Free The Detroit Electric Scheme by D. E. Johnson Page A

contusions. The players knew the risk.
    A little after ten o’clock, one of the secretaries from the main office stuck his head into the room. “The IWW is picketing outside. Keep all the men in their departments.”
    The managers and their assistants rushed out of the office and spread throughout the factory. I cut over to the administration building and ran up to my father’s office, joining Mr. Wilkinson at the window. He was peering between slats in the blinds at the mob forming in front ofthe factory. Fifty or so dodgy-looking men milled about in the street, many of them carrying placards with messages such as CAPITALISM IS MURDER! WORKERS UNITE , and IWW AT ANDERSON NOW! More men were arriving all the time.
    My father hurried out of his office, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. “Wilkinson, where are they?”
    Wilkinson dropped the blinds with a snap and turned back to my father. “They said it was going to take some time to round up enough men, but not to worry. They’ll take care of it.”
    One of the men in the mob threw a rock toward our building. I put my nose against the glass and looked down the side of the factory, trying to see what he was aiming at. Two blue-suited Anderson security men stood at the door, holding nightsticks. A rock hit one of them in the midsection. He doubled over for a second and then ran into the mob, his associate right behind him. They waded in, swinging their truncheons.
    The other union men closed ranks around them and in seconds had both security guards on the cobbles, kicking and punching them.
    Before I knew what I was doing, I was out the front door. My father shouted, “Will! No!”
    I waded into the mob, throwing wild punches, only now realizing I had no business here. Fortunately, more Anderson employees streamed out of the building behind me, shouting and joining in the fight. A fist glanced off my forehead as I worked my way toward the security guards, who were lying on the ground absorbing kick after kick. I threw myself at the union men, getting in a couple of good licks before a right hook knocked me over backward. A boot connected with my ribs, and then another. I curled up, trying to protect myself.
    A roar sounded over the shouting mob. The men stopped kicking me and began to run away. I looked toward the source of the noise. A line of cars had stopped in front of the factory. Perhaps thirty men in dark suits and hats rushed into the fight and began pummeling the IWW men with heavy clubs and blackjacks. Half a dozen blue-suited Detroit policemen followed them, wielding truncheons. The EAD had arrived.
    I looked for Frank Van Dam, but he was nowhere in sight. Had he been there, I would have seen him. With Cooper dead, Van Dam wouldhave easily been the largest man in the crowd. It was odd. He’d never missed a mix-up before. I had assumed Frank would be taking over the labor bureau’s security, but it appeared not.
    I looked through the rest of them, trying to find a familiar face. Though I had a nodding acquaintance with most of the Employers Association’s men, I didn’t recognize any of these. Rough looking, with stubbly chins and cheap suits, they seemed to be enjoying themselves as they waded into the fray, smashing their bludgeons into heads, midsections, and knees with a brutality I had seldom seen.
    It was over in seconds. Eight or nine Wobblies were laid out on the cobblestones. The rest had scattered to the winds.
    I pushed myself to my feet. A cop I’d seen before dragged an unconscious man past me. “Hey, Anderson. Gimme a hand.”
    I took hold of the man’s other arm and helped the policeman drag him to the paddy wagon. A pair of horses stood placidly at the front.
    â€œWhere’s Frank Van Dam?” I said to the cop.
    He shrugged. “Don’t know. Thought I’d see Frankie here, too.”
    My father came out and chastised me, though I heard a hint of pride behind