THE EDUCATION OF ROSE DAWSON: PART II
Chapter Two

Situation

In contrast to her harrowing experience the previous night, Rose slept quite well this time. When she awoke the next morning, she felt rejuvenated. It was a new week, and she was eager to put the recent negative experiences behind her and continue her conversion into a common girl.

One thing any young woman of limited means needed was a job. Rose had been thinking about what she could do for a living ever since she confidently told Jack on the afternoon of the thirteenth, after they had dined with Angus for the first time, that her delicate hands were made for work. The thought of work became stronger once she decided to run off with Jack right before the iceberg struck, and stronger still after she was picked up by the Carpathia. Now that Mr. Word had praised her for her command of mathematics, she knew that she had at least one skill she could use to make a contribution to society.

Becoming a moving picture actress or the next Isadora Duncan was still in her dreams, but as much as she wanted self-fulfillment from any occupation she entered, she still had to meet her basic needs—food, clothing, and housing—first. She was receiving all three at the shelter, but knew that she could not rely on the SA forever, nor did she want to. There were many other women in New York alone who were as equally deserving of its help as she.

Despite her lack of work experience, Rose enjoyed some advantages besides the shelter. The money she salvaged from Cal’s jacket served as a cushion, allowing her to search for work at a more relaxed pace instead of desperately accepting whatever came her way. Women who were less well-endowed in skill or fortune—the two seemed to go hand-in-hand—were known to sell their bodies to survive; Rose saw this even in her former life.

That was something she did not intend to emulate.

Father, Jack, Mr. McKenzie…Mother. I promise you all that however dire my circumstances, I will never become a prostitute. I would rather beg and sleep on the street than exchange my flesh for a man’s desires and his money. If I had wanted to peddle myself to the highest bidder, I would have given my hand in marriage to Cal, and it would have been safer. That would have pleased one of you, but it would have dishonored what the rest of you stood for.

*****

After freshening up and having breakfast, Rose saw Cadet Hill in the lobby. "Good morning, Miss Dawson! I hope you’re feeling better today," greeted Cadet Hill warmly.

"I think I am, Miss Hill. Thank you."

"May I ask you a sensitive question?"

"Certainly."

"Was the thief ever caught?"

"One of them. The other one is still being sought, and Jenny agreed to help identify her if the police arrest somebody."

"So, the other thief is a woman. But I’m not all that surprised. I’ve seen a number of girl pickpockets during my brief time here. They’re even harder to suspect because of their sex."

"I did not suspect a woman at first, either. Both of them fooled me because they were so well-dressed. If Jenny had not exposed the man, he would have escaped with my money. But it turned dangerous."

"I take it there was a big fight," said Cadet Hill, as she recalled the ice packs Amsterdam and Jenny held and the bruise on Jenny’s face.

"There certainly was, and Jenny suffered the most after being knocked to the ground. But Amsterdam was just inexhaustible. You may not believe this just by looking at him, but he challenged a man young enough to be his grandson and beat him. He suffered some hits, but he was the one standing in the end."

"Were you hurt, Miss Dawson?"

"More emotionally than physically. The thief grabbed me by the neck and was about to cut my face with a knife when I bit and punched him. I even threw my coins and hat at him. I did not think about being hurt; that was how angry I was." Rose stopped for a breather before continuing. "I did not hurt him, but I occupied his attention long enough for Amsterdam to surprise him from behind. Jenny also helped by tossing her water bottle at him. That really hurt."

"So, you can fight, Miss Dawson. Even though the Army discourages violence to resolve our problems, I wish I could have been there to see you help teach the thief a lesson."

"I doubt you would want to see such a base display of human behavior, Miss Hill. Besides, I did not do much. Amsterdam and Jenny did most of the work…and took all of the blows. I owe my safety to them." Rose breathed a sigh of relief, as if the fight had just ended. "Still, it was a very harrowing experience for me. It happened rather quickly, so it has not sunk in until now."

"I see what you mean, but you were still very brave to confront a thief," said Cadet Hill, who then wisely decided to change the subject. "So, what are your plans for today?"

"I would very much like to go out and find a situation that is suitable for me."

Cadet Hill’s reaction was a combination of concern and amazement. "Are you planning to move on so soon, Miss Dawson? I’d certainly understand if you intend to, but I also hope we have been adequately providing for you so far."

"You most certainly have, Miss Hill, so please do not think the Army’s assistance has been inadequate. But I have to make myself useful in this new life of mine. I have no previous work experience, but I know I can do something."

"I think you can, too, Miss Dawson. But it still seems so soon for you to do this after all you’ve been through."

Rose considered Cadet Hill’s words before responding. "Yes, it is. But suppose we take away all I have been through before I arrived in New York. Imagine that I am just a country girl who came to this big, unknown city to pursue my dream of becoming…an actress, for instance. Would that be any different from you leaving Canada because you wanted to follow in Madam Booth’s footsteps? That must have been a big decision for you, too."

Cadet Hill was pleasantly surprised by Rose pointing out a similarity in their lives. Both of them were young women who left their families to pursue their dreams, although Rose had to clear a few major obstacles to get to this point. "Yes, you’re right. That was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’m glad I took it," said Cadet Hill.

"Some opportunities only come once," said Rose. "Would you agree that it is better to try something and fail than to never try it at all?"

"Absolutely. You’re amazing, Miss Dawson. For that, I salute you. But just remember that you’re still our valued guest. If there’s anything we can help you with, even finding a situation, then please do ask."

"I will, thank you."

"One more thing. It should rain today. Do bring an umbrella with you."

"Oh, yes. And thank you again, Miss Hill."

*****

Rose returned to her room to retrieve her umbrella. Then she left the shelter and headed west. It had not begun to rain yet, but the sky was overcast. Rose found herself among the morning rush hour crowds once again. This time, she actively searched for a paperboy hawking the New York Times. She found one at the corner of East 14th Street and Second Avenue, and paid a penny for her copy. As Titanic was still big news, she deliberately skipped the pages covering it and went straight to the Situations section. This was uncharted waters for her. As a Bukater, she had read the Times, but never its Help Wanted section. No woman in her social circle ever so much glanced at it, and her mother actively discouraged it. She was expected to find a rich husband who would provide for her, and this meant subordinating her body and mind to his wealth and whim.

Even before Titanic, Rose knew that a lot of women worked for a living. She saw that when she walked the streets of Philadelphia and New York; they could not be fully kept from her sight. Even if they were, Trudy was always there to remind her that not all women were as pampered as she. Women did not make as much as men, but they worked to support themselves and their families nonetheless.

She reminisced one of Ruth Bolton’s lines on her choice to become a physician in The Gilded Age: "I just begin to see what I can do in it, and what a noble profession it is for a woman. Would thee have me sit here like a bird on a bough and wait for somebody to come and put me in a cage?" It was a moving recollection for Rose–and an overwhelming one, too.

Will I ever be as accomplished as the fictional Dr. Bolton, much less Drs. Curie and Blackwell? I would be happy if I could just emulate Harriet Quimby.

But everyone, no matter how distinguished, has to start somewhere. A physician or scientist Rose would likely never be, but if what Commander Booth said about her was true, she had gifts the rest of the world had not yet seen. All she needed was a place to demonstrate them.

So, Rose commenced the pursuit of her career by flipping over to page twenty-one of the Times, where the Situations Wanted and Help Wanted sections were posted. Both sections were divided by sex. While the Situations Wanted section was almost evenly split between men and women, the Help Wanted section was a lot longer for men. So few options for us. Do they think women and work cannot mix, too? Perhaps not with most of the work that is on offer in the New York Times. The truly dirty and menial jobs for women would not be advertised here. Rose harkened back once more to her mother’s words from that Sunday morning: "We’re women. Our choices are never easy."

True, Mother, but they do not seem so hard when we have hardly any choice at all.

For the few positions that mentioned pay, a couple of quick calculations told Rose that the jobs on offer would not pay quite enough for a woman to live on her own in the city. Her residence at the shelter suddenly became a bigger advantage than she thought.

She soon got over this imbalance and studied the few openings for women in the Help Wanted section. They did not look very promising. Housekeeping was out of the question, not because Rose did not want to sweat and toil with her hands–which she was willing to do–but because she could end up in a wealthy household where she could be recognized. That was also why she could not work as a private cook, not to mention the fact that her experience in cooking was limited to boiling an egg and making toast once, with some assistance from the Bukaters’ chef, just to see that it was not too hard to prepare her own meal.

Stenography, however, was something that Rose thought she could do, even if she had no prior experience in it. She believed herself to be a good listener–after all those lectures from Mother–and note taker–and having to remember all those mannerisms at finishing school–and these qualities, combined with her near flawless penmanship, led her to think she was a worthy candidate for any stenographer position. One happened to be advertised in the Help Wanted Female section, albeit without an address. That required Rose to go to Times headquarters in Times Square to leave her contact information.

*****

To get to Times Square, Rose had to take the IRT subway north once again and get off one stop after Grand Central. The neighborhood was not one with which she was too familiar, and for good reason. It had long garnered a reputation for cheap thrills and as a haven for the world’s oldest profession. Still, there were some respectable establishments in the area, like the Hotel Astor, the land for which Colonel Astor’s cousin, William Waldorf Astor, leased to a developer to build a hotel that would rival the best hotels in the city, including the Waldorf-Astoria on Fifth Avenue and 34th Street. The latter was actually an amalgamation of two adjacent hotels built by the cousins, who had a personal rivalry of their own that was an extension of the antagonism between their families. It began with their fathers and even extended to the women. The feud was the talk among elite circles, but since the Astors remained among the most prominent families in the country, their peers continued to associate with and even fawn over them.

After seeing his cousin’s family gain the upper hand in the squabble, William moved to Britain and established roots there, although he maintained property holdings in the U.S. The Waldorf, which opened in 1893, was William’s deliberate attempt to spite Colonel Astor’s mother, who lived next door and had her own personal feud with William. Not to be outdone, Colonel Astor (or J.J., as he was better known to his family and friends) authorized the construction of a larger hotel in place of his mother’s home, and the Astoria opened four years later. For convenience sakes, the cousins reluctantly agreed to merge the operations of their hotels while retaining the right to break this arrangement if the rivalry flared up again. But it had likely passed now that J.J. had almost certainly died in the sinking.

Rose met William once – during her recent vacation when she stopped in London right before boarding Titanic. Cal and Ruth practically worshipped William, who, in addition to his wealth, was campaigning for a noble rank. Rose, on the other hand, was less awed with his efforts and conceit, but, adhering to etiquette, she politely accepted his company and hospitality. When it came time to board a train for Southampton on the morning of April 10, William even escorted the three to Waterloo Station in London and invited them to his country estate after Rose and Cal were married.

Later, when J.J. boarded Titanic at Cherbourg with his wife, Rose remarked to her mother how much he resembled his cousin despite an age difference of sixteen years. “And you resemble his new bride quite nicely,” said Ruth, “with less than two years separating both of you.” Rose knew there was more meaning to her mother’s words than just an age comparison.

Rose had met with J.J. several times before and with Madeleine once previously. She found it easier to talk to them than to William. They welcomed her willingness to befriend them because most of society had shunned them after J.J. divorced his first wife and married a woman less than half his age. Hence, they were fine with Rose addressing them by their first names, a practice Ruth discouraged, as long as it helped them make the transition back into society. Since Rose and Madeleine were about the same age, they got along well, and Madeleine even gave Rose a few tips on marriage and pregnancy.

The Astors, along with Mrs. Brown, were among the few rich people whom Rose respected. On the Carpathia, Rose wanted to check up on Madeleine, given her delicate condition and the fact that she was alone, but was afraid of running into her mother or Cal. She had another chance to reach out to Madeleine after they disembarked in New York, but hesitated. Not even Madeleine could know that she survived the sinking and assumed a new identity.

(L) William Waldorf Astor (left) at London’s Waterloo train station on the morning of April 10, 1912; (R) Colonel and Mrs. Astor right after boarding Titanic at Cherbourg

Rose took some time to study the Hotel Astor. The Bukaters never stayed there during their trips to New York because Ruth detested Times Square and wanted to shield her daughter from its vices. Instead, they sometimes stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria, where any prominent member of society tended to stay when he or she was in New York. Rose, however, was always fascinated by the area, and today she had a chance to see it on her own.

But her first order of business was to find a situation. After taking a few minutes to admire the scenery around her, she returned her attention to locating the New York Times Building. She soon spotted it–a tall, narrow structure that easily dominated the neighborhood. It was situated on a small trapezoidal "island" surrounded by the traffic arteries of Seventh Avenue, Broadway, and West 42nd and 43rd Streets. This block was originally called Longacre Square, but assumed its current name when the Times moved here in 1904, or about the same time the Hotel Astor opened. Rose entered the building to find the department in charge of the classified ads.


Times Square in the early 1900s (NYT Building in the middle; Hotel Astor on the right)

"You’re in luck, miss," said a clerk who handled public inquiries about the Help Wanted ads listed in the newspaper. "The employer is conducting interviews in his office until noon without requiring appointments. You could just walk in and wait your turn."

Rose became excited. "Where is he located?"

"His address is 128 Essex Street, second floor. Do you know how to get there?"

"Can you kindly show me?"

"All right. How did you get here?"

"By subway."

"The easiest way is to take the same subway downtown and get off at ckercker Street. Then go south to Houston Street and turn east. Then turn south on Essex Street."

"Thank you. I will try to remember that. I would also like to place an advertisement in your Situations Wanted section. How can I do that?"

The clerk took out a sheet of paper. "Just write down your name, age, address, phone number if you have one, the type of situation you seek, and then list any relevant skills you have. There is a small fee for this service, and your advertisement will run for one week."

Rose thought for a moment about how to make herself stand out, and after taking another look at the listings already in the newspaper for guidance, finally settled on the following:

RELIABLE YOUNG WOMAN (17) with good writing, listening, and language skills seeks suitable position to employ them. Miss Dawson at 316 E. 15th St.

It was a vague description, but since Rose did not want to limit herself to one or two positions, she deliberately made it vague to attract more prospective employers, although she was aware that such a description could attract prospective employers from her former class. This she had to risk because she needed a job, and she could always turn down a potential position if she did not think it was a good match. However, she did not know the shelter’s phone number, if one existed, so she could not write it down. Nor did she have any work experience to advertise. She wanted to minimize her deficiencies and promote her strengths–two of the rules she learned at finishing school. Again, the training she received there had come back to help her in an unexpected way. She then paid her fee to the clerk and left to take the subway downtown.

*****


The Lower East Side, 1908

Some twenty minutes later, Rose emerged from the Bleecker Street station and, after getting further directions, made her way south to Prince Street to catch an eastbound trolley towards Essex Street––her first trip on one in New York. It seemed that getting to the job interview was half the fun, and Rose enjoyed the trolley trip tremendously. She barely contained her excitement over riding one for the first time, as well as her very first chance to showcase her qualifications in her very first interview. Some twelve blocks later, she reached Essex Street, one of the main thoroughfares of the Lower East Side. This was a distinct neighborhood that hosted many recent immigrants from Europe, and it showed in the dress and language of its residents, most of whom were Jews from Eastern Europe. Even many of the store signs boasted what she assumed was the alphabet of their native language. As Rose turned south again and walked straight into the heart of the Lower East Side, she studied the life on its streets with much interest. She could see that the neighborhood was densely populated, with little or no space between buildings and hardly a tree in sight. Even the sidewalks could not accommodate all the merchants, so many of them conducted their business along the streets with their makeshift stands and pushcarts. This slowed down the flow of traffic, but most people did not seem to mind.

Neither did Rose. Chestnut Hill this is not, she thought, as she compared and contrasted this neighborhood with her old one in Philadelphia.

Like all close-knit neighborhoods, its residents knew who lived there and who did not, and some of them stopped their activities to stare at Rose as she walked down Essex at a moderate pace, taking her time to soak in the ways and pace of life here, as if the interview could wait. She heard soft voices speaking in a foreign tongue that she did not understand, and figured that she was the subject of their exchange. But that did not bother her because she was too enthralled by this area. It was crowded, dirty, and smelly, to be sure, but it was also bustling with activity and evoked memories of the steerage party on Titanic, which featured many would-be immigrants. Some of those people at the party could have been headed here, she speculated with a mixture of remorse and appreciation. But she saw few signs that the sinking had struck home here, or maybe enough time had passed for most people to resume their daily routines.

The Lower East Side so fascinated Rose that she overshot 128 Essex Street and had to turn back to locate the building, which was situated at the corner of Essex and Rivington Streets. She went up the stairs to a second floor office, where two other young women were waiting their turn to be interviewed. She gave each of them a polite nod, which one of them returned, and assumed a seat next to the last woman. She was dressed pleasantly enough, and so did not have to return to the shelter to change. Fifteen minutes later, it was her turn to step into an office for her very first job interview.

The prospective employer was a short, heavyset man who spoke with a thick accent, so his Ws sounded like Vs and Vs sounded like Fs. He was known as Mr. Anielewicz, and he wasted no time getting down to business. No sooner had Rose sat down in front of him than he asked her his first question: "Do you speak Yiddish?"

Rose thought that this was an unusual first question. So that was what the people on the street were speaking. "No, I do not, but I am versed in French and have some exposure to Italian."

Mr. Anielewicz raised his eyebrow, but he still did not seem all that impressed. "That’s nice, but I don’t have too many French customers and only a few Italians. What about German?"

"Unfortunately, I did not take up German," replied Rose, who remained hopeful.

“What is your name, young lady?”  Mr. Anielewicz had been so keen on conducting the interview that he did not even bother to ask Rose for her name when she walked into his office.

 

“Rose Dawson.”

 

“How do you spell it?”

 

“D-A-W-S-O-N.”

 

Mr. Anielewicz frowned.  “Dawson.  Doesn’t sound Yiddish…or German.”

 

“Why should that matter?”

 

“My customers and workers are like family, and I prefer to hire from this community.  Many businesses work this way here, Miss Dawson.  They prefer to work with a familiar name.”

 

“What is it that you do here, Mr. Anielewicz?”  Did I pronounce his name correctly?

 

“We’re an import and export company doing business with the Old World – mainly Eastern Europe.  That’s why I need an assistant who speaks Yiddish or German.”

 

“I am very willing to learn either language.  I can pick up languages fairly quickly.”

 

Mr. Anielewicz shook his head.  “I need the help right now.”

 

Rose was disappointed that her language skills and even her name did not fit Mr. Anielewicz’s needs.  “I see” was all she could say, since it was obvious that she would not get the job.

 

“I hope you can understand,” said Mr. Anielewicz, who then sighed.  “You’re the eighth girl I’ve interviewed today, and that’s not the most I’ve seen.  Last Thursday, I interviewed fourteen young ladies, and couldn’t hire any of them.  I’ve had no really good assistant since the big steamship accident eight years ago.  I didn’t know it would be so hard to replace—”  He stopped suddenly, having become so emotional that he had trouble continuing.

 

The two sat there for almost half a minute, unsure of how to break the silence.  The words “big steamship accident” struck Rose, who still gave Mr. Anielewicz an encouraging look to get him to overcome his emotions.  I share your grief, Mr. Anielewicz, I really do.  In fact, more than you know.

 

“I didn’t know it would be so hard to replace a clerk,” said Mr. Anielewicz, as he recovered and finished his sentence.  “She was my best worker and she deserved a day off.  I wish I didn’t give it to her.”  More silence.  “I’ve had six assistants since she left me on that day.  The last one became a mother last month and quit to care for her baby.  That’s why I’ve been searching for a replacement for four weeks.  I want to make sure my next clerk is my last one for a long time.”

 

“I understand, Mr. Anielewicz.”  Because of the circumstances, Rose did not wish to press him to give her a chance to prove herself.

 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Anielewicz gratefully before he shook Rose’s hand.  “Sorry I can’t help, Miss Dawson.  Good luck to you.  Or, as they say in German, Viel Glück!”

Chapter Three
Stories