An excerpt from current work in progress: An historical novel inspired by the life and family of Alfred Dolge
On a bright morning in March of 1893 when the fields and pastures
were still covered with snow, two boys climbed high on the leafless
branches of a maple tree and scanned the southern horizon. When they heard the steady huffing of a steam
engine and saw a plume of smoke rounding the hills, they shouted to
the crowd waiting in High Falls Park. “The train is coming! They're
here!”
“Ach, the crown prince of Dolgeville has brought home a bride,”
declared a bearded old man, speaking in heavily accented English.
“You must be indeed proud of your grandson,” replied the slender
and younger man on whose arm the old man leaned. Then he added with a
mischievous smile: “Though I cannot share your monarchical views,
sir. Are you certain that you are the same Christian Dolge who fought
on the barricades in 1848?”
“You young rascal!” growled Christian Dolge. “I was there and
so was your father, the bravest man of us all!”
“I cannot wait to tell him of all that Alfred has built here in
the New World.” The younger man smiled and took off his pince-nez, wiping
the lenses. Karl Liebknecht had arrived in Dolgeville a week earlier
on his tour of the United States and had spent much more time with
Alfred Dolge's father than with the industrialist himself. His
father's old pupil had barely a minute to spare from his busy
schedule of supervising the felt mill, the autoharp shop, the piano
manufactory, and the school board – not to mention second-guessing
his wife on every detail of the approaching wedding ceremonies for
his oldest son and his bride.
Christian Dolge
Karl was not disappointed to have the time with Christian. Even if he
had mellowed in the decades since he and Bakunin had raised the red
flag in Dresden, the old radical was still an inspiration in many
ways. For one, he had actually known Marx in his youth before he had
even written the Manifesto or put together the massive edifice of
Kapital. The old man had paid a heavy price for his heroism, and
spent years in the dungeons of the mad Bavarian king..
At twenty-two, Karl Leibknecht had just completed service with the
Imperial Guards and would begin his legal studies in Leipzig after
returning to his homeland. This journey to America represented a
small rebellion against his father's plans for him, one that would
pass as quickly as his brief infatuation with the trappings of
monarchy. As he listened to the tales of his father's old comrade,
Karl's resolve to follow the revolutionary path was strengthened. And
already he was beginning to doubt the efficacy of his father's
decision to found a socialist party and work for a better future only
within the confines of Bismarck's tightly controlled Reichstag.
In his mid seventies, Christian Dolge's materialism was now more
focused on zoology and botany than economics, and he delighted in
showing off the menagerie that surrounded the sturdy home his son had
built for him on the edge of the village. Prairie dogs, coyotes,
raccoons and even an eagle could be viewed in their cages along the
roadway beside the creek. Nearby was a five acre fenced area for
deer, peacocks and a variety of wild local fowl. A den on the cliff
above the creek contained a high wall that prevented, for the most
part, wandering by the old man's beloved bears, Schnippsal and
Schnappsal. At the foot of an adjacent hill, three fishponds were
filled with trout, bass and bullheads – and the village children
were welcomed to cast their lines at any time except during school
hours
To Karl, Dolgeville represented a model of what all of Germany, all
the world in fact, could be once the socialist revolution was
achieved. Thanks to Alfred's keen sense of business, well-paid work
was provided for all. Even more, workers became eligible for old age
pensions and sick leave funded by what was, in effect, a tax on their
incomes. Every child was guaranteed a free education in the excellent
public school he had built. Dissatisfied with the abilities of the
typical, poorly paid American teachers, he doubled and tripled the
salaries for teachers, thereby attracting well educated normal school
graduates. In the company of Old Christian, Karl had visited the
school and was particularly impressed by the charming kindergarten,
an institution developed in Germany but hitherto unknown in the
United States.
“This village is a living illustration of what Marx meant by
surplus value!” he exclaimed to the old man as they stepped out of
the high school where a German lesson was in progress. “This is
what can happen when the true value produced by workers is directed
to the betterment of all instead of being diverted into the wasteful
extravagances of the owner class.”
“I agree with you, young man,” returned Christian with a sly
smile. “But surely you have observed that my son also provides very
well for himself and his family, have you not? Do you think that Karl
Marx would approve?”
Taken aback for a moment, Karl hesitated before answering. “Yes, I
could not help but notice your son's fine mansion and of course I
know of his annual trips to Europe, having met him on more than one
occasion in my father's humble house. I confess, with respect, that I
was concerned by the difference in wealth between your family and
that of the workers. It seems at first...not truly socialist.”
“And what is your verdict on our little utopia?”
“In all honesty, I do not think your utopia could exist at all had
not Alfred taken on himself the role and accoutrements of a
capitalist. It is, unfortunately, what workers and particularly the
German workers who come here, expect. They cannot imagine a
successful industry without a boss, or a successful nation for that
matter.”
“I agree with you,” said the old man in great seriousness. “If
this town were governed by a collective of workers, it would quickly
dissolve into factions. I see how the workers of Dolgeville function
when given a voice on the school board or in decisions regarding new
parks and other improvements. Perhaps in the far future, after
generations of careful education, workers will be able to govern
themselves, but for now they need a strong hand.”
“What Marx called the dictatorship of the proletariat?”
“No, the dictatorship of one very skillful man who is fully
committed to the betterment of his people.”
"But sir, even if I concede that your son is uniquely equipped to
design and operate this small society, what future could it have in
the long run? Who in the future could fulfill the role of dictator as
he has done, taking just enough of the common wealth to maintain his
position without falling victim to the greed of a Carnegie or
Morgan?”
“Perhaps the crown prince? Der Kronprinz?” the old man mused,
puffing at his pipe.
“His son Rudolf?” Karl shook his head. “Have we socialists
truly come to a point where we must return to monarchy in order to
attain our goals? There, sir, I find we must disagree.”
This conversation was much in Karl's mind as he and his elderly
companion awaited the arrival of what could only be called the royal
pair. He had been dismayed to learn that Alfred had hired a special
train to bring Rudolf, his bride Anna and all their friends up from
New York City. The costs, he calculated, must be astronomical and
could in no way be justified by a need to maintain the necessary
“dictatorship” of Dolge. It was, he had to admit, exactly the
kind of wasteful gesture typical of the worst of the plutocrat class.
Karl guided his companion to the open air pavilion where the rest of
the welcoming committee and honored guests had assembled. The usually
very sober Alfred Dolge could not conceal the intensity of his joy
and kept turning to whisper into the ear of his wife, the stately
Anna. By her side stood Dolge's great friend, one of the chief
financiers of the newly completed Little Falls & Dolgeville
railroad, Judge George Hardin. He was exchanging a comment with
another of Dolge's business associates, Schuyler Ingham. In keeping
with what Dolge's enemies called his “atheism,” the wedding
ceremony was to be a civil one, and performed by Judge Hardin.
As the train came into view, Karl observed that it was draped in
colorful bunting and banners, one of which proclaimed in huge red
letters: “This is the Dolge Wedding Party.” Glancing about, Karl
did not see that anyone but he disapproved of such showiness. Even
the money men, Hardin and Ingham, seemed completely overjoyed at the
sight of the gaudy train and whooped with laughter to see the young
people hanging off the sides of it, shouting their greetings.
The wedding ceremony itself was brief as could be, taking place
before a packed crowd in the Turnhalle, the great opera house that
Dolge had built for his workers. The day had been proclaimed a sort
of national holiday and the many hundreds of workers and their
families who could not fit into the theater stood outside and cheered
so loudly that the exchange of vows could not be heard more than a
few feet away. As soon as the binding words were said, Rudolf and
Anna stepped outside and waved to the throng, provoking more displays
of enthusiasm. Then they returned to the bower of flowers erected on
the stage and sat down to listen to speeches by the groom's father,
his grandfather, Judge Hardin and too many other people for Karl to
count. The young German was sure that the jewels that glittered on
her dress were truly diamonds and pearls. And there was no doubt in
his mind that the six fabulously gowned bridesmaids were each the
daughter of some American millionaire.
A great quantity of food and drink was served, and not only to
invited guests. The whole village lined up in the tents where tables
were piled high with roast beef and steins of beer. What passed in
America for a genuine German band began to play and soon the working
people and the silk-hatted millionaires were dancing together with
the greatest glee Perhaps, the young German thought to himself, such
displays truly are necessary in order to cement the relationship
between the people and their socialist leaders.
“Who
can predict,” he said to a
workman named Krebs, “what direction the revolutionary spirit will
take in the new century?”
“Who, indeed?”
answered Krebs, reaching for another stein of fine German lager.
For more on the novel on the founder of Dolgeville, read Mr. Dolge's Money
For more on the novel on the founder of Dolgeville, read Mr. Dolge's Money
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