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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 

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 


New York, N. Y., 5 Cents 



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 

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) 

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. 


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 



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. 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, 




February, 1944 



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... 

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 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 

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 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- 

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. 


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: 

Father Richard Felix, O.S.B., Director 
Conception, Missouri 

A Meditation from Saint Catherine of Siena 


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 

“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 

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 

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 


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. . _ 


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 


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

lash, that we 
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 

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


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, 

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. 



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 





(ort TN 


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 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 


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

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. 



ING! For Children and Women 

Please ! 

February, 1944 


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 
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 
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. 

a most timely book. An important 
book. A good book. 


BL. Martin de Porres Works a Miracle 


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 
~-An Old Gaelic Rune 


; . 
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 

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 
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. 


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 
Harlem Friendship House 

We Wear the Mask 

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

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

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

Return Postage Guaranteed 
34 West 135th St., New York 30, N. Y. 


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