The windows, partly covered by ripped shades, were grimy with soot. The plaster on the walls and ceiling was cracked. The room was cold; the 39 men and one stout, grandmotherly woman kept on their coats as they sat down in rickety, straight-back chairs. A mild man with thick glasses tacked a small piece of paper on the outside of the door. On it was printed in pale red pencil: "I.W.W. Convention Hall."
Thus, last week in Chicago, the Industrial Workers of the World announced that they were still marching on. Amid the cheap nightclubs of the near North Side,...
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