Quotes from James McGrath Morris

In the weeks leading up to his arrival by train in Pittsburgh, Alexander Berkman had been obsessed with the escalating drama at Homestead. He was living with his partner and lover, the anarchist Emma Goldman, in the New England factory town of Worcester, Massachusetts. By day the couple earned a living serving sandwiches and scooping ice cream in a small diner. By night, they made love and dreamed of revolution.

That night Berkman fell asleep in the bosom of the industrial leviathan. "Its torch of liberty is a furnace fire," he said, "consuming, destroying, devastating: a countrywide furnace, in which the bones and marrow of the producers, their limbs and bodies, their health and blood, are cast into Bessemer steel, rolled into armor place, and converted into engines of murder to be consecrated to Mammon his high priests, the Carnegies, the Fricks.

Asking a question whose echo has been heard each time America went to war since, Goldman said, "How else is the world to take America seriously when democracy at home is daily being outraged, free speech suppressed, and peaceable assemblies broken up by overbearing and brutal gangsters in uniform?

Goldman laid low until the 1927 executions of anarchists and convicted bank robbers Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti stirred her back into action. With the support of admirers such as novelist Theodore Dreiser and philanthropist Peggy Guggenheim, Goldman began to write her memoirs as a way to reach the public in America. If she could not reach its shores, at least her words could.

This novel business is an awful business. Why the hell did I ever get mixed up in it?