The social networks of the day-soup kitchens, ethnic organizations, community halls-stitched the patchwork of strikers together. Although strikers lacked a common culture and language, they remained united in a common cause. Lawrence, known as “Immigrant City,” was a true American melting pot with residents from 51 nations wedged into seven square miles. The banners they carried demanding both living wages and dignity-“We want bread, and roses, too”-gave the work stoppage its name, the Bread and Roses Strike.

They delivered fiery rally speeches and marched in picket lines and parades. Lines of state militiamen protected the massive brick mills with the spears of their bayonets pointed squarely at the picket lines of strikers who protested outside. Thousands of strikers, their numb feet crunching on the snow, chanted and sang protest songs as they paraded through the streets. Their numbers swelled the following week. By the end of January 12, more than 10,000 workers were out on strike. Through the falling snow, rioting workers shattered windows with bricks and ice, and police beat them back with billy clubs.

They tore bobbins and shuttles off machines. Knife-wielding strikers overwhelmed security gates and slashed machine belts, threads and cloth. Even above the looms’ deafening din, the shouts of strikers could be heard: “Short pay! All out! All out!” In spite of arctic temperatures, bad blood boiled over.

Word of the strike by the women of the Everett Mill swept through Lawrence’s squalid tenements that night, and the following morning the walkout cascaded through neighboring mills. For workers who only averaged $8.76 per week, every penny was precious, and 32 cents made the difference between eating a meal or going hungry. A newly enacted Massachusetts law had reduced the workweek of women and children from 56 to 54 hours, but mill owners, unlike in the past, cut workers’ wages proportionally. The workers who had opened their pay envelopes that afternoon discovered their weekly wages had been reduced by 32 cents. When a mill official demanded to know why workers were standing motionless next to their machines, the explanation was simple: “Not enough pay.” The power looms that thundered inside the cotton weaving room of the Everett Mill in Lawrence, Massachusetts, suddenly fell silent on January 11, 1912.

Bread and Roses by Bruce Watson