WINSTON PRAIRIE

“What made you buy those lots in Winston Prairie? If you had come to me I could have told you About the circuit judge, the state’s attorney, The county judge, the county clerk, the treasurer, The assessors and collectors who belong To what we call a court-house ring. You know They run the county, re-elect themselves, Play with the local bosses, stand in league With sellers of cement, and brick and lumber, And with the papers given the public printing, And with the sharks who buy in property For taxes sold, and with the intriguing thieves Who make improvements, levy the assessments For side-walk, sewers.” So my friend to me. “Good land,” I answered, “I inherited them, I did not buy these lots. But apropos Of what you say, I’ve wondered what’s the matter. I write and write for statements of my taxes, And cannot get them. Then I take the train, And travel through the heat to Winston Prairie. And I stand before a window asking for them. Your property was sold, I am informed. So I redeem, and go out to the grave-yard To look at Cato Braden’s grave, and then Catch the next train for home. A week or so Elapses and I get a letter—hum! Winston Prairie—office of the controller; Your property was sold for special numbered Two thousand and eighty-six, when you reply Please mention sale 1019.—Damn these thieves! So I pay that. I see! your court-house ring,— The men who’re sworn to enforce the law are those Who break it, and who use it to despoil you— Well, let me tell you. In this very June I went to Winston Prairie on this errand, And after I had written several times To get a statement. I arrived at noon— And yet the court-house offices were closed, The treasurer’s, the clerk’s, controller’s, all. I met a janitor who said: All closed Till half past one. That meant I’d miss my train Back to Chicago, and would have to stay In Winston Prairie until six o’clock. I sat down in the hall-way with a curse. But in a minute there were hideous yells, Shrieks, curses, as it were of women beaten, Tortured, or strangled. So I went to see, And found a door behind which I could hear Intolerable tears, the scratching of weak hands Against the door and wall. What is the matter? I hallooed through the door. O, go to hell A woman said, you know what is the matter. I don’t, I said, I’ll help you if I can. Then followed sobs and wails, and incoherent Blubbering of words. At last I saw a finger Stuck through the broken plaster by the door, And leaning down I said: look through at me. And then I stooped and looking through the crack Saw a gray eye, which looked as it might be Of Slavic birth. But who can read an eye Shown singly through a crack? So while I talked To get the story of these girls in prison, (For where they were was called the calaboose, Built in the court-house) some one back of me Said: They’ll be quiet in due time, the cooler Cools people off. I turned and saw a man Who seemed to be a judge, and was a judge, As I discovered later. Well, I said, I cannot bear to see a human being In such distress and terror—what’s their ages? One’s sixteen and one’s seventeen, said the judge, But they are bad ones, so I made the fine Enough to hold them thirty days. I asked What did they do? They were soliciting, The judge replied, and here in Winston Prairie The law is law and we enforce the law. We do not do as you do in Chicago. I felt my heart shut tight its valves and stop, And was about to say: You are a fool. You are what some would have America, You are an Illinoisan, damn your soul. You are a figure in the court-house ring, Whereof the tax shark is a figure too. But then I thought these girls might prove to be Worth while some time. But even if they live Street walkers all their lives, they stone no prophets, Devour no widows’ houses, do less harm Than court-house rings and judges in the rings. So this is what I said: May I enquire What are your Honor’s hours for holding court? And he replied: Court has adjourned till two. I hold till six o’clock, we do not loaf As judges in Chicago do, good-day! Well, then at half past one I paid my taxes, With interest, penalties and all the costs. At two o’clock I stood before the bar And to the judge addressed these words: Your Honor, I represent Miss Christine Leichentritt, Miss Garda Gerstenburg, who are in jail Under your Honor’s sentence. I have seen The state’s attorney, who is satisfied To let them go, if all the costs are paid. I went to see him on a matter of taxes, And this came up. The state’s attorney rose And said: Your Honor, they are very young, And though they have been caught before at this, And warned that Winston Prairie is no place For them to ply their trade, I am inclined To think they will not break our laws again. I thought I saw his honor’s eye light up As if it caught a wireless, so he said: “The court is satisfied.” I paid the costs And took Christine and Garda to Chicago. But at the station, as I said good bye, Christine flared up: You don’t suppose that I Will let you pay those costs, I am not cheap. I may be bad, but I am square, she said. And I have money in my room, come on To Twelfth and Wabash and I’ll pay you back For me and Garda. No, I said, go on. Try to be good, but if you can’t be good, Be wise, and do not go to Winston Prairie. I turned and disappeared among the crowds.