Working towards brighter futures

SEEMAH CATHY BERSON SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN

In the second of a special two-part feature, the Bulletin looks at Jewish immigrants and the needle trade in Canada at the turn of last century.

Sixty per cent of Jewish immigrants to Canada went into the shmatte (garment) industry during the years 1900 to 1930 in Montreal, Toronto and Winnipeg. That we today take for granted the eight-hour work day, health insurance and other employment benefits is due in large part to the struggles and dreams of these immigrants who suffered much to achieve better working conditions in their adopted country. I have spoken with several of these pioneers over the years and here are some of their stories.

A new industry develops

Eastern Europe had not been touched by the Industrial Revolution and the Jewish immigrants who came to Canada had worked as artisans, journeymen and small craftsmen, some of them never having seen the inside of a factory. Joe, who was born in 1903 in Sokolow, a small Ukranian town, told me how the needle trade began in Canada.

According to Joe, very few of the Jews came with money and they didn't come as manufacturers and bosses.

"The first immigrants who came to this country didn't want to work all their lives for somebody else, they wanted to be on their own. And in the needle trade it was the easiest way," he explained.

Bertha, who spent most of her life in the needle trade in Winnipeg, agreed.
"A miner could never dream of becoming a mine owner or a railway worker can never dream of becoming a railway magnate," she said. "But the needle trade worker – their psychology was not of a worker at that time. It was a psychology that 'some day I'll get out and become an employer myself '; which a lot of them did!"

To get started, you didn't need much. With as few as two machines, you could become a small independent contractor. You took out work (precut bundles) from bigger manufacturers. In this way, you gradually worked yourself up to three machines, four machines. Even before they had factories, there were "in-house" sweatshops where they had a machine in the bedroom or in the kitchen and did the work at home rather than in a shop as an employee.

Many of these entrepreneurs, who worked in Toronto and Montreal, started as employees and they had been very militant. They fought for increases in wages, were excellent union men, but, at the same time they would, in private discussions say, "I'm not going to stay in the shop very long. I'm not going to work for the lousy boss. I can be a better boss than him and treat my workers better than he does!"

This is the kind of talk that went on and this is the way the needle trade developed. Dave Dunkelman, the boss of Tip Top Co., started with two machines in his kitchen. He worked himself up into one of the biggest clothing manufacturers in Canada. Most of the Jewish employers in the needle trade came up from the ranks.

Peddlar to manufacturer

Ben owned a clothing manufacturing firm in Montreal. His business was both national and international. He was born in Austria but came to Canada in 1921. He had just turned 18.

Ben worked as a peddlar for a few years, always keeping his eyes and ears open for opportunities to invest a little something here and there. He saved enough money to bring over his entire family from Europe. He said he made a decent living from peddling but this was not his ambition and eventually he started to manufacture men's clothing on the side. This ultimately grew profitable and he gave the peddling over to his brother.

"First I rented a place with a cutting table," said Ben. "Then I engaged a man to do the cutting. And there is such a thing in the clothing industry that you don't have to have your own machinery. You give it out to a contractor, you see. I never knew anything about tailoring, about clothing, about a thing. When my hired men [told me] they needed some trimmings – You know what I mean by trimmings? Collars, canvasses and so on – I didn't know what they were referring to. Then, when the parcel came in, I used to sneak behind to see what's in it, so when they'll ask me the next time I'll know what it's all about.

"[When I started, I] made up my mind that I'll try it for a year or two. If I'll break even, I'll go on. If no, I didn't give up my business in the [old] country and I could go back and do it. Thank God, I started to make a modest living. I didn't have to worry for the month's rent or the money to give the family to live on."

Barely making a living

In 1908-1909, Blugerman worked nine hours a day as an underpresser. He started at 8 a.m. and worked until 6 p.m. His uncle had a friend who worked in the men's department of T. Eaton Co. who spoke to the foreman "who happened to be a Canadian, a lovely Canadian gentleman who gave me the job," said Blugerman, who earned $6 per week for an eight-hour-a-day job as an apprentice.

After nine months, Blugerman became an overpresser, that is, he pressed finished garments. He still did not know how to speak English and all his business with the foreman was conducted through an interpreter. Within the year, he met Gerty, an operator in the ladies' department at Eaton's and they decided to get married "because Eaton's was paying married people $9 a week," said Blugerman.

Blugerman's story is one of success compared to those of others.

When Greenberg came to Montreal, he found it hard to get a job. When he did find something, it usually did not work out or did not last too long. It took him months to find something else.

"The contracting shop where I worked used me for $2.50 a week. I used to work hard. I was young. I was worth more than that," said Greenberg. "I worked for [one company]. I used to go in at 7 a.m. and work till 11, 12 at night. When I made $5 or $6 a week [the boss] didn't want to pay me. Sometimes it used to take three weeks before I got a dollar from him. But I couldn't help it. At least the dollar or two that he gave me was something."

By the time Greenberg worked himself up to $35 a week, he got sick and discovered he had tuberculosis of the bone in his leg, which subsequently had to be amputated. He was married by then and had a family. But, said Greenberg, we managed.

Jewish immigrants like Joe, Ben and Blugerman found themselves at a crossroads when they came to Canada. Either life was going to be the same hell as before, or life was going to be better, if not for themselves then at least for their children and grandchildren. So many of them said: "We were not fighting for ourselves. We were fighting for our children, so they wouldn't grow up without food and clothes. For us – we knew the Messiah was not going to come in our lifetime."

Seemah Cathy Berson is a freelance writer living in Vancouver. Her MA (anthropology) thesis was on Jewish immigrants who worked in the garment industry 1900-1930.

^TOP