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Broken Homes by Joanna C. Colcord

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_SOCIAL WORK SERIES_

BROKEN HOMES

A STUDY OF FAMILY DESERTION AND
ITS SOCIAL TREATMENT

_By_
JOANNA C. COLCORD

SUPERINTENDENT OF THE CHARITY ORGANIZATION SOCIETY
OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

NEW YORK
RUSSELL SAGE FOUNDATION
1919




COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
THE RUSSELL SAGE FOUNDATION

WM F. FELL CO PRINTERS
PHILADELPHIA




PREFACE


No less thoughtful a critic of men and manners than Joseph Conrad has
remarked recently that a universal experience "is exactly the sort of
thing which is most difficult to appraise justly in the individual
instance." The saying might have been made the motto of this book, for
in its pages Miss Colcord--with all the eagerness of the newer school of
social workers, bent upon understanding, upon making allowances--seeks
that just appraisal to which Conrad refers. Marital infelicities and
broken homes are not universal, fortunately, but some of the human
weaknesses which lead to them are very nearly so.

To one who brings a long perspective to any theme in social work, Broken
Homes suggests the successive stages through which the art of social
case work has progressed. Twenty years ago the editor of this Series was
responsible for the following sentences in an annual report: "One of our
most difficult problems has been how to deal with deserted wives with
children.... One good woman, whose husband had left her for the second
time more than a year ago, declared often and emphatically that she
would never let him come back. We rescued her furniture from the
landlord, found her work, furnished needed relief, and befriended the
children; but the drunken and lazy husband returned the other day, and
is sitting in the chairs we rescued, while he warms his hands at the
fire that we have kept burning."

The passage belongs to the first and what might be termed the "muddling
along" period of dealing with family desertion, but the fact that boards
of directors actually were willing to print such frank statements about
their own shortcomings was a sign that the period was drawing to a
close.

This first stage was succeeded by a disciplinary period, in which
earnest attempts were made to enact laws that would punish the deserter
and aid in his extradition whenever he took refuge across a state line.
Laws of the strictest, and these well enforced, seemed for a while the
only possible solution.

Then gradually, with the unfolding of a philosophy and a technique of
helping people in and through their social relationships, a new way of
dealing with this ancient and perplexing human failing was developed.
This third way involved a more careful analysis of relationships and
motives, a greater variety in approach, an increased flexibility in
treatment, a new faith, perhaps, in the re-creative powers latent in
human nature. But it is unnecessary to enlarge upon a point of view
which these pages admirably illustrate. Desertion laws continue to serve
a definite purpose, as Miss Colcord makes clear, but no longer are they
either the first or the second resort of the skilful probation officer,
family case worker, or child protective agent.

Just after the Russell Sage Foundation published a treatise on Social
Diagnosis two years ago, a number of letters came to the author urging
that a volume on the treatment of social maladjustments in individual
cases follow. But this second subject is not yet ready for the large
general treatise. A topic so new as social case treatment must be
developed aspect by aspect, preferably in small, practical volumes each
written by a specialist. This is such a volume, and Miss Colcord breaks
new ground, moreover, in that her book illustrates the whole present
trend of social work as applied to individuals.

Grateful acknowledgment should be made to the social case workers who
have furnished valuable contributions to the body of data gathered for
the present study. Miss Colcord wishes mention made of her especial
indebtedness to Miss Betsey Libbey, Miss Helen Wallerstein and Miss
Elizabeth Wood of Philadelphia; Mr. C.C. Carstens and Miss Elizabeth
Holbrook of Boston; Mrs. A.B. Fox and Mr. J.C. Murphy of Buffalo; Miss
Caroline Bedford of Minneapolis; Mr. Stockton Raymond of Columbus; Mrs.
Helen Glenn Tyson of Pittsburgh; Mr. Arthur Towne of Brooklyn; Mr. E.J.
Cooley, Mr. Charles Zunser, Mr. Hiram Myers, and Miss Mary B. Sayles of
New York. Many others not here mentioned were untiring in answering
questions and furnishing needed information.

MARY E. RICHMOND
_Editor of the Social Work Series_
NEW YORK, May, 1919.




CONTENTS

PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. WHY DO MEN DESERT THEIR FAMILIES? 17
III. CHANGES OF EMPHASIS IN TREATMENT 50
IV. FINDING THE DESERTING HUSBAND 65
V. FURTHER ITEMS IN THE INVESTIGATION 91
VI. THE DETAILS OF TREATMENT 106
VII. THE DETAILS OF TREATMENT (_Continued_) 125
VIII. THE HOME-STAYING NON-SUPPORTER 149
IX. NEXT STEPS IN CORRECTIVE TREATMENT 164
X. NEXT STEPS IN PREVENTIVE TREATMENT 185
INDEX 201




BROKEN HOMES

I

INTRODUCTION


It has frequently been said that desertion is the poor man's divorce
but, like many epigrams, this one hardly stands the test of experience.
When examined closely it is neither illuminating nor, if the testimony
of social case workers can be accepted, is it true. It is true, of
course, that many of the causes of domestic infelicity which lead to
divorce among the well-to-do may bring about desertion among the less
fortunate, but the deserting man does not, as a rule, consider his
absences from home as anything so final and definite as divorce.

In a study of desertion made by the Philadelphia Society for Organizing
Charity in 1902,[1] it was found that 87 per cent of the men studied
had deserted more than once. The combined experience of social workers
goes to show that a comparatively small number of first deserters make
so complete a break in their marital relations that they are never heard
from again, and that an even smaller number actually start new families
elsewhere, although no statistical proof of this last statement is
available. One social worker of experience says that in her judgment
desertion, instead of being a poor man's divorce, comes nearer to being
a poor man's vacation.

A man who had always been a good husband and father was discharged
from hospital after a long and exhausting illness and returned to
his family--wife and seven children--in their five-room tenement.
Ten days later he disappeared suddenly, but reappeared some two
weeks later in very much better health and ready to resume his
occupation and the care of his family. His explanation of his
apparent desertion was that he was unable to stand the confusion of
his home and "had needed rest." He had "beaten his way" to
Philadelphia and visited a friend there.

The reporter of the foregoing remarks that it illustrates "unconscious
self-therapy," and that the patient's disappearance might have been
avoided if the services of a good medical-social department had been
available at the hospital where the man was treated.

It is more difficult to justify the thirst for experience of another
deserting husband who came to the office of a family social agency after
an absence of a few months, with effusive thanks for the care of his
family and the explanation that he "had always wanted to see the West,
and this had been the only way he could find of accomplishing it."

In fact, case work has convinced social workers that there are few
things less permanent than desertion. In itself this provisional quality
tends to create irritation in the minds of many of the profession. It is
upsetting to plan for a deserted family which stops being deserted, so
to speak, overnight. But in their understandable despair social workers
sometimes overlook essential facts about the nature of marriage. The
_permanence_ of family life is one of the foundation stones of their
professional faith; yet they may fail to recognize certain
manifestations of this permanence as part and parcel of the end for
which they are striving. They would see no point in the practice adopted
by a certain social agency which deals with many cases of family
desertion. This society, when it has had occasion to print copies of a
deserter's photograph to use in seeking to discover his present
whereabouts, often presents his wife with an enlargement of the picture
suitable for framing. The procedure displays, nevertheless, a profound
insight not only into human nature but into the human institution called
marriage.

In the next chapter will be considered some of the causes that make men
leave their homes. To deal effectively with the situation created by
desertion, however, we have need of a wider knowledge than this. Not
only what takes men away but what keeps them from going, what brings
them back, what leads to their being forgiven and received into their
homes again, are matters that seriously concern the social case worker.
What is it that makes this plant called marriage so tough of fiber and
so difficult to eradicate from even the most unfriendly soil?

It is fortunate (since the majority of case workers are unmarried) that
simply to have been a member of a family gives one some understanding of
these questions. The theorist who maintains that marriage is purely
economic, or that it is entirely a question of sex, has either never
belonged to a real family or has forgotten some of the lessons he
learned there.

Many volumes have been written upon the history of marriage, or rather
of the family, since, as one historian justly puts it, "marriage has its
source in the family rather than the family in marriage."[2] In all
these studies the influence of law, of custom, of self-interest, and of
economic pressure, is shown to have molded the institution of marriage
into curious shapes and forms, some grievous to be borne. But is it not
after all the crystallized and conventionalized records of past time
which have had to be used as the source material of such studies, and
could the spiritual values of the family in any period be found in its
laws and learned discourses? We might rather expect to find students of
these sources preoccupied with the outward aspects, the failures, the
unusual instances. It is as true of human beings as of nations, that the
happy find no chronicler. "Out of ... interest and joy in caring for
children in their weakness and watching that weakness grow to strength,
family life came into being and has persisted."[3] It is hardly
conceivable that in any society, however primitive, there were not some
real families--even when custom ran otherwise--in which marriage meant
love and kindness and the mutual sharing of responsibilities. And these
families, today as always, are the creators and preservers of the
spiritual gains of the human race. It has been beautifully said of the
family in such a form, that "it is greater than love itself, for it
includes, ennobles, makes permanent, all that is best in love. The pain
of life is hallowed by it, the drudgery sweetened, its pleasures
consecrated. It is the great trysting-place of the generations, where
past and future flash into the reality of the present. It is the great
storehouse in which the hardly-earned treasures of the past, the
inheritance of spirit and character from our ancestors, are guarded and
preserved for our descendants. And it is the great discipline through
which each generation learns anew the lesson of citizenship that no man
can live for himself alone."[4] It follows that the most trying and
discouraging feature of social work with deserted wives; namely, their
determination to take worthless men back and back again for another
trial, is often only a further manifestation of the extraordinary
viability of the family.

It is true that, into this enduring quality, many elements enter, some
homely or merely material. A desire for support, or for a resumption of
sex relations, may play a part in a wife's decision to forgive the
wanderer. There are many other factors--use and wont; pride in being
able to show a good front to the neighbors; a feeling that it is
unnatural to be receiving support from other sources. Just the mere
desire to have his clothes hanging on the wall and the smell of his pipe
about, the hundreds of small details that go to make up the habit of
living together, have each their separate pull on the woman whose
instinct to be wife and mother to her erring man is urging her to give
in; Home is, in both their minds,

" ... the place where when you have to go there
They have to take you in....
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."[5]

A woman who had left her home town and found clerical work in a strange
city, in order not to be near her syphilitic husband from whom she had
determined to separate, said, "When you've been married to a man, you
can't get over feeling your place is with him."

However we may deplore the results in a given case, the spineless woman
who takes her husband back many times may nevertheless be giving a
demonstration of the thing we are most interested in conserving--the
durability and persistence of the family. And so the social worker who
is enabled by experience or imagination to enter into the real meaning
of family life is neither scornful nor amused when Mrs. Finnegan is
found, on the morning when her case against Finnegan is to come up in
the domestic relations court, busily washing and ironing his other shirt
in order that he may make a proper appearance and not disgrace the
family before the judge.

* * * * *

An attempt will be made in this small book to analyze some causal
factors in the problem of the deserter, to touch upon recent changes in
the attitude of social workers toward deserted families, to present
illustrations from the best discoverable practice in the treatment of
desertion, and to suggest certain possible next steps, both on the legal
and on the social side. For lack of space, it will be impossible to
consider the closely related problems of the deserting wife, the
unmarried mother, or the divorced couple. It is assumed throughout that
the reader is familiar with the general theory of modern case work; and
no more is here attempted than to give a number of suggestions which
will be found to be practical, it is hoped, when the social worker deals
with the home marred and broken by desertion, or when he seeks to
prevent this evil by such constructive measures as are now possible.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Twenty-fourth Annual Report of the Philadelphia Society for
Organizing Charity, p. 25.

[2] Goodsell, Willystine: The Family as a Social and Educational
Institution, p. 8. New York, The Macmillan Co., 1915.

[3] Byington, Margaret F.: Article on "The Normal Family," _Annals of
the American Academy of Political and Social Science_, May, 1918.

[4] Bosanquet, Helen: The Family, p. 342. London, Macmillan & Co., 1906.

[5] Frost, Robert: North of Boston, p. 20. New York, Henry Holt & Co.,
1915.




II

WHY DO MEN DESERT THEIR FAMILIES?


"Before the deserter there was a broken man," said a district secretary
who has had conspicuous success in dealing with such men. By this
characterization she meant not necessarily a physical or mental wreck,
but a man bankrupt for the time being in health, hopes, prospects, or in
all three; a man who lacked the power or the will to dominate adverse
conditions, who had allowed life to overcome him. Such an unfortunate
may not be conscious of his own share in bringing about the difficulties
in which he finds himself, but he is always aware that something has
gone seriously wrong in his life. His grasp of this fact is the one sure
ground upon which the social worker can meet him at the start.

We should distinguish between the _causes_ that bring about a given
desertion, and the _conscious motives in the mind of the deserter_. It
is well for the social worker to make the latter the starting point in
dealing with the man, accepting the most preposterous as at least worthy
of discussion. The absconder is often too inarticulate and ill at ease
to give a clear picture of what was in his mind when he went away. If he
was out of work, it may have been a perfectly sincere belief that he
would find work elsewhere, or perhaps only a speculative hope that he
might. (These are not in the beginning genuine desertions, but often
become so later on.) It is possible that, beset by irritations and
perplexities, the thought of cutting his way out at one stroke from all
his difficulties made an appeal too strong to be resisted. Or perhaps he
flung out of the house and away, in a passion of anger and jealousy
which later crystallized into cold dislike. The spell of an infatuation
for another woman might well have been the cause; or he may have been
mentally deranged through alcohol. Simple weariness of the burden which
he has not strength of body or mind to carry and ought never to have
assumed is one attitude to be reckoned with, and failure to realize or
in his heart accept the binding nature of his obligations is another.

His temperamental instability may have been such that the desire for a
change--the "wanderlust"--was driving him to distraction. Or perhaps,
under the urge of his own subconscious feeling of failure, he may have
convinced himself that if he could "shake" the old environment and all
in it that hampered him, he could take a fresh start and make good. "If
I could only get to California," sighed Patrick Donald,[6] "I have a
feeling things would be different." With too much imagination to be
content with the situation in which he found himself, Donald had not
imagination enough to realize that he would have to take his old self
with him wherever he went, and that he might better fight things out
where he stood. Men of his sort yearn constantly for the future, not
realizing that in its truest sense the present _is_ the future.

Only in rare instances will the deserter accept the entire
responsibility for his act. To try to find justification for doing what
we want to do is characteristic of human beings, and the deserter is no
exception. He attempts to "rationalize" his conduct and so regain his
sense of self-approval and well-being by finding excuses and
justifications in the conduct of others. Even when the fault is all his,
he usually succeeds in making himself believe that his wife is more to
blame than he for his having left home.[7] The social worker who
attempts to deal with the situation the deserter creates should know
this attitude in advance and be prepared, through some simple
rule-of-thumb psychology, to attack the obsession and bring him, first
of all, to see and face squarely his own responsibility.

Many blanket theories have been developed to explain desertion--that it
is due to economic pressure; that it is the result of bad housekeeping;
that its causes can all be reduced to sex incompatibility. All these
factors: undoubtedly have their bearing on the problem, but there is no
one cause or group of causes underlying breakdowns in family morale. The
ratio of desertions has been observed to decrease rather than to
increase in "hard times";[8] moreover, it is a matter of common
observation that not all slovenly and incompetent wives are deserted,
and that many married couples in all walks of life whose sex
relationships are unsatisfactory, nevertheless maintain the fabric of
family life and support and bring up their children with an average
degree of success. None of these three factors alone will serve,
therefore, as a fundamental causation unit in desertion. Many
statistical attempts have been made to study the causes of desertion,
and to assign to each its mathematical percentage of influence. The
report of a court of domestic relations gives such an analysis of over
1,500 cases, listing 25 causes, and carefully calculating the percentage
of cases due to each. A summary of these percentages grouped under five
heads is as follows:

_Percentage_
1. Distinct sex factors 39.03
2. Alcohol and narcotic drugs 37.00
3. Temperamental traits 15.40
4. Economic issues 6.27
5. Mental and physical troubles 2.30
------
100.00

It would be easy to criticize the foregoing on the score of grouping.
Can alcoholism and drug addiction be separated from mental and physical
disorders? And how distinguish infallibly between sex factors,
temperamental traits, and mental disabilities? But the main defect in
such statistical studies is that they assume in each case one cause, or
at least one cause sufficiently dominant to dwarf the rest; and few of
the causes listed are really fundamental. The mind instinctively begins
to reach back after the causes of all these causes. The social worker
who made the sweeping assertion that there are two great reasons for
marital discord--"selfishness in men and peevishness in women,"--came a
good deal nearer to an accurate statement of fact with infinitely less
trouble.

Looked at from the point of view of the social worker, desertion is
itself only a symptom of some more deeply seated trouble in the family
structure. The problem presented, if it could have been recognized in
time, is not essentially different from what it would have been before
the man's departure. Without attempting, therefore, any statistical
analysis of the causes of desertion, we may nevertheless be able to
examine one by one a number of possible _contributory factors_ in
marital unhappiness and therefore in desertion. No attempt will be made
in the list that follows to distinguish between primary and secondary
causes, nor to arrange them in any order of importance. An effort to get
from case workers lists so arranged resulted only in confusion, each
person emphasizing a different set of factors. The groupings here given,
therefore, are no more than a placing of the more obviously related
factors together and a leading from past history up to the present.

Considering first the personal as distinguished from the community
factors in desertion, these may be listed as follows:


CONTRIBUTORY FACTORS IN THE MAN AND WOMAN

1. Actual Mental Deficiency.--Character weaknesses such as were spoken
of earlier in this chapter grade down by degrees into real mental defect
or disorder, and not even the psychiatrist can always draw the line.

A physician connected with the Municipal Court in Boston gives as his
opinion that while the percentage of actually insane or feeble-minded
among deserters is no higher than among other offenders they are
extremely likely to present some of the phenomena of psychopathic
personality. Such people have to be studied by the social worker and the
psychiatrist, and not from the behavior side only, but with a view to
discovering what sort of equipment for life was handed down to them from
their family stock.

The plan for the future of a fifteen-year-old boy which was made by
a society for family social work was markedly modified when it was
discovered that not only his father but his grandfather had been a
man of violent and abusive temper, who drank habitually and
neglected their family obligations. With this sort of heredity and
an ineffective mother, whom he was accustomed to seeing treated with
abuse and disrespect, it was felt important to remove the boy, who
showed some promise, to surroundings where he could be under firm
discipline and learn decent standards of family life.

Feeble-mindedness, closely connected as it usually is with industrial
inefficiency in the man, bad housekeeping in the woman, and lack of
self-control in both, is of course, a potent factor in non-support and
probably also in desertion.

2. Faults in Early Training.--To low ideals of home life and of
personal obligation, which were imbibed in youth, can be traced much
family irresponsibility. It is by no means the rule, however, for
children always to follow in the footsteps of weak or vicious parents;
and it is the experience of social workers that such children, taught by
observation to avoid the faults seen in their own homes, often make good
parents themselves. Perhaps even more insidious in its effect on later
marital history is the home in which no self-control is learned. The
so-called "good homes" in which children are exposed to petting,
coddling, and overindulgence--and these homes are not confined to the
wealthy--produce adults who do not stand up to their responsibilities. A
probation officer in Philadelphia tells of the mother of a young
deserter who could not account for her son's delinquency. "He _ought_ to
be a good boy," she complained; "I carried him up to bed myself every
night till he was eleven years old."

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The Blackbird of Belfast Lough keeps singing
Jean Hannah Edelstein: Left-leaning Americans should welcome books from Sarah Palin and Joe the Plumber

At least 13 ways of looking at a blackbird

Int én bec
    ro léic feit
    do rind guip
    glanbuidi
    fo-ceird faíd
    os Loch Laíg
    lon do craíb
    charnbuidi

This weird little scrap of Irish syllabic verse, probably from the 9th century, consists of just 24 syllables, broken up into eight short lines, which have somehow continued to echo in modern Irish verse: the little lyric seems to have stuck; it has proved itself, in Seamus Heaney's words, to have "staying power".

First used in a metrical tract of the 11th century to illustrate a metre called snám súad, the lyric might be translated, literally, as: "The little bird which has whistled from the end of a bright-yellow bill: it utters a note above Belfast Lough – a blackbird from a yellow-heaped branch" (in a translation by Gerard Murphy). Or perhaps: "The little bird has whistled from the tip of his bright yellow beak; the blackbird from a bough laden with yellow blossom has tossed a cry over Belfast Lough" (translation by David Greene & Frank O'Connor).

Perhaps the poem's recent appeal has something to do with the character of the plucky little bird singing out over Belfast – the site of so much tragedy during the past three decades. Blackbird = poet? That, at least, is one way of looking at it.

Poetic versions, and rewrites, and reinterpretations of the poem abound, by John Montague, and John Hewitt, and Seamus Heaney, and Thomas Kinsella (in The New Oxford Book of Irish Verse), and Tomás Ó Floinn (in modern Irish), and by the current director of the Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry, Ciaran Carson.

Carson tells the story of how, when appointed as the first director of the Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry, he saw a blackbird pecking around in the little garden outside the School of English and thought it might make an interesting symbol for the newly established centre for creative writing. And so "The Blackbird of Belfast Lough", in word and image, became the Centre's motto and emblem.

Some years later, as writer in residence at the Heaney Centre, I found myself in conversation with two artists, the brothers Oliver and Rory Jeffers. We'd occasionally meet, the three of us, on Saturday mornings to drink coffee and to talk about art and literature, and Oliver would sometimes bring along work-in-progress and Rory would try to explain to me the structure and meaning of the language of images (which I never understood). On a whim, and high on caffeine and big ideas, I thought I would invite a number of local and international artists to read "The Blackbird of Belfast Lough" in its original Irish and its English translations, and to make of it what they would. Which is how I found myself putting together an exhibition now on show at the Heaney Centre.

In his preface to the exhibition catalogue Seamus Heaney suggests that the images might be a way of keeping "the perpetual motion machine of art on the go". I couldn't – obviously – have put it better myself.

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