with the Negro is bearing witness to the Veil,

(Continued on Page 4)

Reh

THE BARONESS JOTS IT DOWN

I sit at my desk. It faces a four-
teen foot plate glass window made
ready for Air Raids by reinforce-
ments of scotch tape that criss-crosses
its elegant surface, in even, attractive
patterns, and is supposed to keep it
from shattering into smithereens, that
might hurt the passer-by . . . if and
when . . . the fateful day comes...
in the meantime it gives the aspect of
prison bars.

I don’t want to look out, through
them at the Street. I never want to
look out at the Street. And yet I
can’t help it. For there It is, right in
front of my eyes. I hate the Street,
and I love It. I have been looking at
It now for four years . .. I have
fought It also for four years. Ever
since we opened Friendship House.
It is a strange Street. Full of hidden
goodness and holiness. Full of poor-
struggling families, who bring up
their children against every odd in
creation, as children should be
brought up ... and at the same time
It is an evil Street, full of many sins,
tragedies and sorrows.

Yes, I know It well. I almost know
every house in It, and I often think,
they hold few secrets from me. But
about this time I really hate the
Street. It is dusty and not too clean.
Everyone is on it, seeking a little re-
lief on hot days, for It faces the East
River, and there is a breeze from it.

Yet, I hate It, not because of dirt,
nor dust, nor even overcrowdedness.
I love the people on It, I consider
them my people, my friends . . . in
Christ. Now, I hate It because of
children who make It their play-
ground. And It never was meant to
be that. It teaches too much evil . . .
It is so harsh, It hasn’t a tree, nor a
blade of grass... And kids. ... all
kids, should look into the eyes of
God, reflected so clearly for them in
the summer in the country . . . Why,
you can catch a glimpse of Him in
every flower, in every green field, in
the brook, and the pond, the lake
and the river . . . didn’t you know
that? That was what made them so
blue, and so green . . . The smile in
God’s Eyes gives freshness to our
growing things, to our waters and
skies . . . Yes, it does, but nothing
grows on my tragic Street. Nothing
but dust and dirt... sin and evil...

And good priests are making lovely
Camps ready for kids. Kids like those,
who play on my Street, but should
not be there. It will cost this year
FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK to send a

kid to them, into the smiling, re-

flected Eyes of God...
country.

HOW MANY WILL YOU SEND,
DEAR FRIEND... ? HOW MANY
WILL YOU TAKE OFF MY DES-
OLATE STREET ... ? FIVE
DOLLARS FIVE DOLLARS
ONLY ... PERHAPS FOR A
CHILD’S LIFE. DEFINITELY FOR
A CHILD’S HEALTH .. . FIVE
DOLLARS ONLY ANY BID-
DERS ...? THANK YOU...

into the

We are helping Judge Jackson of
the Juvenile Welfare Council of Har-
lem to open a Toyery. Did you ever
hear of a Toyery? It is a place where
Toys are LOANED to kids that
haven’t any, on cards, like library
books.

WE NEED TOYS... OLD, NEW
TOYS — Send them to us — SO
MANY KIDS HERE HAVEN’T
ANY. PLEASE . . TO FRIENDSHIP
HOUSE, 34 West 135th Street, New
York City. THANK YOU.

ON LEAVE
By M. K. J.

We haven’t been away from FH
long enough to do much thinking.
Right now we are full of lovely mem-
ories and we are all tinged with sad-
ness because we have had to leave the
fine people we have known here and
because we have left a way of life
which is the best that we'll probably
ever find. We fear that we have all the
earmarks of a sweet girl graduate,
because in a sense we are graduating
from Friendship House. It’s a tough
course, but we made it, Mom!

Our course was varied and we got
in a lot of solid ground work for liv-
ing a practical Catholic life. As a
matter of fact, we got more than that
because it was through Friendship
House that we got our Faith. Before
that our search for God let us into
strange fields that never satisfied. We
ran the gamut of religions . . . from
Congregationalism to Christian Sci-
ence, but we found that neither Mary
Baker Eddy, nor the refreshments
that the Christian Endeavor served
held any answers for us.

Then Providence literally pushed
us into FH, and although we didn’t
take to it easily . . . logic and reason
both pointed to Catholicism, and
because this is so, we know that we
had no other alternative than to be-
come as Catholic as we could.

When we realized the responsibil-
ities that we had assumed we were
frightened. Catholicism isn’t some-

(Continued on Page 4)

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HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

STAFF REPORTER By B.R.B.

Dear Friends of Friendship House:

If you have been wondering about
the new Staff Reporters, mentioned
in the May issue, and we hope you
have, here we are, and a little fearful,
too. Mary Jerdo has done such a
swell job her shges will not be easy
to fill. . . please bear with us.

The Monday Evening Forums are
so packed with interest . . . so excit-
ing and vital, we wish you all could
attend. There was Leslie Hooper,
one Monday recently. A handsome,
energetic, far-sighted young Negro,
who gave us the lowdown on the So-
journer Truth incident in Detroit. He
was there through it all. Educated
as an X-Ray specialist, his color bars
him from earning a living in the pro-
fession he is trained in. This is usu-
ally the case. His own experiences
and difficulties have made him eager
to help other young, people jof his
Color.

Then, one Monday night the Bar-
oness left us rather weak. Three
thousand miles through the South
she travelled to see the Bishops. . .
there is a big job ahead for those
interested in Interracial justice.

Another Monday night we listened
to Mr. Adams, who knows all there is
to know about Juvenile delinqueney
in Harlem. He’s a Social Worker
who feels, after years of experience
in this over-crowded, vermin-infested
section of our city, that given an op-
portunity and jobs, the Youth Prob-
lem in Harlem would be well on the
road to a solution.

Mrs. Hedgeman, of the Office of
Civilian Defense, and a former Min-
nesotian, was with us one other Mon-
day. Her own personal reactions to
race prejudice made thought-provok-
ing listening for her fascinated audi-
ence. An intelligent, civic-minded
woman, she is working toward remov-
ing influences that tend to disrupt
the unity of a country she loves.

Oh yes ... we were forgetting the
WEDDING. A _ beautiful Catholic
Wedding, John’s and Catherine’s,
with Nuptial Mass. Catherine was
in charge of our Mother’s Club...
so it was a real “Interracial Wedding”
with the Mother’s Club in attendance
100% strong . at the beautiful
Sacred Heart Church in the Bronx.
John has been carrying on F.H. ideals
in the Co-op line. He is one of the
Charter Members of the Highbridge
Co-op, a graduate from Fordham. We
all wish them a great deal of happi-
ness and may God shower His Bless-
ings on them. See you next month.

.Negro’s status in the South.

WHAT F. H. MEANS

(Continued)

Ghost will help us to fulfill this need.

‘There are eight boys and girls at-
tending Catholic schools on scholar-
ships from Friendship House. Some
of them spoke at the forum last Mon-
day night. Just to gee their shining
eyes and to hear them tell of -their
experiences with white faculties and
student bodies is proof that God sent
Catherine de Hueck to Harlem.

There was lovely Jane O'Donnell
who joined the staff and made friends
with Negroes from all walks of life.
Then came Charlie Ward who was
loved by the neighborhood bootleg-
gers, gamblers, and unfortunates. Soon
after Charlie came, Martin de Porres
sent us Eddie Doherty, whom we
promptly adopted as_ Friendship
House’s godfather. Since the incep-
tion of Friendship House, there was
Ann Harrigan, who gives so gener-
ously of herself. And our “miracle
girl” — funny, gay, little Mary Jerdo
who told all about herself in HAR-
LEM NOVICE. As long as we are in
our present quarters nobody can ever
forget Tom Keating, the commercial
artist who donned overalls and con-
verted five old stores into a library
and clubrooms. And gentle Miss
Quirk, who came just “to help” and
has helped so many to better under-
stand the Church. I get a warm,
warm feeling when I think of Olga
who had worked with the “B” in
Canada and knew naught of the
Dear
Olga with her coronet of golden
braids, whose eyes filled with tears
when I told her she would not be
allowed to live with me if she came
to visit at my Alabama home, because
I write Negro behind my name and
she writes white. From Bob Lax, the
Jewish lad, we learned charity and
humility. And as long as there is a
Friendship House and work to do —
there will always be a “Flewy”;
faithful Grace Flewwellyn, who also
worked with the “B” in Canada.

As Herb McKnight, one of the
scholarship boys, has said, Friendship

‘House is a “way of life” and strange

are its functions. A young girl who
has been a communist, who had been
in Spain at the time of the civil war,
read an article in the Herald Tribune
and came uptown to see the center.
She is now taking instructions. A

famous painter, ill and destitute,
eame in to see the place. Sensing

his need, he was commissioned to do
a sketch for the paper. Famed as an

atheist, he has expressed a desire to
know more about the Church.

In mentioning Friendship House
News, I remember that it was one of
the objectives we included in our
program that first night I went to
the tiny apartment where Harlem’s
Friendship House was born. And
now the paper is a year old and ac-
tually “goes to press.”

All has not been roses at Friend-
ship House. We’ve made many mis-
takes. The Baroness was an author-
ity on settlement work and Catholic
Action, but knew nothing about the
Negro — except that he was a part of
the Mystical Body. Yet had she
known the trials awaiting — I doubt
if she would have accepted the invita-
tion to come to Harlem so gladly.
And so, as we crawled, we bumped
into many obstacles. Now, though,
we are learning to make our first
steps, thanks to the Holy Ghost and
our many friends, both on earth and
in heaven.

But what has Friendship House
meant to me — Ellen Tarry?

The Baroness said it wasn’t enough
for me to tell the workers at Friend-
ship about the Negro, I must tell
Catholic- America — through the
Catholic press. Within the past three
years, my articles have appeared in

most of the outstanding Catholic
magazines.
When Eddie Doherty bought a

long red automobile and the Cubs
had such fun watching the tan canvas
top go up and down, I wrote a book
about it for boys and girls that will
be published by Viking Press this
fall.

When I heard my colored friends
make vocal the bitterness resulting
from the indignities we suffer, I took
them to Friendship House and
proved that all white people do not
hate Negroes.

Return to FriENDsHIP House

34 West 135th St., New York, N. Y.

Return Postage Guaranteed

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

ON LEAVE
(Continued)

thing you take off on Sunday morn-
ing after Mass, or something you
pack into a trunk with mothballs for
the summer. It is a whole way of
life. It directs your every moment
and your every section. It’s a twenty-
four hour a day job. There is never
any rest from it. But in spite of that

.. we can’t help but feel, along with
Leon Bloy, that the greatest tragedy
is not to become a saint.

There is a marvelous medium that
balances stern responsibility and un-
compromising dogma . . . and that is
a lovely, simple thing called “Faith”.
If we cooperate with the Grade that
God has given us, if we try to do His
Will and if we trust in Him... we
are absolutely sure that He will take
care of us. And that is a wonderful,
comfortable feeling . . . this feeling
of being taken care of personally by
God. It is only when we worry and
fight against things that we become
unhappy. Our happiest days are those
days when we have enough sense to
follow this . . . when we say...
“Okay, God, You are the Boss. What-
ever You say goes. We know You'll
take care of us. We are Your respons-
ibility too!

We'll meet you in Harlem in the
Fall!

LIVING WITH THE NEGRO

(Continued)
is living within its suffocating folds,
that are thick enough to smother
even the Voice of Christ, which has
tq pass through the souls of His chil-
dren before it can be heard.

YES, IF CATHOLICS IN AMER-
ICA WERE CATHOLIC... THERE
WOULD BE NO JIM CROW IN
AMERICA ... AND AN ARTICLE
ON “LIVING WITH THE NEGRO”
WOULD NOT HAVE TO BE WRIT-
1, ne

Sec. 562 P. L. & R.

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