Labor Day is the day we honor the achievements of American workers, according to the Department of Labor. In honor of that tradition, I will take a minute to discuss a labor-oriented novel, and then we'll all participate in a Labor Day writing prompt.
Labor Themed Novel: The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
In 1906, Upton Sinclair published The Jungle. His goal was expose the deplorable conditions at factories in Chicago and other American cities. The book was wildly successful.
But not for the reasons Sinclair intended.
Rather than being disgusted with the exploitation of the American worker, most people were just disgusted by the way their sausage was made at the meatpacking factory featured in the story.
I get the impression from Wikipedia that Sinclair was definitely annoyed, but at least it got people to read his book, right?
Does it matter that the public was drawn to The Jungle for a completely different reason than the author intended? Are there other examples of this happening? Let us know in the comments section.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to write about an American worker. Share in the comments section below!
“The Jungle”, was one of two novels that most influenced my life. The other was “Grapes of Wrath”. I was in college 10 years after graduating from high school. I was appalled by the treatment of the young women especially in the slaughter houses. As Sinclair exposed in the meat packers industry, I had been raped by a superior “on the job” while serving in the Women’s Army Corps – a common practice I discovered in many if not most work situations where women are in the minority and have little power or authority. After then reading
“Grapes of Wrath”, I became a lifelong political activist for women’s, children, the poor, and animal rights. I also became a devoted union member. Having only read non-fiction prior to taking this required American Literature class, I learned from these books that a good novel could perhaps influence more change, more people, than any non-fiction writing. Why? People (victims?) are able to see themselves described in the stories and realize that they were not so unique in their experience as they had assumed and begin to speak out as a result, leading to exposure and sometimes change.
I’m so sorry you had that experience of being raped on the job. Before the women’s movement, we didn’t know we didn’t have to put up with such egregious behavior, and it still is amazing to me that it took so long for sexual harassment at work to even be recognized as a thing, and not just “the way things are.”
We had to read The Jungle this summer for AP US History alongside Uncle Tom’s Cabin so we could compare wage slavery with production slavery, and we actually concluded that wage slaves suffered through worse conditions than the African American slaves in the south. It does matter that people in that time were drawn to The Jungle by the method of meat packing rather than the injustices inflicted upon the wage slave. The Federal Meat Inspection Act was passed in 1906 in response to the publication of The Jungle, which shows that the people, if properly motivated, could have passed other laws and acts protecting workers in similar conditions. Sinclair was successful in motivating people, but they were motivated in the direction of their own interests rather than the interests of the lowly factory worker. However, that was in 1906. People today can read the novel with the knowledge that their food is clean and can focus on Jurgis’ story and actually receive the message Sinclair was trying to send. One can view the early misinterpretation as a good thing for later readers.
I am amazed at your grasp of this classic book. What a great analysis for one still in school. I hope you continue to share your ideas and your writing. Very impressive, Lauren. Where do you attend school, if you don’t mind sharing? Where are you headed after high school?
Thank you so much Ms. Schmelzer. I attend a public high school in the Cincinnati area, and after high school I plan to go to college and study cognitive neuroscience.
I hope you read more about slavery in the United States as you go on in school, because, while wage slavery was very bad, factory workers’ conditions were not worse than those of slaves. In a way, the conditions of each aren’t comparable because the people who were enslaved were literally owned, while factory workers were not literally owned. That is a huge difference.
I respectfully disagree. In terms of working conditions, wage slaves were exposed to blood, disease, faecal matter, dangerous machinery, and extreme temperatures. Here’s a quote from Chapter 9 concerning an ill fated worker who fell into a vat, “… and
as for the other men, who worked in tank rooms full of steam, and in
some of which there were open vats near the level of the floor, their
peculiar trouble was that they fell into the vats; and when they were
fished out, there was never enough of them left to be worth
exhibiting—sometimes they would be overlooked for days, till all but the
bones of them had gone out to the world as Durham’s Pure Leaf Lard!”
Yes, plantation slaves worked for hours in the burning sun until their hands bled, but they were exposed to fewer factors that could kill them. Furthermore, if the wage slave was injured, he was tossed out into the street and replaced by one of hundreds vying for his position. Production slaves, since they were worth money, were typically given medical care, food, and housing. Though the wage slave wasn’t literally owned, he still had a master, which was money/their livelihood. Were they free to quit any time they wanted? Technically speaking, yes, but most couldn’t risk leaving their job to search for better positions.
The American Way
Hot oil pops
boils on my arm
dangerous as lava
in my fast food imprisonment
How is this the outcome?
Slave away
at minimum wage
waiting for the first of the month
in these frying hot days
The tan francise owner
is retired
at age 37
Bought the restuarant with money
his great grandad made-
off of mine
“Making it”
The American way
I curdle the thick colorless grease
with an Ice cream scooper
Lop it in a hot dog bun
put a thin slice of processed lard
right on top
Aint as pretty as the commercial
but I try and smile
give you extra sauce for your kids nuggets
make your day
in these endless days
the American way
The fact that readers were originally drawn to ‘The Jungle’ for a reason that the author did not intend is only important to the extent that concern and compassion for others is important. Caring how sausage is made begins with a personal concern for one’s own health and well-being, whereas, caring about the working conditions of others is caring on a much larger scale. It is the start of caring for the world. Can one kind of caring somehow lead to the other? Possibly, but only as a last result, I would think, as we gradually come to realize that what can poison one can poison us all.
Recently I’ve been seeing posts on Facebook about super heroes such as Captain America or Ironman, alluding them to be real American Heros. The Captain and his extroverted Avengers sidekick are figments of Stan Lee’s imagination and have been blown out of all proportion by Hollywood and CGI. Really, Tony Stark, inside any kind of a suit of armor survives a 12G or more impact with a building? Wanna see what strawberry jam looks like? I do watch the movies, and enjoy them, but let’s get real about such dick heads being true American heroes.
You want real American heroes? Visit the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Drive by the national cemetery in Minneapolis. Those gardens of stone are where the real heroes rest. Read the rolls of the winners of the Congressional Medal of Honor; Alvin York, Audie Murphy. We know Captain America and Tony Stark, but how many can name five awardees of the CMH and why they received that medal? There, are the real American heroes. Read the citations that accompany those awards and then compare them against the plastic, glitz, and sheer fantasy of anything from Marvel, DC, or Hollywood. We have thousands of real American heroes in and out of uniform, whether military, police, fire or other first responders, but we forget that when Tony Stark bounces off a building battling some equally fictitious villain.
By all means, enjoy the movies, be wowed by them. But remember, what you see on that cinematic screen has NOTHING to do with real heroes who have and are serving.
Thank you for your declaration. All of these who serve us every day do not deserve what is facing them today. I cry in my heart every time I hear of a police officer, a military person, even our first-responders who dies serving us. My neighbor is a first-responder and every time he goes by our house with his sirens blaring I offer up a little prayer for his safety.
You do well by praying for your neighbor!
The grill was crackling and spitting, a dance floor of burgers and cheese spread out before him. He wiped his brow with the greasy sleeve of his Mac’s Burgers T-Shirt to stop the sweat from pouring into his eyes. After only a month, the smell of burgers, once a beloved memory, had become a nightmare. Frozen, small, crappy burgers they got for 10 cents a piece ordering in bulk, charging 3 bucks making a crazy profit on each one. Of course, none of that profit went into Apollo’s check. The measly pennies he received each day barely kept him afloat, but they were one of the few places hiring ex-cons.
The boss, Mr. Norbert, was one sadistic prick, at least, that’s what Apollo thought. Sure, clean-cut look out at the register or on the floor smiling and all the customers, tellin’ them to “have it their way–Always!” Then coming right back to the kitchen and smacking the backs of the cooks heads, always wanting it faster, like Apollo could shift the atoms in the burgers making them fry faster. Last week, Jersey the other daytime cook, came in 4 minutes late cause she got stuck in traffic droppin’ off her daughter at pre-K. Well, good ol’ Mr. Norbert had some words to say about that, ones that certainly couldn’t be repeated in front of her daughter. Men like that had no compassion, living lonely, single lives with lots of take-out and boring nights of Netflix and scotch. He wielded the sad, pathetic power he had any way he could, gliding over all of them and make himself feel like a million bucks for 8 hours a day.
Mr. Norbert didn’t care Apollo was tryin’ to make it straight, just needed the cash to keep on keepin’ on and get the rent check in every month. Small bits of alimony goin’ to the ex to keep her happy and off his back, keep his little girl in those cute pink dresses she always liked. Making her feel like a princess. That’s why he showed up on time, that’s why he shut his mouth when Mr. Norbert threatened to shove his face on that fryer if he even thought about stealin’ supplies or cash. In the old life, that woulda gotten Mr. Norbert a shank in his leg, but that was gone. Instead, Apollo shut his mouth, went home right after work, steered clear of the corners that brought him to this spot in the first place. Just keep workin’, just keep your head down, and God’ll get ya through. That was Apollo’s creed, his new mantra he repeated ad nauseum to get him through the day. That and the picture he kept tucked in his wallet of his little girl in one of them pink dresses she loved so much.
abuggslife – loved reading your story! Certainly the reality for many trying to “keepin’ on”. Apollo got it right with what he thought of Mr. Norbert! So it’s a contrast to then read, him described as “good ol’ Mr Norbert…” He’s either one, not both. Also God’ll is poor grammar, even for the diction of Apollo.
isn’t “good ol’ Mr. Norbert” sarcasm? I liked that — it showed Apollo was able to express, if only to himself, his utter contempt for this man who had power but no compassion. And “God’ll” may not be good grammar, but it gives a sense of Apollo’s voice — it’s the way people talk, and this feels like an internal monologue, so I’d say it is okay.
I agree SRJ1991, however abuggslife, I think that tryin’, goin’, stealin’ are unnecessary – this mixes up the voice of the narrator with Apollo’s voice. Unless, of course, the narrator does, in fact, “speak” like this. If not, then I think you need to separate the two. Otherwise, from the first line I was right there in the kitchen next to Apollo, you hooked me in immediately.
Thanks so much everyone for the great insight. “Good ol’ Mr Norbert,” was meant sarcastically from Apollo’s point of view, so I’m glad that came through. The couldn’t figure out what I wanted for the narrator’s voice until the end and I should have worked on revising the rest of the story to fit the conversational tone. (Mostly inspired by my recent reading of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.) Again, thanks to all of you for reading and commenting, I really appreciate the insight!
If the majority of readers are influenced by a book in one way, and the writer intended a different way, then the author didn’t do a good job of his persuasive technique. He also should expect that the reader may see things not as he, in his mind, intended.
I agree with you Jean. In this case, the readers reacted to the way sausages were made perhaps because the book made them aware that the food they consumed were being processed in an unhealthy and unsanitary conditions and it needed government intervention. Sinclair aim was met. The book became a best seller and caused enough outrage to pass a law to change conditions.
I agree with Gary G Little. Real heroes are the people who put themselves in harms way every single day to protect the people of America, like the firefighters who are fighting the forest fires right now, who willingly go straight into danger knowing they may not come back. Those are the heroes of the U.S. and they deserve to be recognized that way.
Thank you to all of the brave firefighters that risk – and give – their lives for us.
I don’t know if this is similar to impact that the jungle had on most of the readers at that time. When I was in college years and years ago, In one of my literature class, there was a great debate about Upton Sinclair’s book. Did he write this book to make a state
In the early 1950, my grandmother left the poor, underdeveloped island of Puerto Rico and arrived to New York, where so many others had settled and a community of boricuas was thriving. She found a place in Williamsburg, not far from bodegas, a church quickly found a job at a factory, owned by a Jewish man. She sewed panties and because she was astute, and pretty, got promoted to supervise the line where most of the seamstresses where from Puerto Rico as well – Canovanas, Arecibo, Fajardo.
My mom and my auntie had a drawer full of white, pink and blue panties with ruffles, but saw very little of my grandmother, who worked long hours and would then meet up with her cousins to hit the popular latin dance clubs in the south Bronx. So when the panties got stained, they panicked and through them away.
Thirty years later, my grandmother returned to the island, with a pension check and a new husband.
This is interesting, and there’s so much more I’d like to know. Your story about your mother and aunt having all those panties makes me wonder whether your grandmother was able to bring home panties that were irregulars, not up to the standard so couldn’t be sold. Or did she bring home scraps of material and make panties for her girls? My mother always had a little fur coat as a child, because her father would bring home scraps of fur from the factory and make a coat or jacket for her.
It’s great that your grandmother got a pension. Did she also have a union?
American Workers
My parents were leftists, but they weren’t “workers.” They had both graduated from college, but the work they did was not easily explained. My father was a physicist, but he didn’t work in a lab; once I became conscious of his work, he was working for various companies as a kind of trouble-shooter. They would have a problem they needed solved, and he would figure out the solution, figure out a way to implement it, and then he’d be out of a job. Eventually he began working for a drug company, first devising a machine for folding a little box around the little bottle of pills. Then he worked in the instrumentation department, where he developed a small, hand-held fetal monitor. Unfortunately, everything he invented belonged to the company he worked for; he never got any patents in his own name. His work was both cerebral and mechanical, which, as a child, I had a hard time understanding. And he wasn’t very good at explaining what he did in simple terms. So his work always remained rather opaque to me.
My mother also worked, because she wanted to, not because she had to. As soon as her three children were in school, she went to work, first as a medical technician at a hospital. As with my father, I had no real idea what she did, just the name of the job. Later, she became a medical correspondent at the same drug company my father worked for. This was a job I could understand. Doctors would write letters to the company describing how they were using a drug or asking questions about whether a particular medication could be used in a particular way. My mother’s job was to research the medical literature and then write a coherent letter in clear English to the doctor. This was the first time I learned one could make a living writing letters. Her job was also cerebral, but quite understandable.
Even though both my parents had professional-type jobs, I knew about hard work. One
grandmother worked as a salesperson in a department store. Her feet had terrible bunions, which I guessed came from her having to stand all day long at the store. One grandfather had worked in a fur factory. He was also a labor organizer and a Communist. I learned that work could be hard, but that workers banding together could make their working conditions better, and doing that could also be hard. That grandfather was blacklisted because of his politics, and forced out of the factory. Even in my middle-class life growing up, I inhaled the value of unions.
And then I learned their value first-hand as a grownup. I’d helped organize a union at the newspaper where I worked, and when my supervisor tried to fire me, I used the
union’s grievance process to save my job. It saddens me that so many people no longer know that the “golden age of the 1950s” was also the height of union membership in this country. It’s been declining ever since. And given how poorly people are now paid, and how many union benefits have been lost since the 1980s, we need a new burst of union organizing to honor all kinds of workers and retrieve a better balance between workers and bosses.
I’d been reading two books at once that share a similar depiction of life at the turn of the century. One, The Jungle takes place around 1904 in the U.S. and the other, Of Human Bondage which was written in 1915 depicts a period a bit before that. They share an image of life at that time if you were not fortunate enough to be wealthy. In both people are living hand-to-mouth and characters die of starvation. It may seem extremely ignorant but I’ve always wondered about the images we have of the depression. People are so absolutely without anything, even the clothes on their backs are rags. I’ve always thought of depression as being set off by the stock market crash and years of famine but it takes a long time for your clothes to become rags. This would signify that you have one set of clothes and no others, not even enough to fill a sack and that this state of affairs had been the case for some time. After reading these books, it becomes clearer that people had been living in general privation for their entire lives, and so with the depression, were left with absolutely nothing. The poverty of working people existed long before the depression. And yet we can look at the wealth that also existed at this time. A time that created the richest families even to this day. Wealth that was created out of the flesh of working people who were paid pennies. Had they been paid a decent wage and not tricked into all sorts of schemes that designed to make the rich richer, those wealthy families would still have been wealthy beyond reason. We still live with this idea that capitalism is a decent way to live even though it churns working peoples’ lives under for the benefit of the rich. The social programs we have today exist because people lying dead in the street is not nice and all the things that follow poverty, like disease and crime, are no good for anyone. The callousness of the rich is still shocking today. We see the same things today described in these two very old books. The attitude that it is the fault of the poor that they are poor, that everyone stands the same chances, that it is the survival of the fittest are all popular ideas. For a fairly Christian country, it takes a decidedly anti-Christian view of helping one’s fellow man. Greed is the true religion of the U.S. Even those with nothing support the idea because they live in hope of being on the other side of the equation one day. The working poor will be squeezed until there will nothing left to take and there will be a rebellion. After all, it is true that in survival of the fittest, joining forces like the rich do, is also an option of poor. At least if they are not convinced they are anti-American for trying to survive.
I found The Jungle profoundly upsetting because very little has changed. Self-interest is not only foremost in people’s minds but alone. It is the sole interest of Americans. The average American doesn’t care about children making their shoes or workers being poisoned making phones or fast food workers working full-time and being unable to make a living. People repeat “survival of the fittest” as if it’s the highest we can ever hope to achieve. They continue to celebrate billionaires who underpay their workers and sit atop more money than they can spend in several lifetimes while children in this wealthy country go hungry. This book highlights how unrepentant and unenlightened we are. That we are hoarders of wealth to the detriment of all else and the only way to convince people not to always take the lion’s share, is by appealing to that same self-interest and myopia.
Sweat and heat caused the dirt and grease to slide down Charlie’s skin. It was foul, the way he saw his skin glisten as the harmful rays of the sun relentlessly burned him. Charlie was no doubt fearful of the pain of his sunburn to come, but not as much as he was of not working hard enough. His boss, Ms. Hullman, was a witch of a woman. Her employees whispered rumors often- Charlie may or may not have been the one to start many of them. Nevertheless, he worked until his hands cracked and his back was sore. He had to, if he wanted his children to eat. His husband had gone missing long ago- though few knew of it. So being the only parent of the household, Charlie struggled, even with the monthly checks sent by his mother that he initially attempted to deny. He became obsessed with working for his children, though they missed playing with him. They did not understand why daddy worked so much, or why he never played anymore, or why papa had never come back. In the near future they began to wonder the same of daddy, ever since the day memaw had picked them up from their house, her eyes deafeningly drowning in salty tears, and never took them back home.
Every now and then, the train loads and unloads
with the hectic chattering of workers that goes in and out of the bus –
sometimes, he’d even have to experience the piercing scream of a woman as her
purse gets snatched away. Working as a railroad engineer, he knew it was
something Richard has to be familiar with.
Richard dabbed a worn-out handkerchief on
his temples that were prickling with sweat. He knew he wouldn’t make that much
income from his work, even though his loving wife, Clarissa, pushes him to relinquish
working; he still attended his job day and night. What would happen if I were to stop working? He’d often ask that
himself, knowing that he’s already a 65 year old man who shouldn’t be working
any longer, he kept in mind that he still has three teenagers to sustain for their
education needs. If he were to abandon his weekly payroll, there’d be no food
on the small, dining table and his lovely daughter would have to quit her 6
year course to start finding a job to support the family.
After a day’s work, Richard finally
departed from work and walked his way home, taking a cab was too cheap for him –
what was the use of legs when we don’t
use it? He’d ask himself. He turned and pulled the knob of the apartment
door open, revealing smiles from his loved ones, he knew he needn’t have to be
wealthy enough, because he was loved and cherished by his family – and that was
the one and only treasure that Richard kept himself motivated for.
I’m in college working part time at McDonald’s. It’s better than people say. Upton Sinclair might deserve partial thanks for that.