SACCO AND VANZETTI dures and especially his insistence on “finding out who did it,” had antagonized the defendants and their anarchist comrades beyond repair. The Sacco-Vanzetti Committee took up the question with the American Civil Liberties Union and the Workers Defense Union in order to secure their further financial support if such a move was made. It was agreed that as a person familiar with the whole situation and all the people involved, I should go to Boston and privately survey the matter among all interested parties, and then make a reoommendation.
I first saw Fred Moore and told him of my assignment. It was not a pleasant one, in view of our 15 years of cooperation and friendship. He assured me there were no hard feelings; I should go ahead and if I returned finally to tell him that the consensus of opinion was that he should withdraw, he would do so. I then had prolonged conferences in which I interviewed every element—from conservative trade unionists, Socialists, anarchists, Communists, and Liberals, including Professor Frankfurter at Harvard University. The universal opinion was that new, distinguished local counsel was imperative. The reasons were not identical, nor did all I talked to share in the criticism of Fred Moore. But the insistence, especially of Sacco, that he must go and his threat to write a letter to the court discharging Moore as his lawyer if we did not act was decisive. So I returned to Fred’s office with some members of the Sacco-Vanzetti Committee to tell him I saw no alternative but to release him from the case. It was a devastating blow to him, needless to say, but he was sufficiently objective and devoted to the cause to cooperate at all times whenever the lawyers called upon him to do so. He died of cancer in Los Angeles in the early 30s. He was a great labor lawyer.
On the recommendation of Professor Frankfurter, we interviewed William G. Thompson, a former Boston district attorney, who was not too anxious to take the case and insisted upon $25,000 payable in advance. I went hurriedly to New York City and was able to make arrangements with the Garland Fund to lend the Sacco-Vanzetti Committee $20,000 to supplement what the Boston committee could raise The Amalgamated Clothing Workers and the International Ladies Garment Workers underwrote the loan for me and I returned with the money to Boston to see Mr. Thompson. He was a big, handsome gray-headed man. He smiled ruefully when we gave him the check anc said: “I thought sure you couldn’t raise it, Miss Flynn. I can’t say tha I’m glad!” But before he was through, he too, like Fred Moore, be
NOW THE HIGHER COURTS
331 came personally devoted to the defendants, especially Vanzetti, was deeply convinced of their innocence and battled heroically for them on the legal front. He objected however to “propaganda” and public meetings, and the defense committee found itself at odds with him over this crucial issue. Fred Moore, the fighting labor champion, had encouraged them in this field. He had understood that the only chance to save Sacco and Vanzetti was in the mobilization of millions outside the courtroom and that only by such agitation could the necessary funds be raised.
The whole frustrating pattern started all over again with the Massachusetts Supreme Court. The distinguished New England counsel made no more impression on the State Justices than he would have on Judge Thayer, whom it was plain they were determined to uphold. On May 12, 1926, in a document of 22,000 words on 66 separate motions, they declared Judge Thayer was correct in every ruling, that he had not exceeded his discretionary powers. They denied all motions for a new trial and declared that Sacco and Vanzetti were legally convicted. This long drawn-out process had dragged on throughout the years 1925 and 1926. The fateful decision shattered the legal illusions of all concerned that justice could be secured—at least in the courts of Massachusetts. Apparently the State Justices had considered Mr. Thompson a traitor to his class and. gave all his arguments short shrift.
But hope was born anew from a strange new development, bearing out the rejected investigations of Fred Moore. A young Portuguese prisoner in Dedham Jail, Celestina F. Madieros, was awaiting an appeal from a conviction for bank robbery in Wrentham, in which a cashier was killed. He saw Rose Sacco visiting Nick with her baby and became greatly troubled. Finally in November 1925 he wrote a note which said, “I hereby confess to being in the South Braintree shoe company crime, and Sacco and Vanzetti was not in said crime.” He passed this to Sacco via a trusty. While Madieros refused to name his associates, it was easily established, after investigation, to be the well- known Morrelli gang from Providence, Rhode Island. Mr. Thompson, overriding the same anarchist objections which had caused Fred Moore so much heartache, went ahead in May of 1926, before Judge Thayer, with a motion for a new trial based on this new evidence.
One of the most dramatic episodes of 1925 in the Sacco-Vanzetti defense was the return of Joseph J. Ettor and Arthuro Giovannitti to speak on their behalf. The leaders of the famous Lawrence strike in
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SACCO AND VANZETTI 1912 who had sat in a cage in Salem, Massachusetts, in the shadow of death on similar charges for many months, spoke eloquently for their two imprisoned comrades. Since Captain Proctor had been a star witness against them in their trial 13 years before, they laid great stress that his affidavit in this case showed that he was certainly not prejudiced in favor of the defendants when he exonerated them. The Ettor- Giovannitti meetings were a great success everywhere. I made trips with them, with Professor Guadagni and with the editor of an Italian anarchist paper named Calvani, who made a fiery and eloquent speech, but the identical one every time, so eventually I knew it by heart. Once, on a visit to Vanzetti, I quoted some to him. He laughed heartily and said: “Elizabetta, you must get tired of talking about us!” I assured him I did not. I had a system to vary it. Sometimes I started with their youth and worked forward, sometimes with the present and worked backward and sometimes in the middle and went both ways. He was greatly amused. Rarely did his sense of humor desert this noble man.
Not Much Personal Life
My ex-husband had completely dropped out of my life. I knew he was in Chicago and had left the IWW with Foster in 1911, had joined the Syndicalist League, went into the Painters Union of the AFL, was a delegate to the Chicago Federation of Labor, and was very active in the local labor movement then. Finally, in 1920 he served me a notice of divorce based on desertion. He agreed that I should keep custody of Fred, and soon after he remarried. But, erratic as usual, he had built a boat in his backyard and put it afloat on Lake Michigan. He and his bride set out on their honeymoon. A terrible storm came up and wrecked the boat; he held her up, clinging to the wreckage until he became unconscious. She was drowned and he was washed ashore, battered and bruised and nearly dead. A Socialist sheriff took him in custody in Wisconsin.
Detectives came to interview me in New York as to whether I thought he was capable of killing his wife. I replied indignantly, sensing a frame-up in the offing, “Indeed not, he is a kind and good man. He never killed me and he had plenty of provocation!” The Irish “dick” said: “I bet he did at that!” and left. Jones was released. Later I saw him at the IWW headquarters in Chicago, looking thinner and
NOT MUCH PERSONAL LIFE
333 older, with whitening hair. He was the proprietor of The Dill Pickle —a radical night club on the North Side for many years. St. John visited him whenever he passed through Chicago. After one occasion he said, “Well, Fred may inherit a fortune yet!” and told us a tall tale of “Jonesey and his duck.” It was a self-propelling duck on which he was then working. Rumor had it that Donald Duck was an offspring of Jones’ duck. Jones died in Chicago in 1940.
My life with Carlo was tempestuous, undoubtedly because we were both strong personalities with separate and often divided interests. After the strike on the Mesabi Range he severed his connections with the IWW and became quite scornful of it. He identified himself with the Amalgamated Textile Workers and several insurgent movements within the United Mine Workers, where Italian workers were involved. He wrote and spoke only in Italian and made little or no effort to learn English or to participate in American affairs. His preoccupation was with Italian affairs, his friends were predominantly Italian anarchists —a strange yet simple and earnest people who could be both exasperating and amusing. I recall a “comrade” of Carlo’s—a barber with a large family—who was an enthusiastic anarchist, so much so that he gave his children what he considered appropriate names—like “Liber- ta” (Liberty); “Athee” (Atheist); “Bruno” (for Giordano Bruno), etc. He was an extremely excitable man, though really a good father. We sat down to an enormous dinner and the children hollered loudly for whatever they wanted. Finally in exasperation he shouted, “Liber- ta, shut up!” and “Athee, per Jesus Christo, I beat you up!” and “Bruno, you are a fool!”
There were practically no women in the Italian movement—anarchist or socialist. Whatever homes I went into with Carlo the women were always in the background, cooking in the kitchen, and seldom even sitting down to eat with the men. Some were strong Catholics and resented me very much; they were very disapproving of my way of life. I became more and more immersed in my own field of labor defense work. Carlo’s Italian comrades realized we had drifted apart and had many differences which were fundamental because I was not an anarchist—I was a Socialist, and an industrial unionist, a strong believer in organization. True, I had wandered afield into the path of syndicalism, but still I was a Socialist. They tried to tell me that if I would only stay home and “keep house” for Carlo, all would be well. But I rejected that solution. I said: “He had a good Italian wife who
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SACCO AND VANZETTI cooked spaghetti and was a model housekeeper. Why didn’t he stay with her?” They knew the answer, and so did I then. Carlo had a roving eye that had roved in my direction in Lawrence but then, some ten years later, was roving elsewhere.
We separated in 1925, and would probably have separated sooner except that two cases in which we were mutually interested held us together. One was the Sacco-Vanzetti case; the other was his own arrest in the summer of 1923 under a Federal Obscenity Law. It sounds worse than it really was. It involved Italian pamphlets on birth-control, then a very popular subject, and was merely a pretext for Carlo’s political enemies to get him. With the rise of Mussolini, whom Carlo and others here had known as a Socialist in Italy, then the leader of fascism—a violent, brutal and anti-democratic ultra-nationalist movement, directed against Socialists, trade unionists and aliens—a united Italian anti-fascist movement emerged in this country in 1921. It was of wide proportions and embraced all political faiths. Arturo Giovannitti, Pietro Allegra, and Carlos Contreras, then known as Emeo Sor- menti (who was later deported and then became leader of the Communist Party in Trieste), were all extremely active in it. 11 Progresso— owned by Generoso Pope—was pro-Mussolini. The Sons of Italy was almost split asunder by the issue of fascism.
The fake march on Rome in October 1922 and the craven capitulation of King Victor Emanuel, who made Mussolini Prime Minister, preceded a reign of terror by the Black Shirts—jailings, burnings of union and newspaper offices, gagging of the press, beatings and the horrible castor oil treatment of hundreds of Italian men and women. The climax was the brutal murder of Socialist deputy Matteotti in 1924, committed by order of Mussolini to silence the bravest voice in Italy which had courageously exposed these monstrous deeds. The murder of Matteotti was shockingly similar to the murder of Karl Leibknecht and Rosa Luxemburg in Germany in 1919, and aroused world-wide protest, not confined to Italian people although they were particularly disturbed.
Carlo’s arrest and trial, which resulted in conviction, hampered him considerably in his anti-fascist agitation. He was defended by our one-time prosecutor, Harold Content, now in private practice. When his conviction was confirmed after appeal, he was sentenced by Judge Goddard to a year and a day in Atlanta Penitentiary. But through the efforts of Roger Baldwin and myself, supported by the American Civil
NOT MUCH PERSONAL LIFE
335 Liberties Union and several large Italian trade union locals in New York, especially Locals 48 and 89 of the ILGWU, a reduction of sentence to three months was seemed from President Coolidge. Another person who came to the aid of Carlo was Fiorello LaGuardia. He was then in Congress. I recall going to Washington to see him on Carlo’s behalf. He took me to dinner at the Mayflower Hotel and got an enormous kick out of introducing me in the most innocent manner to stodgy Southern congressmen and then saying, after they politely greeted me, “She’s an IWW, you know!”
He came to Judge Goddard’s chambers to plead for a lighter sentence and to explain the Italian political overtones behind the charges. We walked out on the street together and stood on Broadway in front of the Woolworth Building. I felt badly because Carlo had just been taken to the Tombs and I knew we were also parting our ways when this ordeal was finished. A man had come to my oflice with a package of love letters Carlo had written to the man’s wife, of such a nature that I had no choice. LaGuardia, of course, knew nothing of this at the time. But he sensed my great unhappiness and suddenly made a most penetrating and unexpected remark: “Elizabeth, why don’t you stop mixing up with all these Italian anarchists and go back into the American labor movement where you belong?”
Years later, in 1940, after my son’s death, I saw LaGuardia then Mayor of New York City out at Flushing Meadows. He said, “Elizabeth, I hear you joined the Communist Party!” I said, “Yes, Fiorello, don’t you remember you told me to leave the Italian anarchists and get back where I belong?” He laughed his hearty, roaring laughter and said, “Well, I’d rather see you with the Communists than with those freaks!” But I had not been able or willing to take his advice in 1924 because I was then too deeply involved in a battle for justice for two anarchists who were not freaks but honest workers. I was fighting against a damnable frame-up in Boston, Massachusetts—fighting for the lives of “the good shoemaker and the poor fish peddler”—Sacco and Vanzetti.