For one of my Junior Methods II courses, I created a Take-Home Kit for my "students." The focal point for this kit introduced American Industrial Revolution. While most of us associate the Industrial Revolution with assembly lines, the cotton gin, and mass production, it cruelly used child labor. My kit includes imaginary letters from children who worked during the Revolution. Now, you know I am going to make this the most elaborate project ever. I know no one will read this but my professor, so I want to share this with you all. Here are the letters from the children that I wrote: Location: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (1898) My name is Danielle Carrisi. I am an Italian immigrant. I used to live with my Nonno, or grandfather, in Naples, but I haven’t seen him since I was five. Since moving to Pennsylvania, it has been very hard for my family to make money. I got a job at Kay-Greenwood Textile Factory to help my family pay rent and buy food. Each morning at four, I wake up, get dressed, and walk to Kay-Greenwood. Then I stand in front of a power loom for ten to twelve hours a day, where I run the fabric back to the weaver. Working at the factory is very loud! I can barely hear myself think because of all the machines! Even the cotton from the loom swirls in the air, and when I get home, my clothes are covered in fuzz and my throat is hoarse! I once had a friend who had fallen asleep while working. His fingers were resting on the loom, and when the reed came by, his fingers were snatched off! It was frantic working there, I didn’t know what to do! Sometimes I fall asleep on my feet, and I get disciplined by the weaver for being careless. I don’t want to lose my job or else I can’t supply for my family. However, working at the textiles isn’t all bad. I have lots of friends, I have money to feed my little sisters, and sometimes I get an extra penny during the holidays. Unfortunately, this is all I can think of. Can you draw me a picture of what your day looks like? Write back to me too. - Danielle Carrisi Location: Eagle Hill Colliery, Pottsville, Pennsylvania (1884) Hello, my name is James Wilcox. I am a breaker boy. Do you know what a breaker boy does? I break coal into small pieces. Sometimes this coal has rocks, ash, clay, or soil, so I remove the “impurities” and grade the coal based on how much coal there is left. While the men use a sledgehammer to break up the lumps of coal (about the size of a grown man’s foot, or bigger), I sit on a wooden stool in front of a conveyor belt and pick out the bits and pieces of coal (the size of my fist). This used to hurt my hands since I don’t wear gloves, but I am used to the cuts and the bleeding from the slate. The working environment is difficult. When the coal breaker is particularly foggy, I use a headlamp to see the coal. One of my friends, Billy, coughs a lot from the fumes. We all joke around about having black lungs, darker than the very coal itself. But you know what? I think our joking just covers up the truth we don’t want to admit. I am very independent, though. I don’t like my supervisors because they are too concerned about rich people to care about me. If I had a choice, I’d go back to Nebraska and work on my old farm. I miss the tree I used to climb in. I miss my old farm house. Most of all, I miss the fresh air. Write back to me. I’m hankering for a friend. - James Wilcox Isn't this the most ridiculous thing you've read on my blog? "This is boujee."
P.S. Abigail, this is why I didn't work out with you on Thursday. P.P.S. Follow my blogging sister, Abigail, here.
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