The Factory Worker and the Lumber-Jack

Without wishing to disparage the ultimate worth of either; it might be well to contrast for a moment the factory worker of the East with the lumber-jack of the Pacific Northwest.  To the factory hand the master’s claim to the exclusive title of the means of production is not so evidently absurd.  Around him are huge, smoking buildings filled with roaring machinery—­all man-made.  As a rule he simply takes for granted that his employers—­whoever they are—­own these just as he himself owns, for instance, his pipe or his furniture.  Only when he learns, from thoughtful observation or study, that such things are the appropriated products of the labor of himself and his kind, does the truth dawn upon him that labor produces all and is entitled to its own.

[Illustration:  Logging Operations

Look around you at the present moment and you will see wood used for many different purposes.  Have you ever stopped to think where the raw material comes from or what the workers are like who produce it?  Here is a scene from a lumber camp showing the loggers at their daily tasks.  The lumber trust is willing that these men should work-but not organize.]

It must be admitted that factory life tends to dispirit and cow the workers who spend their lives in the gloomy confines of the modern mill or shop.  Obedient to the shrill whistle they pour out of their clustered grey dwellings in the early morning.  Out of the labor ghettos they swarm and into their dismal slave-pens.  Then the long monotonous, daily “grind,” and home again to repeat the identical proceeding on the following day.  Almost always, tired, trained to harsh discipline or content with low comfort; they are all too liable to feel that capitalism is invincibly colossal and that the possibility of a better day is hopelessly remote.  Most of them are unacquainted with their neighbors.  They live in small family or boarding house units and, having no common meeting place, realize only with difficulty the mighty potency of their vast numbers.  To them organization appears desirable at times but unattainable.  The dickering conservatism of craft unionism appeals to their cautious natures.  They act only en masse, under awful compulsion and then their release of repressed slave emotion is sudden and terrible.

Not so with the weather-tanned husky of the Northwestern woods.  His job life is a group life.  He walks to his daily task with his fellow workers.  He is seldom employed for long away from them.  At a common table he eats with them, and they all sleep in common bunk houses.  The trees themselves teach him to scorn his master’s adventitious claim to exclusive ownership.  The circumstances of his daily occupation show him the need of class solidarity.  His strong body clamours constantly for the sweetness and comforts of life that are denied him, his alert brain urges him to organize and his