WQP GiPl wim Morxeu in. Iter Bag „
JOBS! Jobs seem to be the ques
tion of the hour. Jobs have
been a question in many mil
lions of homes.
It does not matter whether jobs are
really beneficial for men and women,
boys and girls. Some men say that
they never have had a Job and that
they never want to have a job. They
believe i:i working for themselves.
They are the exceptions. The mass
of man and woman kind seem to be
Job wanters. Job hunters. A job is the
beginning and end of all things. So
"Jobs."
High-up officers who come back from
the war to tell us who had to stay at
home, work eighteen hours a day, pay
the taxes, subscribe to the Liberty
bonds, war work, charities, etc.. wor
ry about our sons who were having the
time of their lives being heroes, that
the main thing to be done for the re
turning soldier is to see that he gets
a good Job.
Jobs! Jobs! Jobs must be pulled out
of the air as conjurers pull rabbits and
other zoological specimens out of a silk
hat Any man who was a sldier must
have a good Job at good.wages. Now,
a man may be a great soldier and a
poor Job seeker, a poor job getter and
a dern sight poorer job holder. In
fact, it might be argued that the better
soldier a fellow is the poorer job hold
er he may very well be. It's all in
the point of view. Anyhow, the born
soldier must naturally be a "soldier."
Remember the old ante bellum quip.
"Boldler, will you work?" Most great
soldiers have always despised work.
Did not Bill Anthony, the hero of the
Maine, go bad after be quit the serv
ice and went to work.
Bill Anthony was a model soldier,
but a poor job holder. He had no time
for that.
Doubtless there are oodles of good
Job holders coming out of the army.
They mayhap have been poorer sol
diers than the fellows who never
worked.
Anyhow, it is a case of "jobs." The
soldiers are coming back by the ship
load to a grateful country and de
manding jobs. Most of them had some
sort of Jobs before the war. Where
are the jobs gone?
In some instances the girls have got
them. And the girls don't want to
give them up to the soldiers.
If the girls did want to give up the
Jobs It is by no means sure that the
soldiers would want to take them.
The argument is this:
Girls have jobs. Soldiers need jobs.
How about the Jobs the girls have for
soldiers?
The girls say that the jobs they have
are girls' jobs, not men's jobs, and
that no self-respecting hero would
take such jobs, that a hero should
WAR SONGS THAT BECAME POPULAR™
THE origin of some of those old
time war songs of our grand
fathers' day that the Yanks
carried "over here" with them, and
sang with as much fervor as those that
were written for them, are most in
teresting.
There was "Maryland, My Mary
land," for example, which was called
the Marseillaise of the Confederacy.
It was written by a young man named
James Ryder Randall. He was a Bal
tlmorean, but w hen the war broke out
he was on a paper in New Orleans.
He was not strong enough to enlist,
but being an ardent southerner he fdlt
It very keenly when his native state
hung back and refused to Join the
Confederacy. When he heard that the
Baltimore people had at last fired on
northern troops he was overjoyed, and
that night he got up out of his bed at
midnight and wrote the poem, "Mary
land. My Maryland." "The entire
poem," he said later, "was dashed off
in & very few minutes." It was pub
lished in his own paper first, and was
later copied in every paper in the
South.
have, if not a hero's Job, a man's job.
Too many men say the girls, were
holding down girls' jobs before the
war. Instead of setting the job mar
ket awry, the girls say, the war set
the market right It put men in men's
jobs and women in women's jobs. So.
the girls cry, let it go at that. The
girls hold the girls' jobs, the boys will
find men's jobs.
Most former soldiers agree with the
girls. They do not want the soft and
white-collared jobs back. They want
pick and shovel, drill and ax jobs,
men's jobs.
But, meanwhile, many soldiers, good
boys who have served their country
and made the world safe, etc., feel
that they need to eat. They don't care
so much about sleeping. They can
sleep anywhere, but they got the habit
of an appetite and food to satisfy it in
the army and they can't get over the
idea that they need to eat to be happy.
So. in a pinch, some soldiers said,
they might marry the girl, but not take
her Job.
An Interesting Troblem
Is >ow Before the Country.
It all combines to make a new and
interesting situation, one which is lia
ble to bring about a tremendous eco
nomic and social change in the Unit
ed States and turn the old stand-bys
topsyturvy. Here It is:
What shall we do with our surplus
women.* Or have we surplus women"
Or surplus men? During the war the
girls had lots of work to do. Every
employer wanted them. The boys
were all gone. Who but the girl.s
could take the places left vacant by
the draft and volunteering?
The girls took the places vacated by
the boys. Mostly the girls needed the
money. Few people who do not need
money care about Jobs. Say what you
will it is not the job that attracts. It
is the money that is said to go. or sup
posed to go, with the Job that fetches
them out of bed at 7 a. m., jams then
in a street car and tosses them in fac
tory, shop, store or office.
The job don't matter so much. The
money is everything.
Well, the girls quit high school in
their sophomore years, quit the kitch
en, the parlor and the "upstairs" and
went to work in the shop, factory,
store and office.
Now we tell them "You must give
up your Job to returning soldiers."
The girls don't seem to relish that
a bit. They have been doing pretty
well during the war. While brother,
sweetheart and husband has been he
roing his women folk have been work
ing, in many instances getting more
money than he ever got in his life.
The girls have got swell clothes, a
perfumery that they had never heard
of before the war, silk stockings, sls
At that time there lived in Balti
more the famous Cary girls, relatives
ot General Lee. They, too, were ar
dent southerners. One evening they
were giving a party, and wishing to
spring a new song on their guests
they discovered that the words of this
poem. "Maryland, My Marylalnd."
which every one was reading and re
citing at that time, could be perfectly
adapted to the old college song, "Lau
riger Horatius." So one of them sang
it at the party and it made a tremend
ous hit.
Some time later she and her sisters
asked permission to mpke a visit to
relatives in Virginia. It was granted
and they made the journey in an old
wagon, which was loaded to the top
with trunks and boxes, supposedly
containing their wardrobe. As soon
as they had crossed the line it was
discovered that they were all filled
with clothing, bandages and other
comforts for the Confederate soldiers,
and they were not permitted to return
to Baltimore, as a punishment. While
they were living there in Virginia, in
exile, as it were. General Beauregard
shoes, layouts of cosmetics and a lit
tle money in the new meshbag.
Ihey don't want to give up the nice
?85 a month job to any soldier, not
even if he is humpbacked from pack
ing around Distinguished Service
Crosses, Croix de Guerre and citations.
Sister has held down the job for two
years, enjoyed the big boost in sal
aries that came after April, 1917, got
herself a few closets full of fine
clothes, cutlivated an expensive taste
in candy and likes the life generally.
She docs not want to go back to
school, to beg for lunch money, to
wear whatever clothes she can fake,
frame or borrow and to hang around
Top, who is growing hollow-eyed
with the high cost of living, for what
ever is left by the butcher, baker and
coal man. bather's wages have not
been increased In fifteen years. He
got set in a peace industry in the
days when we had no idea we ever
would be in a war again. The indus
try was hit hard by the war. "Pop"
is lucky to be working, not to speak
of making a living. So daughter wants
to hang on to the job.
What is she to do? Her brother, her
invited them to make a visit to camp.
One evening while they were there the
famous Washington Artillery serenad
ed them. They asked if there wasn't
something they could do for them in
return, and some soldier shouted, "Let
us hear a woman's voice!" The Cary
girl who sang immediately stepped
out beneath the stars and sang "Mary
land. My Maryland." This was the
birth of the song as a war song. The
soldiers went wild over it. They sang'
it far into the night, and in a few
weeks it was known by every regi
ment in the South.
"Dixie," strange to say, was written
by a northerner, a famous old min
strel man. Dan Emmett. In those days,
every minstrel show ended with what
was called a "w'alk-around," a repre
sentation of plantation life, and old
Dan was very successful in writing
these "walk-arounds" for his com
pany. One night, three or four years
before the Civil War, Dan was told
that he would have to have a new one
ready for the next rehearsal. It was
a cold and dreary day, and as he was
standing in front of a window trying
sweetheart is out of a job. But then,
so far as she is concerned, they'd
much better be out of a Job than that
she should be out of it. When they
had jobs they gave her mighty little
consideration. They wore good clothe,
smoked cigars or cigarettes, played
pool, drank a little beer, ate at good
restaurants —when there were good
restaurants—played ball, had a good
time while she "stalled" through on
cheap calicos and cheaper ginghams,
a few ounces of talcum powder, sat on
the porch without a dime in her bag,
rocked and waited for some one to
come along and take her to the drug
store for a soda or to tit picture show
for a look.
Boys Think It Is Right
For Sister to Stay at Home.
"Awh," say the boys, "mat's all right
for a gu-rul. Say, what do women ex
pect?"
What do women expect? The earth,
kid, the earth, you hear some one say.
Bova may think that it is all right
for a girl to "plant" on the porch
to get a nucleus of an Idea, a phrase
that the members of the troupe had
used so often on their tour through
the North that winter popped into his
head, "I wish I was in Dixie." With
these words as an inspiration he
wrote the famous song. In 1861 a
chorus of girls sang it in a theater in
New Orleans! The Washington Artill
ery heard it, made it a part of their
repertory, and it has been sung ever
since.
"John Brown's Body" was an old
negro spiritual, a camp-meeting song.
The old words were used until Julia
Ward Howe wrote her famous "Battle
Hymn" for it.
The favorite song of the Spanish war
v.as "A Hot Time in the Old Town To
night." U was a popular street song
when the war started and the soldiers
simply took it for their own. They
sang it so much that some of the for
eign correspondents wrote home to
their papers that America entered Cu
ba singing their two national anthems,
"The Star Spangled Banner" and "A
Hot Time in the Old Town."
Sunday after Sunaay, evening after
evening, rocking till her heels hurt,
and thinking until her soul aches that
she could get away from it all. Girls
don't think so any longer,
"How," said a pert and pertinacious
yOung miss of 18 who has been in the
polite phraseology of a soldier brother
"dragging down her ninety bucks a
month' in an office during the war,
"would some of the boys like if they
had to stick around home seven days
a week and wait, without a nickel to
their name, for the great day when
some beau managed to hold out
enough from his mother, his tailor, his
barber, the poolroom, the cigarette
store and the baseball game to take
her as far as the corner and buy her
a glass of soda?
"How would the boys like to rock
on the porch until it seemed that the
whole world was rocking, too, until
their souls rocked within them, un
til chaos seemed present, evening aft
er evening, week after week, year aft
er year?
"I have two brothers older than me.
They made anywhere from $35 to SSO
a month before the war. They paid
board—sometimes—when mother felt
strong enough to drag the money
away from them, which was not often.
They never gave anyone in the family
a dime. Once in a blue moon mother'd
make one of them take me out. Be
lieve me, it would be some battle. I
often begged mother not to kill herself
battling with the boys to take me
out, though, the world can bet I'd
have given an eye to get to a picture
show or to a dance. But there always
was a battle and the last word could
be, 'Well, she pays her own car fare
if she goes with me.' They'd sit like
a bear with a sore head all the time
they had to be with me. After one or
two trials I gave it up. Never again
with one of Hrothers for me.
"Well,, when Jack and Jim, our hall
room boys, went to the war I got a
job. I got $65 a month first and S9O
a few months later. That was more
money than both my brothers had been
getting before the war.
"I paid my board regularly, S4O
each month, to mother. No fight to
get the board out of me.
"I was glad to pay it, I knew what
battles mother had to get it out of
Jack and Jim irregularly. And I paid
more board than both of them put to
gether were supposed to pay. I say
'supposed.' They really never paid
half the time. Always a stall instead
of the cash. A suit of clothes, shoes,
dentist, a party, club dues; 'a feller
gotta spend something once in a while,
ain't he?' and all that sort of stuff. If
they ever paid mother the full amount
of their board on one pay day she'd
have dropped dead with surprise. She
got part of it when she felt fit enough
to go to war for it, which was not
often.
"After I paid mother 140 a month I
had SSO for myself. Just think of It,
Little Lucy, the Cinderella of the fam
ily, who never had a dime she could
call her own, ha.'ing fifty big round
dollars a month to throw to the bird 3,
the birds that make clothes and hats
and shoes and stockings.
Good Clothes Make
Them Feel Different.
"Oh, the joy of that first pair of silk
socks. They informed me for the first
time in my eighteen years that I had
limbs. Prior to April, 1917, I felt that
what are called limbs are merely
props on which to peg around. When
I pulled on and soothed the silk socks
—well, I hate to talk about myself, but
Anna Pennington had nothing on Lit
tle Lucy.
"A decent pair of well-made shoes,
too. A fine frock. And a regular coat.
A fur about my neck, rubbing my
checks. A little stuff to touch up the
eyebrows and the cheeks. Not much.
Just a touch. A little red stuff for
the lips now and then under the elec
tric light. A real hat. A Bniff of
Mary Garden, $5 an ounce, but an
ounce of it goes a million miles.
"I had been a little home body, in
calico and gingham. When I wanted
G Grmir^rvv
to put on style I had to go to a young
married woman next door and borrow
her coat and furs. I never had a reg
ular beau. Mother said I was too
young. But younger girls had beaus.
At least something in pants to take
them out
"When I got the clothes and the furs
and began to sit up and take notice
the beaus came around all right. If
men were scarce I did not notice It.
They did not come around and sit on
our porch, either. They'd never give
me time to rock. I had such good
clothes that they thought it added to
their commercial rating to be seen out
with me. They came In troops. Old,
staid married men who had grunted
when I bowed to them, took off their
hats and gazed admiringly at me. One
old grouch who lives in our block ac
tually stopped and said, 'Why, Lucy.
Grown up, ain't you? Some cute kid.
Wish I was young again.'
Don't Think Returned
Boys Really Want Jobs.
You see what a few clothes on the
back and a few dollars in the mesh
bag will do? Everything was going
fine; life was one long, sweet song,
when the war ends, and Jack and Jim
came home.
"Johs! Those boys never got them
selves a Job in their lives. Dad al
ways had to go out and hustle them
their Jobs.
"Any old Jobs at all. Anything to
keep them out of the house so that
mother and I could make up the beds.
Boys are great to sleep, you know. Up
all night, and in bed to noon. It's a
great life. But I weaken on it
"Now our heroes are home from
Pike. That was as far as they got
with the work of making the country
safe for democracy. And father, moth
er and me want them to have Jobs.
Not real Jobs, but any Jobs that will
take them out of the house in day
time.
"To tell the truth, the boys are not
bothering much about Jobs. They nev
er did. They talk about wanting jobs.
But will they go out and hustle jobs?
"Not while pop and mom and I are
alive.
"Pop's run pop-eyed taking care of
his own job, but he'll have to take
half an hour off some day and force
these heroes of ours upon the pay rolls
of some of his friends.
"Jim had the gall the other night to
eay, 'Lucy, can't you quit? Mother
needs you around the shack. Can't
you tlx it so that I can get your jjob?'
"I almost died. Why that hero
couldn't hold my Job an hour. Mother
does not need me around the house.
She needs the S4O I pay her, on the
spot, every month. She's got a few
clothes and a chaise longue she want
ed all her life and has joined a club
and has quit looking at the four walls
of the kitchen sixteen hours a day, as
she did when the boys 'worked' and I
was at home.'