"We do not know how we get along," Dorothy Day's Catholic Worker confessed to its few readers in 1934. "We keep simple books . . . We only know that the printing bill is getting paid . . . and so, too, the expenses of feeding our friends."
Twenty-two years later Dorothy Day's books were still as simple, but the bill was not getting paid. She was unable to pay for modernizing her House of Hospitality, a haven and a source of food to the derelicts of Manhattan's Bowery but a firetrap to Manhattan's Fire Department. Even more pressing was a $250...
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