Chesapeake Crimes: This Job Is Murder!

THE FACTORY, by Harriette Sackler

Stacey Levine sat at her grandmother’s dining room table. She’d just devoured a large bowl of cabbage soup along with three substantial pieces of challah and already her stomach was rebelling against so much food. She didn’t know how she would tackle the brisket with fixings that was yet to come, not to mention the freshly baked apple pie. Nana Rebecca always prepared enough food for an army, and Stacey couldn’t deny her the pleasure of seeing her granddaughter eat.

“So, darling. How was school this week?” Rebecca asked as she came into the dining room with more food.

“Pretty good. I took two exams and think I did well. Got an A on my creative writing project. And let me tell you about the paper I’m doing for my History of the U.S. Labor Movement class. I’ve chosen to focus on early twentieth-century New York City and the sweatshops in particular. It’s hard to believe people actually worked under such horrible conditions back then, and in some places, still do. I swear, I don’t think I could’ve survived.”

After hearing her granddaughter’s words, Rebecca stared into space for a moment, then turned to Stacey.

“My sweet girl, I’d like to tell you a story. I think it will be helpful to you as you write your paper. I ask only that you let me talk until I’m through and then you can ask me any questions you want.”

“Of course, Nana.”

“This is the story of my aunt Rivka.”

The large dim room was sweltering. No breeze penetrated the two filth-encrusted windows that faced the narrow airshaft separating the building from its neighbor. The whir and clack of forty sewing machines created an incessant noise that caused dull aches behind eyes. Lint and cotton dust floated through the air, clogging nostrils and causing a cacophony of sneezes, coughs, and hacking throughout the workday. There was little talk, because the women who worked here twelve hours a day simply didn’t have the energy. It wasn’t unusual for a worker to put her head down on her machine and succumb to the heat. Chances were she wouldn’t be back the following day.

Rivka felt old. At the tender age of seventeen, she’d had little opportunity to experience the joys of youth. She barely remembered her life in the old country and wasn’t sure at all that America was truly a land of freedom and opportunity. Unless opportunity meant the honor of spending half her life in this infernal hell. But on the Sabbath she spent a joyous day praying, eating, and resting with her beloved family. And dreaming. Of a life she’d never known.

Her father worked as a peddler. He pushed his cart through the teeming streets of the Lower East Side, selling used clothing to the poor. Her mother did piecework from home, embroidering yarmulkes and taleisim with fine artistry fit for kings. Her brother, Schmuel, sold newspapers, and Sarah, the baby, was spared the necessity, at least for several more years, of contributing to the family’s support. The Lipskys were lucky. Their children could stay in school longer than most children on the Lower East Side because their father earned a bit more than others who lived in the tenements. But their dream of sending Schmuel to City College required all the family members to do their part.

Elias Pearlstein was a lucky man. Thanks to his cousin, Reuben, he enjoyed a nice living as foreman of Mendelsohn’s Menswear without having to actually labor as his workers did. He supervised. Or, more specifically, terrorized the women and girls in his charge. He pushed them beyond limits, finishing one more pair of pants by hand when their fingers could no longer guide the fabric through the sewing machine. He lengthened the workday and shortened the lunch break. He increased quotas and decreased pay. Nothing dramatic to cause a stir, but just enough to prove to Cousin Reuben that the factory was in good hands.

Best of all, Elias had a captive audience for his amorous advances. His wife had died in childbirth years before, and he now relied on the factory ladies to satisfy his sexual needs. The fact that they surrendered only under duress didn’t bother Elias a bit.

“Good morning, Miss Stern. So nice to see you so bright and early. I know how much your wages mean to you. So no doubt you’ll be most agreeable to a little meeting in my office after the workday.”

“I beg you, Mr. Pearlstein, not to shame me. I work so hard, sewing all day. Isn’t that enough?”

“Now, Miss Stern. You should be honored that you’ve caught my eye. You might find a little extra in your wages this week to help feed that family of yours. And, I assure you, no one will ever be the wiser.”

Elias Pearlstein never once considered his behavior shameful.

At seven o’clock on a Thursday evening, the girls rose from their machines and prepared to leave the factory. As Rivka stood and stretched to release the cramps in her back and legs, Monya Schwartz, a pretty young friend and neighbor, came over and whispered in Rivka’s ear.

“Do you think we can walk home, just the two of us? I need to talk to you, and I don’t want any of the others to hear.”

“Of course we can. I hope everything is good in your house?”

Monya’s eyes looked troubled and terribly sad. “We’ll talk outside, Rivka,” she said.

As a parade of tired young women made its way toward the narrow stairway of the five-story building, they were forced to pass Mr. Pearlstein’s office. Rivka was surprised and relieved that today, unlike most days, he was not standing at his door, smirking at them in his usual wolfish manner. Then from behind his closed door came an angry bellow. “You’re a gonif! I’m done with you, you thief. Get out, and don’t let me set eyes on you again!” Another poor soul, protesting a cut in already meager wages, would be without a job tomorrow, Rivka thought as she hurried down the stairs.

When they reached the street, Rivka and Monya linked arms and slowly headed toward home. This was the one time of day when they could enjoy a moment of leisure before family chores in their crowded apartments would occupy them for the rest of the evening.

“Monya, it seems the weight of the world is on your shoulders today. Tell me what’s troubling you. Maybe I can help.”

Monya’s lips quivered, and tears filled her eyes.

Rivka felt alarm growing. “Tell me,” she urged.

Monya hesitated. “Rivka, I know that I’m a mouse, a creature afraid of her own shadow,” she said in a quiet, halting voice. “It would be unthinkable for me to raise a fuss about anything.”

Rivka disagreed. “Monya, you’re a gem. A perfect daughter. A good friend. Why is this not a good thing?”

“Because I can’t defend myself! I let bad things happen. I can’t stand up to anybody.”

Rivka was confused. “Tell me. What’s happened to make you so critical of yourself?”

Monya wavered. There were certain things that one just didn’t share. It was forbidden. Shameful. Not done. But Rivka was her closest friend, and Monya felt torn apart. She needed to talk about it.

“I’ll tell you. You’ll surely think ill of me afterward, but I’ll have to take that chance. You see, Pearlstein, that momzer, you should pardon my language, knows which of the girls at the factory are just like me. The obedient ones who do what they’re told. He tries to take advantage of us. Touch us. When we protest, he threatens us and reduces our wages. I’m worn out, Rivka. For all my work at the factory, I bring home less money each week.”

“Monya, why haven’t you told me about this before?”

“Oh, Rivka, I didn’t think you’d understand. You’re so strong, so unlike me. You’d never find yourself in this kind of situation. And, you know, we don’t talk about such things. Shame is a burden we carry alone.”

Rivka felt her blood boil at the thought of what Monya had endured. Well, no more.

The following morning, Rivka rose earlier than she normally did and hurried to Mendelsohn’s. Employees started work at seven a.m., but Pearlstein and the shipping department started their day at six. Rivka knew the factory would be quiet and the upper floors deserted, except for Pearlstein’s unpleasant presence. When she arrived, she quietly made her way up the stairs to the fifth floor. When she reached Pearlstein’s office, she stood in front of the door, taking deep breaths to ease the tightness in her chest and the uncontrollable trembling of her hands. Several moments later, resolved to do what was necessary, she softly knocked on the door. No answer. Had Pearlstein not come to the factory at his usual time? Rivka knocked again, louder this time, calling out his name.

“Go away!” a slurred, hoarse voice responded.

“Mr. Pearlstein, it’s Rivka Lipsky. I need to talk to you about a very important matter. May I come in?”

“Ah, Miss Lipsky, have you come to offer Pearlstein comfort in his time of need? Come in. Come in. I would welcome the company of such a lovely young lady.”

Rivka steeled herself and opened the door. The malignant stench from the office made her gasp. The putrid odors of an unwashed body, liquor, and vomit were enough to make her want to turn and flee.

“Mr. Pearlstein,” she managed to say, fighting the nausea that threatened to erupt. “I’ve learned how you take advantage of your position of authority, harassing girls at the factory in a most unacceptable manner and then reducing their wages to punish them for not complying with your demands. This must stop immediately.”

Even in his inebriated state, Pearlstein looked incredulous.

“Rivka, Rivka, you’re admonishing me for my behavior? Do you forget to whom you’re talking? Since when does a woman, no a girl, have the chutzpah to speak in that manner to her boss? It’s unheard of.”

Rivka’s anger erupted. To think that this pig, this chazer, felt he was better than her. She took a breath and forced herself to speak calmly.

“Mr. Pearlstein, there are important people working to make life better for factory workers. They invite news of the workplaces they call ‘sweatshops.’ I intend to tell as many of them as I possibly can about you. How long do you think your esteemed cousin will keep you in his employ when he becomes a target of those who are friends of the working poor?”

Without warning, Pearlstein roared and rose clumsily to his feet. In a second, he rounded his desk and grabbed at Rivka. Shaking off his hands, she turned and ran to the office door. But even in his diminished state, Pearlstein got his arms around her as she entered the hall. Horrified that she had not considered the prospect of putting herself in danger by coming here at this hour, Rivka gathered all her strength and pushed Pearlstein. He teetered in the small stairwell for a few seconds before falling backward. In an instant, with crashing glass and a frightened cry, he fell through the large window overlooking the airshaft.

Rivka stood stunned. It took a moment for her mind to register what had just happened. She stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream that rose inside her. She wanted to run away, but even as shock numbed her mind and body, she forced herself to think. She slowly moved toward the shattered window and carefully leaned through to look down into the airshaft. At the bottom, five floors below, Pearlstein lay sprawled amid the garbage and debris. Blood drained from his nose and mouth.

A few moments passed before Rivka knew what she had to do. She turned toward the stairs, opened her mouth, and screamed. “Help! Oh, my God. Somebody help!”

In no time, Rivka heard the sound of tramping feet making their way toward her with shouts of “what’s wrong” and “we’re coming” echoing in the stairwells. Soon John Gerotti and Isaac Levy, two of the workmen who always arrived at the factory early to pack finished garments into shipping crates, reached her, gulping to push air into their strained lungs.

“Are you all right, miss?” Mr. Gerotti asked Rivka in a concerned voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine. But something terrible has happened to Mr. Pearlstein. He’s lying in the airshaft. When I came upstairs to finish some work left from yesterday, I saw the broken window. I looked out and discovered him crumpled and bleeding outside. Please, help him.”

Mr. Levy ran to the broken window and gazed down. “I think it’s too late for him. He has the look of the dead. But I’ll go down anyway to be sure. Johnny, could you call a doctor and the police? Take Miss Lipsky with you. She doesn’t look so good.”

The investigation into the death of Elias Pearlstein lasted only two days. Not one person interviewed by the police had anything good to say about the man. Interestingly, his cousin and employer revealed that the evening before, he had fired Pearlstein for stealing funds from the business. If Rivka had known this, she never would have made her morning visit to him. The problems at the factory would have been resolved with his departure. The raised voices she had heard the previous evening were the voices of the cousins.

No one questioned Rivka’s account of Pearlstein’s death. On the contrary, she received comfort from her co-workers and more sympathetic treatment by the police than she had expected. After all, in the old country the police were to be feared and avoided at all costs. Reuben Mendelsohn hired a new foreman who treated the workers better. Life improved at the factory, but the tragic episode was not over for Rivka. It haunted her. She could not eat or sleep well. Her fellow workers whispered amongst themselves about her drawn and pale appearance. Her mother, alarmed at Rivka’s painful thinness, attempted to entice her with thick soups and warm breads. Rivka never smiled and always seemed preoccupied. Every time she entered Mendelsohn’s, she relived the horror of Pearlstein’s death and wondered if her inability to put the past behind her was a reflection of God’s displeasure with her deceit.

On a cold and blustery December morning, Rivka and Monya made their way through the crowded streets to the factory.

“So tell me,” Monya said, “which of the world’s problems are you attempting to solve this morning?”

Rivka stopped walking, faced Monya, and with a sad expression spoke. “I do have some news for you, and I pray that you’ll understand. You know, I haven’t been myself since the day of Pearlstein’s death. I haven’t been able to put it behind me, and every day I relive those moments. I truly believe that it would be best for me to leave Mendelsohn’s and move on to a new job. I’ve been looking for other work and have found a place where I can sew better fabrics and get a higher wage. It’s a bit farther uptown near a park and a university, would you believe. This factory is in a large building with elevators. Such luxury!”

“That’s wonderful, Rivka. I shall miss seeing you every day, but we’ll see each other on the Sabbath and have so much news to share each week.”

“Yes,” Rivka said. “This will be a good change for me.”

Rebecca grew silent.

“Nana, what a touching story. But how do you know the details? You told me your aunt Rivka died before you were born.”

“That’s true, Stacey. But my aunt kept a journal that was found among her belongings. Years ago, my mother passed it on to me. I’ve always felt it was far too personal to share, but I think it’s good for you to know this piece of your family’s history.”

Stacey was touched by her grandmother’s trust and had one more question to ask.

“Nana, how did Rivka die? Was she ill?”

“Ah. I didn’t quite finish the story, darling. The name of Rivka’s new employer was the Triangle Waist Company.”

Stacey’s eyes widened. “No! I’ve read a lot about that place. It was notorious. The Triangle Waist fire was one of the worst the city had seen. Over a hundred people, mostly young women, died there that day.”

“Actually, 146, to be exact. Including my aunt,” Rebecca said, wiping tears from her eyes. “The new place of employment Rivka thought would be so much better was just another sweatshop. So much for luxury!”

Harriette Sackler is a longtime member of the Malice Domestic Board of Directors and serves as grants chair. She is a past Agatha Award nominee for “Mother Love,” her story that appeared in Chesapeake Crimes II. Harriette’s writing background includes public relations and nonprofit fundraising materials. An avid pet lover, she is vice president of House with a Heart Senior Pet Sanctuary. Harriette lives in the D.C. suburbs with her husband, Bob, and their five pups. She has two married daughters and makes a point of thoroughly spoiling her two grandbabies, Ethan and Makayla.