Harlem Friendship House News 1944-02: Vol 3 Iss 9

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HARLEM

" FRIEN

Vol. 3, No. 9, Feb., 1944

Staff Reporter

By M. C. K.

ANY thanks to all the people

who wrote to say they like
the new size of the paper. We de-
light in suggestions also. What
news would you like about Friend-
ship House?

Our new staff worker, Walter
Conley, from the vicinity of Bos-
ton, added to the gaiety of the
staff’s Christmas party by reading
Joyce Kilmer’s “The Art of Christ-
mas Giving” in his delightful ac-
cent. He is also doing his share in
keeping Friendship House clean
and shining with the help of a
mammoth mop and half of a win-
dow brush. (How we need clean-
ing implements of all kinds, dish-
cloths, mops, heavy cleaning
cloths!) Blessed Martin took care
of Walter on his arrival by having
Francis Bates arrive just a few
hours before him so that he would
not be the only man at supper.
Donald DuBois, who gave the big
chicken for the Christmas party
and innumerable delicacies for tea,
and Allen (“Ace”) Archibald also
keep him company from time to
time. Walter has been at St. Bene-
dict’s farm and his friends there
sent him a beautiful hand-tooled
leather belt. On it is a dragon
with a cross-shaped sword pointing
down its throat. To us it seemed
symbolic of the evils caused by
poverty, overcrowding and race
hatred which we are trying to
overcome with the weapons of the
spirit.

HE Friendship House Thrift

Club, which Walter Kontak
worked so hard to form and in-
doctrinate, is in a very healthy
state with eighty-three members
and over $350. Members save each
week a small amount, from a nickel
up. Small loans have been started.
It will enable people who need

(Continyed on page 6)

Without Interracial Justice |

Social Justice Will Fail

tp HOUSE

New York, N. Y., 5 Cents

NOT IN VAIN

ALLAN A. ARCHIBALD

BETTER world to live in...

Equality of opportunity for all
. . « Practical applications of the
Four Freedoms...The place called
“home”...THESE are things we
are fighting for.

Victory will come to us because
we’re on God’s side. Joe Louis said
that. But when the fighting is over
and done with, one may well won-
der whether America and Ameri-
cans will remember whose side
they’re on. Discharged servicemen
returning home will be seeking a
haven of peace and contentment...
after a lengthy interval of hatred
and oppression. The Negro soldier
will come back, too; but the mo-
ment that he sets foot on Ameri-
can soil it should and must be
with that inner feeling of happi-
ness that he is “home” again.

When ominous clouds of war first
appeared on our horizon in the
Spring of 1940 every individual

SAUL a
am et

American felt it his duty to con-
tribute to the preservation of those
democratic ideals and principles
that make up our form of govern-
ment. When a National Defense
program was launched, the Negro
longed to do his part and prove
his worth as an American citizen.
But again prejudice and discrimi-
nation reared ugly heads and the
Negro’s contribution was limited.

Because he was a stereotype, a
typical character, in the eyes of the
average {white worker. ..because
to the average American employer
he was still considered worthy of
only the most menial of jobs. ..the
Negro worker made small progress
in establishing himself as an im-
portant cog in the machinery of
the “Arsenal of Democracy”.

IMES. and attitudes changed

when war inevitably came. Agi-
tation and pressure brought execu-
tive order 8802 which forbade dis-
crimination because of race, creed
or color in essential industry. In
many sections of the country where
Negro workers had hitherto been
barred, they could be found work-
ing side by side with men of all
races and creeds. Many became
skilled technicians and workmen.
THESE also are the things we are
fighting for.

Into the ranks of the olive drab
went the Negro civilian to be trans-
formed almost overnight into a
first-class fighting man. Since the
South was the main training
ground for Army personnel the
Negro soldier often came into con-
tact with the Southern tradition of
class and color prejudice. Much
has already been written elsewhere
about the friction that ensued be-
tween the black fighting man and
the white civilian populace. There
were riots and bloodshed. Negro
leaders clamored for a change in

(Continued on page 8)

2 HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS February, 1944
Vol. February, 1944 No. 9 more readers to share it with. To bring the joys
0 E NEWS and the sorrows, the needs and contributions of a
HARLEM FRIENDSHIP H US great Race of Americans. Also speak the truth
24 WEST 130th STREET Tel. AUdubon 3-4892 about all the little things we see, and know first
NANCY GRENELI. Baie Goo a eae meee hand, that add up to Big things. We want to share
eats rena on rioting ae the Lay Apostolate of Friendship House with our
HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NE ws is owned, operated and pub friends. We want more friends. Ae
lished monthly September through June and bi-me mthiy, July Aue ; E ’ ; x
testes toons chek smnasee Ticcenttee 7, ede ct the Post OF That is why we are starting this Little Subscrip-
at New York, N. Y., unde or the Act of March 3, 1879 Subscription

Price 50c Year Single copies | 5e.

FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS —

T takes all kinds of people to make the world.
That is true. Take us at Friendship House. We

do things casually like. One day Mary Jerdo, she
of the celebrated article “A Novice in Harlem,” sud-
denly got up from her desk behind the magazine
racks, and announced to all who were within the
range of her voice, that it was high time we started
a paper of our own.

It was tea time at Friendship House two years
ago. Yes, we drink tea every afternoon at 4 P.M.
It is a pause that refreshes. Everyone is welcome.
Friends drop in. Strangers too, and become friends.
All sorts of unexpected topics are discussed. It was
to a group seated around cheering tea cups, that
Mary threw her latest brain child. A paper of our
own. Objections were raised. Naturally. Someone
wanted to know where the money was coming from.
mut the Baroness dismissed that point as utterly un-
important. What she wanted to know, was it the
will of God that we start a paper of our own. Some-
one pointed out that the best way to find that out
was to start. If it was successful, especially in a
spiritual way, not necessarily in a worldly sense, if
it filled a need .. . then it was God’s will.

This seemed sound. And next week a little four
page green mimeographed paper appeared, about
200 copies strong under the title of Harlem Friend-
ship House News. A copy of which was sent at once
to His Excellency the Archbishop. Next month an-
other issue of yellow paper came out .. . and the
project was launched.

His Excellency Archbishop F. Spellman liked the
paper. In his great charity he gave us a generous
donation toward its printing. It was a red letter
day . . . that first printed four-page issue! Our of-
ficial censor, a saintly priest of the diocese . . . re-
joiced with us. The circulation grew until now it is
about 2,000. . .. God blessed our little paper through
our superiors. It prospered and filled a need.

Now we have added another four pages. It feels
as if we have come of age. And then the so-called
Negro Question is becoming fast one of the major
problems to be solved both by a Democracy at War
and in the coming Peace.

HERE are many better, bigger papers and maga-

zines dealing with the Negro .. . “Interracial
Review” is one. The “Colored Apostolate” is an-
other. All Catholic magazines and papers now
devote much space to our Colored brothers and their
needs. We still are but the Little Brother of all
those lovely Big Brothers. We still are the Little
Portion . of -the Lord’s vineyard—The Porticula.
But we live in Harlem and the South Side of Chi-
cago with the Negroes. | We feel that a privilege like
that mist be shared with our readers, and we want

tion Campaign. All we ask EACH ONE OF OUR
READERS AND FRIENDS IS TO GET US THREE
MORE SUBSCRIBERS. THE PRICE STILL ONLY
FIFTY CENTS ... PER YEAR... JUST HALF
A DOLLAR.

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON
AND THE HOLY GHOST... PLEASE GET US
THREE SUBSCRIBERS EACH . . . WE LEAVE
THE SUCCESS OF THIS, OUR FIRST SUBSCRIP-
TION CAMPAIGN, IN THE HANDS OF THE MOST
HOLY TRINITY. . . . AMEN.

SIX YEARS IN HARLEM

To the majority of the 130,000,000 Americans, Feb-
ruary means only the-shortest month of the year.
Or the month in which they get a holiday, Washing-
ton’s birthday. Or the month that Lincoln was born.
Or the month of St. Valentine, that extraordinary
Saint of heroic virtue who, in some strange way,
has come to mean “hearts and flowers” in paper lace.

But...to a special group of people, ever growing
larger...February is the most thrilling and impor-
tant month of the year. Why, February is our
ANNIVERSARY MONTH in Harlem! We're six
years old on the fourteenth! Six years (how short
they seem, and yet how long) since the Baroness
came alone to Harlem to practice Holy Poverty and
Interracial Justice. Six years of LIVING with Christ
in the Negro. Six years of joy and pain, exultation
and suffering. Six years of seeing the Holy Ghost
work His miracles of grace in innumerable hearts.
Six years of working with Bl. Martin.

And we think of those who have contributed so
much to the growth of Friendship House, and who
are no longer in Harlem. Of Mary Jerdo Keating,
Betty Schneider, Tom Keating, the Donohues, Bob
Lax, Ann Harrigan, Eddie Fitzgerald, Jack Fischer,
Jerry King, Olga LaPlante Charlton, Bill Cahalan,
the Charlies—Summers, Ward and Wilkins—Muriel
Zimmermann...and many, many others. And we
remember, with nostalgia, the more than fifty C.Y.O.
Generals who have gone into the Armed Forces...
who have helped make Friendship House what it js

..boys and girls of Harlem.

To these, and to all our friends, we send Birthday
Greetings! For this is the Anniversary of ALL OF
YOU. ..of everyone who has helped make the Doc-
trine of the Mystical Body of Christ more real
through living It in Harlem. To YOU we send our
gratitude and love! And beg you to continue to pray
for us, who have the great privilege of continuing
the work you began.

Nancy Grenel,

ia

ef

=e

February, 1944

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS _ 3

THE BARONESS JOTS IT DOWN

OW endless are the ways of the Lay Apostolate. And how utterly
simple. But then all the things of God are simple. Take letters
for instance. What an immense field is the Apostolate of Letters. Well
we know it in Friendship House, where we receive sixteen thousand let-
ters a year. I personally get about half that number. Always when I
open my mail in the morning, I whisper a little prayer to the Holy Ghost
that He might give me a little of that marvelous gift of Wisdom, so that
I might answer each letter as He would wish me to do it.

An envelope. A piece of paper
covered with words. Is this a let-
ter? No, in each letter there is a
little bit of human heart and soul.
With deep reverence, I read them.
Marvelling at the grace of God,
that brings to me, a sinner, the
three gifts of the Magis...The
Gold of trust...the Frankincense
of friendship, the Myrrh of confi-
dence. ..Humbly, I thank the Lord
and the writer. For greater gifts
we humans cannot give one an-
other than these three. They are
godly gifts.

Again, a letter is like a visit from
a friend, in which both talk things
over, quietly, frankly, simply, as is
the way of friends to do. Joys and
sorrows are shared. Help and ad-
vice are asked or given. The reali-
ties of the Mystical Body of Christ
have become for one brief instant
more real... almost touchable...
visible.

Letters can also be little steps of
a winding, shining stairway to
God. For in a letter one can often
say so many things that one is shy
to impart face to face. Pages of
the book of life, precious, infinite,
begotten in time, yet of eternity
...Gifts of reason, straws of safe-
ty, they contain the gamut of all
human life and emotions. ..What a
power we mortals have when we
get and answer a LETTER. ..yes,
endless are the ways of the Lay
Apostolate, and one of its main
thoroughfares...is the Apostolate
of Letters...

HE duffle bag was soft. It was
nice to take one’s weight off
tired feet. And the face of the
soldier who had given me a turn
of his duffle bag was all smiles. He
was going home on furlough...
nothing worried him. What was a
sleepless night, an overcrowded
train... HE WAS GOING HOME.
Traveling today is an experi-
ence all its own. A hard and de-
lightful one. Hard because of the
bodily discomforts involved. . .de-
lightful because the Brotherhood
of Man somehow becomes an ac-
complished fact. And where there
is brotherhood of man...the Fath-

erhood of God is never far...The
other day I had to travel to a lec-
ture, in a coach filled with the
members of the armed forces, ci-
vilians, men, women, children.
There was a camaraderie amongst
the passengers that warmed one’s
heart...The old lady by the win-
dow was knitting serenely...Two
tots were sharing their comic with
a sailor. A girl and her marine
were talking about their wedding
and holding hands for all to see...
A buxom lady was sharing a de-
licious lunch with anyone who felt
the want of some...And_ then
someone mentioned Christmas...
and suddenly the strains of “Adeste
Fidelis” filled the overcrowded car
...for over half an hour people
sang together...Leading the cho-
rus was an older Negro with a fine
voice...

The Christ Child had come to
America...He was born that min-
ute in a coach car...speeding
through a wintry landscape... No,
He was born...in the hearts of
American people in the midst of
War...The very wheels of the
train...sang...of Hope...of Faith
...of Charity... THE BROTHER-
HOOD OF MAN UNDER THE
FATHERHOOD OF GOD...WAS
A REALITY...

ATURDAY the 15th of Janu-
w ary, 1944, I resumed our “SAT-
URDAY NIGHTS” at 8 West Wal-
ton Place. Originally meant for
the Staff members and Volunteers
of Friendship House, it is now open
to all the friends of Friendship
House. The evening starts with a
little talk given by me or an in-
vited clerical or lay speaker. It is
followed by an open discussion and
closed with refreshments brought
by those participating.

MEMENTO

Eternity will find us,
(It opens at a nod),
Strolling with Mediocrity,
Who might have walked with God.

Sister M. St. Francis, S.S.J.

The “Dark” Ages

It must make the gods on Olym-
pus laugh to hear us speaking of
the era of human history which
lasted from the fall of the Roman
Empire until just before Columbus
discovered America, as the Dark
Ages. It is the pot calling the ket-
tle black. Those were the ages
when Europe still believed in God,
and chivalry had its birth. A thou-
sand years from now man will re-
fer to the present era as the Dark
Ages. We have solved many of
the riddles of the universe, but
have solved none of the moral
questions of human conduct. We
think of our civilization in terms
of mechanical invention.. We have
the magical lamp of science, but
the genii which do its will are com-
manded by human selfishness and
lust and hate. Science has given
us chemistry, and chemistry has
given us lethal gas. Science has
taught us to fly, but we fly as the
hawk. We are birds of prey. In
the Dark Ages, Europe built its
cathedrals, its supreme accomplish-
ments in the Arts. Their beauty
has endured to this day. They are
the earth’s loveliest memorials of
human faith. Our age is *witness-
ing winged destroyers bombing
them into shards. '

If I had to pick out any institu-
tion certain to survive the present
world madness, I should unhesitat-
ingly put my hand on the Roman
Catholic Church. Against uncom-
promising dogmatic supernatural-
ism, the arrows of materialistic ra-
tionalism are as impotent as if they
were fired against the Milky Way.

In this I see the strongest proof
and promise of enaurance of the
Catholic Church. It is one institu-
tion that is not afraid of Hitler. It
defied Nero, Commodus, Caracalla,
Caligula and the other bloody-
minded despots. Armored in its
uncompromising supernaturalism,
there it stands eternal and inde-
fectible—Thomas Hunter (a non-
Catholic) in The Virginian.

If you wish to help our Catholic
men and women in service in a
needed spiritual way, may we sug-
gest that you cooperate with the
Defenders of the Faith. Full par-
ticulars on request. Address:

DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH
Father Richard Felix, O.S.B., Director
Conception, Missouri

“AROUND THE HOUSE
A Meditation from Saint Catherine of Siena

By ANN HARRIGAN

IT HAS SNOWED. The ground is slushy, and
wets your feet through. John has no rubbers; and,
for the tenth time that night, he stumbles in, drunker
and drunker each time, from the cold outside into
the warmth of Friendship House. The Negro His-
tory Class is in session. Furtively, yet defiantly, he
shuffles past the little class, bent seriously over their
books, leans over my desk, dangerously close to the
vigil light burning before Blessed Martin, and says,
with great importance, “Hello, Ann.” Then, all
hopped up, he begins to make speeches. He picks
up a word or a phrase from the class, and forthwith
delivers a tirade, mostly unintelligible. His voice
gets louder. I shush him, and he growls, “Why,
whassa trouble? Thissa free country, ain’t it?” I
say, in a tense whisper, “Look, there’s a class going
on. Keep still.”

I see Mr. “X,” of the Negro History Class, glaring
at him, and then at me, and I know what he is think-
ing. He’s mystified. He can’t make it out. “Here,
this is a respectable place. Friendship House is try-
ing to help our kids to be good. Those kids are be-
ing trained to do good, so why does she stand for
that bum bothering her—bothering us? Giving
Friendship House a bad name?” And I am torn be-
tween trying to explain the love of God to Mr. “X”
and not embarrassing John.

John is a white man. He was in the county hos-
pital over the holidays. When he came back he had
only a few teeth left. He has a great, red carbuncle
vn his neck, just where the collar cuts it, so he has
to crouch, with a perpetual crick in his neck. I guess
that’s partly why John always is so abusive.

And then there’s Willie, the Weeper. Willie is
colored, but Blessed Martin is really no respecter of
persons or races,—and, oh, how we try to imitate
him, failing often and miserably,—for Willie is also
one of God’s lowly ones. Last Thursday night, it
was Willie who got Mr. “X” sore. It all started with
an argument at the desk. Willie wanted a bottle of
Sloan’s Liniment, and all we had was a tube of Minit
Rub. But he refused that, flatly, saying, “I wanted
to drink it.” After Willie wandered in and out a
couple of times, with various and sundry requests,
more or less under the weather, Mr. “X” got angry
and said he should get the hell out of here, or he
would call the police.

I said, “Oh, no; that’s not necessary.”

“Well, why does he hang around here, then?”

“Isn’t he better off here than in that gin mill on
the corner?” (Willie is a shell-shocked veteran of
World War I, and needs someone to look after him.)

“Why should he associate with respectable peo-
ple? Here, here’s a quarter, and sleep that off in a
“‘muni’.”

“No, mister, you can’t sleep for a quarter any-
where around here. Even the ‘muni’ is 40 cents
these days. I’d rather get 3 bottles of cheap gin and
sleep in a hallway than get this only suit I have all
fulla lice—why, you should see the last time I slept

there. All under my fingernails
they were crawling, and I cain’t
hardly get them out...” and he
laughs.

But the solid citizens of the
Negro History Class don’t laugh.
They’re horrified, yet fascinated.
And I whisper a little prayer that
the Holy Spirit will do for Willie,
and John and Mr. “X” and Miss
“Y” whatever it is that they most

need to bring them closer to Christ |

and each other.

And there you have Friendship
House. It’s an enigma. The bums
don’t understand it. But they
know the harsh, violent struggle
for existence on the street is eased,
momentarily, by coming into its
warmth. By sitting around and
making conversation. Relishing
the feeling of talking man to man,
without being threatened, or ca-
joled, or sent on their way...to
where?

And the Mr. “X’s” and Miss
“Y’s” puzzle over it—‘tolerating”
and ministering to such derelicts,
and, at the same time, fighting for
better jobs and housing, teaching
the kids the Ten Commandments,
and the habits of right moral con-
duct, maintaining a library, hav-
ing lectures and classes and so on.

But the Mr. “X’s” and Miss
“Y’s” don’t realize as well as Wil-
lie, perhaps, that the Church is the
universal mother. She must take
care of all her children, whether
they are, by the grace of God, poor,
or rich; powerful, or obscure; in-
dependent, or dependent; eminent
citizens, or the flotsam or jetsam of
the back streets. Each draws from
her inexhaustible stores what he
needs. Why should one begrudge
the next fellow what is his need?
It’s only the pettiness of the bour-
geois mind which draws a circle,
keeping out all those who do not
come within the pale of their idea
of respectability. “Let him who is

CHICAGO
HOUSE

309 E U3 $

without sin cast the first stone.”
Who can say, with authority.
which is worse—the cold and se-
cret sins of Park Avenue or the
Gold Coast, and the open, @@&nt
crimes of the poverty-stricken?

It came to me, in a flash, that we
see in Friendship House—although
we don’t always do, being very im-
perfect—but we see what Our
Lord meant when he said d2.St
Catherine of Siena:

“T require that you love Me with
the same love with which I love
you. This indeed you cannot do.
because I loved you without being
loved. _All the love which you
have for Me you owe to Me, s@,that
it is not of grace that you love Me.
but because you ought to do so.
While I love you of grace, and not
because I owe you My love.
Therefore to Me, in person, you
cannot repay the love which I re-
quire of you, and I have placed ou
in the midst of your fellows, that
you may do to them that which
you cannot do to Me, that is to say
that you may love your neighbo.
of free grace, without expecting
any return from him, and what
you do for him, I count as dotiert<
Me.” (Dialogue, p. 156.)

Flash!! Father Cantwell, some-
body wants to know where was
the punctuation of this sentence:
“While you are still eating nuts. . _

CHRISTIAN UNITY

The sanctity of our individual
lives is the first prerequisite to-
ward the solution of the great prob-
lem of Christian Unity. A ‘is-
tian personality loaded with ‘Sins
replete with vices and moral cor.
ruption, stands out like a dunghill
in the Christian world, exhaling in.
fectious vapors for the corruption
of others. A saintly, righteous per-
sonality, on the other hand, stgagls
out like a mighty Gothic cathedral
for the sanctification and justifica
tion of many others. If we truly;
desire to work effectively for the
solution of the problem of rea
Christian Unity in the Christias

ee

first stone.”
n authority,
cold and se-
renue or the
open, @A@&nt
-stricken?

lash, that we
ise—although
sing very im-
. what Our

2 said f2.5t.

love Me with
which I love
u cannot do,
vithout being
‘ which you
to Me, se.taat
you lov e,
ht to do so.
race, and not
u My love.
person, you
2 which I re-
ve placed#ou
fellows, that
1 that which
that is to say,
our neighbor
ut expecting
n, and what
nt as detito
16.)

ntwell, some-
y where was
his sentence:
iting nuts...”
wy

UNITY

ur individual
erequisite to-
he great prob-
ity. A ‘is-
ed with Sins,
id moral cor-
ke a dunghill
1, exhaling in-
he corruption
righteous per-
* hand, stgagis
thic cathedral
and justifica-
_ If we truly
tively for the
blem of real
the Christian

cota ae

world at large, we must, in the
first place, bear it in our individual
souls along with the very reception
of Christ’s redemptive grace, which
was given us through the Sacra-
ment of Baptism, Confirmation, the
Holy Eucharist, etc—From “The
Problem of Christian Unity,” by
Rev. Chrysostom Tarasevitsch,
O.S.B.

Kids Kolumn

ARY ALICE tells a little story
of her education in child psy-
chology. The other day she gave
Jimmy Crane “The Story of the
Little Red Hen” to read, enthusi-
astically noting his interest as she
continued registering children for
the afternoon session. On Jimmy’s
return to the desk, Mary Alice, in
honey-toned syllables, asked, “Now
what did we find out?” Jimmy, in
all his seven-year-old sophistica-
tion, replied, “That I can read.”
Seventeen proud Cub Scouts
have been awarded their bobcat
pins. With the new year den
meetings in the house are a real-
ity, with the den mothers, Mrs.
Bennett, Mrs. Baldwin, Mrs. Clay,
and Mrs. Smith, ably carrying them
out. Back of the whole program,
planning, arranging, counseling,
and assisting, is our very capable
Cubmaster, Clifford Thomas.

% ES ae

Parents’ Night will be the next
big event on our calendar. Each
of our class groups will put on a
part of the program. Hopes run
high for a turn-out, for ultimate
success in guiding our children de-
pends on the cooperation of our
parents. You'll hear more about
Parents’ Nights—no doubt about it.

* %* of

Our craft groups, with Clifford
and Marcella in charge, have pro-
gressed by leaps and bounds since
dividing them. Wednesday is boys’
night. Thursday is girls’ night.
With the division our first oppor-
tunity for important little talks on
behavior presents itself. Father
Cantwell is speaking to the boys
—Miss Harrigan to the girls.

* bd x

Our successes and failures in-
termingle. Our usual difficulties
are lack of space, too wide an
age group, and the impossibility
of separating boys’ and girls’ activ-
ities. But then the reality of 75
or 100 children being taken off the
noisy streets daily, and slowly be-
ing taught about God and them-
selves, comes. And this brings en-
couragement to our hearts.

REVIEW

By TENA ROSEMAN

THE STORY OF THE AMERI-
CAN NEGRO. By Ina Corrine
Brown, $1.00. Friendship Press.

lL: a rather succinct, chronologi-
cal story, the author has placed
the Negro as the paramount figure
in one of the most vivid and mov-
ing adjustments made by any peo-
ple in the history of man. In less
than two hundred pages, Miss
Brown portrays the Negro’s status
from his dramatic entry into Amer-
ica to the present time. The book
may well be used as supplementary
material for grade school children,
as it is clear and simple. It hits
the high spots but at no time does
the author go into detail.

The book may be divided into
four main parts. The first sketch-
es the Negro’s African background,
treating of the rise and fall of the
black kings and kingdoms, giving
truth to the belief that the Negro
has a rich African heritage. The
author brings to the fore the facts
of Africa’s static civilization as
compared with the dynamic civili-
zation of the Western World.

N part two the author sketches
a brief outline of the Negro in
chains: his attempts at freedom,
his vanishing hopes—his despair.
The web of bondage has so encir-
cled him, the heavy cross of slavery

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is placed on his shoulder. This is
shown in the author’s close ofthat
section with:

“The tragedy of slavery did not
lie in the fact that the slave worked
long hours, that he had too little
food and clothing, that he was
often flogged, or even that he was
sometimes sold away from his
family ... the tragedy lay in the
fact that from infancy he was so
conditioned and trained by precept,
and the collective expectation of
his world that he came to believe
in his own inferiority and accept
his servile status as a matter of
course. The slave system could
continue because it had made him
a slave in mind as well.as in body.”

Part three portrays all the fer-
ment that aggravated the Civil
War—numerous insurrections and
the underground railroad .in their
true colors, throwing light on the
Negro’s active participation in the
war. We see his freedom achieved,
the aftermath—his groping in the
dark, his utter lack of preparation
to cope with conditions and finally
his struggle upward.

HE fourth section deals with

the Negro in recent times. Here
he is called the New Negro or the
Brown American. The author eval-
uates the progress made by the
race as a whole; and emphasizes
the achievements of a goodly num-
ber of Negroes, Booker T. Wash-
ington, “G. W. Carver, Mary Me-
Leod Bethune, and others. Also
in this latter part of the book she
makes lengthy comments on Negro
publications, schools, hospitals and
other institutions.

This book indicates clearly that
Miss Brown, a white Southerner,
is in the vanguard of Christian
workers, and it is my belief that
her spirit will do much to bring
about Interracial Justice.

Flash!! Congratulations to Father
Harold Perry, S.V.D., of Lake
Charles, Louisiana, who was or-
dained January 6, 1944, at Saint
Augustine’s Seminary, Bay Saint
Louis, Mississippi. Another colored
priest to serve God and his people!

Flash!! Best line from the
staff play: Director of Friend-
ship House: “We need volunteers
very badly, because we can’t ‘lean’
on the ‘staff’ for everything.”

Flash!! Why are all the children
asking for “Jesus Books”?

Staff Reporter

(Continued from page 1)

money to get it on their charac-
ters from their neighbors in the
Thrift Club instead of taking their
clothing or household goods to the
pawnshop and getting very little
in exchange. There is a very wise
and good and merry group on the
board of directors and we combine
business and pleasure in the most
engaging fashion.
HAT wonderful people are
the Friendship House volun-
teers! We have always thought so
but it was impressed anew on our
minds over the holidays when sev-
eral of them gave parties for the
staff and we journeyed for two
hours on subway and bus to get to
their beautiful homes in the sub-
urbs. For years these girls have
been working or studying all day
and then taking the long trip to
Friendship House, eating a little
soup and dessert, doing dishes aft-
erward, and then teaching these
little live wires of Harlem cate-
chism ior crafts or plays which
have been created for them by
artists who have all the deep
Catholic literature of Europe at
their fingertips. After that they
walk four blocks at night in Har-
lem to the subway and travel for
hours with bus connections uncer-
tain. They do innumerable kind-
nesses to the staff, give blood to the
Red Cross regularly, are Nurses’
Aides, help at the U.S.O., and al-
ways look fresh, pretty and gay.
It surely must be the grace of God
as flesh and blood alone are in-
capable ef such boundless energy
and goodness. °
And speaking of boundless en-
ergy reminds me of the Cubs at
play. They have one game they
love called “Freeze”. The principle
of this is like stopping a moving
picture projector and making a
still. The Cubs dance and wrestle
and chase each other. When Ele-
anor Merrill shouts “Freeze!” they
all stop dead still in the position
they happen to hold at the time.
If anyone moves he is out and all
of them seem to defy the laws of
gravity to remain in the frozen
position. They love strenuous
games and need them after sitting
still in school all day. There is no
room in their crowded apartments
to run. There is no safety in the
streets. “They find healthful recre-
ation with supervision only in the

HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

clubrooms and all the volunteers
who will help with these little
dynamos with immortal souls in
such great danger are literally
godsends.

HE staff needs to know every-

thing possible about the en-
vironment of these children and,
to help us in this, a member of
the staff has been reviewing “New
World A-Coming” by Roi Ottley.
There is a tremendous amount of
information about the colored peo-
ple in our country in this small
book. It was doubly interesting to
us because of the additions made
to the report by people at the table
who had lived in Harlem at the
time mentioned in the book. “Ace”
Archibald told us of the 1935 riot
which started as he was getting
out of high school one warm Spring
afternoon. He believes it was
caused fundamentally by the re-
sentment of the colored people that
they were not employed by the
stores in Harlem, and he thinks
that the riot of last Summer was
based on the feeling against the
treatment of colored boys and girls
in the armed services. Mrs. Falby,
a member of the Mothers’ Club,
who is our housemother, was a
Garveyite and she believes the two
greatest people ever to come to
Harlem were Marcus Garvey, who
taught the black people to be in-
dependent, and the Baroness, who
taught them to understand that the
white people are human beings the
same as the black and there should
be kind feelings and not hate be-
tween them. Mrs. Falby said, “You
can walk down 135th Street now.
It has gone soft since Friendship
House has come here.” That’s just
what we want to do at Friendship
House with the help of the Holy
Ghost and Blessed Martin, make
all America go soft so that white
and black brothers can walk in
peace and safety anywhere.

HARLEM FH

Needs

MORE—MUCH MORE CLOTH.
ING! For Children and Women

Especially.
Please !

February, 1944

By CATHERINE DE HUECK

THE SOUL OF RUSSIA. By
Helene Iswolsky, $2.75. Sheed
& Ward.

“I was devoted to Justice and
hated Injustice,” says Petcherin, a
convert to the Catholic Faith. And
in that one short sentence he sums
up THE SOUL OF RUSSIA, so
mysteriously incomprehensible to
the materialistic West.

For Russia is the mystic of the
West. And from time tmmemorial
She and in Her, her children have
incarnated the Fourth Beatitude,
“Blessed are they who hunger and
thirst for Justice for they shall be
filled.” And Russia has hungered
for Justice. That and that alone
is the key to all her mysterious-
ness. That even explains how a
non-industrial-agricultural nation
was the first to accept the Gospel
of Karl Marx, written for countries
highly industrialized and whose
property-less Proletariat was rest-
lessly seeking escape from annihi-
lation, poverty and overwork,

But Russia accepted Communism
because it seemed for a moment
or two to give the answer to Her
eternal search for the Grail, which
to her was GOD’S JUSTICE
TRANSLATED INTO THE RE-
ALITIES OF LIVING. Never as a
whole did she turn Her face from
God. And Atheism as such was
but the grime of times settling on
an upturned face of a nation.

Helene Iswolsky, with painstak-
ing, yet vivid clarity, traces the
almost untraceable journey to God
of a nation’s soul. This book, THE
SOUL OF RUSSIA, should become,
for Catholics especially, a text
book. For through its vitally
written pages that keep the read-
er’s interest constantly, she also
sounds a warning of what happens
to the masses when those in high
places allow the infinite tragedy of
sin to scandalize these Little One’s
of God.

Yes, THE SOUL OF RUSSIA is
a most timely book. An important
book. A good book.

February, 1944 HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS 7

BL. Martin de Porres Works a Miracle

By JAMES E. BULGER

tin were there, and no sooner had

was Martin in the hall. He fell at

| . the wish been made than the white the Negro’s feet as the guard came
= ADIANT moonlight flooded the and black habit of the humble por-. up.
By streets of Lima, touched with ter appeared in the doorway; yet “Where is that man?” shouted
reed magic the orange trees in the months later the fathers at the the leader. “Where did he disap-
grove of the governor, brought monastery had attested Martin pear to? We were right on his
sighs to the hearts of young lovers; had never left Lima. The mer- heels.”
and yet, this world of dripping silver chant who had experienced this The culprit listened stupified.
in, a was dark and dismal to the man miraculous visit and cure had told What was going on here? He was
And slinking along the street, and _ the story in every part of the city. in full sight at Martin’s feet.
ums orange trees that smiled for the , Vl “Do you see any man here?”
0 lovers outlined for him a horrible PS ens the man slipped into asked Martin quietly.
z row of gibbets. Terror seared his a doorway, and not a moment “No,” snapped the officer.
e to pallid face. He walked as one does too soon, because the guard came = uy 8. welcome to search the
in a nightmare pursued by some up just as he flattened his form Mer . a . 2 f col th
' the frightful ogre, but this was no against the recessed entrance. As eaten ery, Of Course, olere ©
orial dream, reflected the man bitterly; they passed on the narrow street, °O'mer.
eal. and if the governor’s he could have touched them. Fear- The men searched the grounds,
have it was real, g b h 5 aa
police who even now were hunting eat the bushes with swords, and
bude, him down should find him, he finally left.
and could hope for no mercy. “What did you do for me, Broth-
ll be No door in the city was open to er?” asked the man. “I was made
ered him, and he could not hide for long invisible, was I not?
Sei in streets drenched in moonlight. “Nothing is impossible with
: He could hear the clanking of the God,” replied Martin. “See to it,
niogall swords of his pursuers as they my friend, that your life improves
+ Bra closed in upon him. Clearly it was hereafter.”
y soerl the end. There remained one Martin went on his way as if
ae chance, the river. Yes, that was it. nothing had happened. A priest
rhc A fast sprint, a leap into the broad who had witnessed the affair and
stream, perhaps a hundred feet of had seen the man disappear re-
rest- swimming under water—and safe- ported it to.the prior, who only
—_ ty—but those torches. He knew smiled and said, “You must become
too well now; the river patrol was used to such happenings where
— a ae a mas’ aa Brother Martin is concerned.”
men —ah, , ;
) Her that bring to mind? The river, oh, wae — oe a cence:
vhich yes, Brother Martin. That very Caan: & - Martin de forres
TICE day the Rimac had started to rise evince little eee when
RE- rapidly; it looked as if it would de- ie cncshannade: “Stace tirana and
-asa stroy the church of Notre Dame, miraculously. Three hundred years
from but the wonder worker of Lima in Heaven have not changed his
was had ordered it to recede and to habits. He helps all who come to
ig on stay within its banks, and so it had him, even as he helped the hunted
: been. Well what of that? : man that moonlit night in Lima.
istak- aes a was safety, R f 4
s the after all. Once gain the gate of the itali
» God Dominican monastery and Martin, ful that even his breathing would ae 6 ospita ity
THE the good Negro porter, would pro- betray him, he held his breath. I saw a stranger yestreen;
come, tect him. When thev passed, he followed I put food in the eating place,
text The hopeless figure straightened; stealthily, slipping into doorways, | Drink in the drinking place, .
itallv a new light came into the man’s hiding behind iron gates. When Music in the listening place,
read- eyes. Why not, Martin? Helper they turned a corner to the left, he And in the blessed name of the
. also of the helpless and the miserable. headed straight ahead for the mon- Triune
ppens Well, who more miserable, more in astery. As he came to the corner He blessed myself and my house
“high need of pity? A sinner? Yes, no where ‘the guard had turned, he My cattle and my dear ones.
dy of doubt, but Martin refused none. tripped over a cobblestone and fell And the lark said in her song
One’s The renegade Indian, for example, full length in the street. Instantly Often, often, often,
half dead from knife wounds— they stopped and rushed at him, Goes the Christ in the stranger’s
STA is Martin had touched him, and his but he recovered and continued his uise.
meiner deep wounds had healed at once. flight, as they followed shouting Often, often, often, ;

Then there was the rich merchant,
friend of Martin, ill in Mexico
City, who had silently wished Mar-

commands to halt. The monastery
gate was open, as was the huge
door, and there, as he had hoped,

Goes the Christ in the stranger’s
guise.
~-An Old Gaelic Rune

8 HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

; .
Not In Vain
(Continued from page 1)
the compromisingly discriminatory
policy of the armed forces. It is
then the “double V for Victory”
was born—victory at home and
abroad.

Minor victories came on the
homefront. The Navy and Marines
altered their age-old policies in re-
gard to the Negro. In the Army
Negro combat-trained units were
given their baptisms of fire. They
came through with flying colors.
Now the Negro public yearns to
see the valorous deeds of their sol-
diers perpetuated on the screen and
in chronicle.

TILL it seemed that there were

many Americans who did not
even like this business of the black
American fighting the enemy, side
by side, and on: the same terms as
they.
individuals were wary of the Ne-
gro’s forthcoming demands for the
justice he has earned with his blood
...It may happen that these in-
dividuals don’t fully realize that
it cannot be said, “men fought and
died in vain for a cause that just
didn’t exist.” Negro soldiers are
dying—have died—and will die—
for the cause they believe to be
right and just.

Back home we relatives and
friends—who can still feel the cold
breath of prejudice—want to know
America is truly awakening. We
all want to feel that before long
the Negro will be accorded his
complete due. Now, when every-
one thinks of the post-war period
and of the peace that must be won,
they think also of the soldiers com-
ing back to the place they call
“home”. Those who won’t come
back surely died with hope in their
hearts that those at home would
never lack Life, Liberty and Pur-
suit of Happiness.

HOSE Americans who still

don’t like to think of the Negro
enjoying the same economic and
social status as they must put those
thoughts far, far behind in their
minds. They are of another era.
No longer is it the task of the
Negro to “prove” himself capable,
intellectually, culturally or other-
wise. It is America’s turn now—
to prove to-all her citizens, and

ae Marrh 4044

It may happen that these.

St.Ann

especially the Negro, that she is
proud of the fight we waged for
freedom. It is America’s turn now
to accept the Negro with open
arms, sincerely and wholehearted-
ly, in every section of this broad
land. We're on God’s side.

It isn’t easy to envision the post-
war era while we yet have a war

to win. But we must. In the ex-

citement and hysteria of victory
one might well forget the things
for which we so eagerly fought.
Americans need no further credo
than that enunciated in the Decla-
ration of Independence and the Bill
of Rights. We are, in addition, a
Christian nation, a human brother-
hood of individuals striving for the
common good.

Such will be the backbone of the
better world we want to live in.
Such will be the “home” our sons,
daughters, relatives, and friends
will come back to. For it must not
be whispered by any future gen-
eration, of any soldier, white or
black, “It almost seemed as if they
fought and died—in vain.”

February, 1944

Semper Fidelis
We’re in this war—win-lose-or-draw,
The fight is ours, too.

Accept from us—America
The work we want to do.

We don’t complain—we don’t give in—

Although the road is rough, * &
We’re seasoned for the battle

‘Cause we’ve always had it tough.

We don’t expect celestial thrones,

Nor do we want a gift.

We only ask that we be free

To give the land a lift. a=

So off to battle we will go

To fight until the end,

No matter what the task assigned }
Our dark-skinned backs will bend.

We want our home, America,
To have a future bright.
We want that talked-of liberty,
We, too, must see the light.
—Maurice Mahon, F
of
Harlem Friendship House

We Wear the Mask

b
We — the mask that grins and d
ies,
It hides your cheeks and shades ‘
our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we
smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-
wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the-mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our
cries

. To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the

mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask.
—Paul Lawrence Dunbar .,8 -@

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HARLEM FRIENDSHIP HOUSE NEWS

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