Chapter One: Waking Up

The first rays of sunlight coming in through the dirt-streaked windows wasn't the first thing that met a newsies' eyes in the morning. Generally speaking, the wrinkled, stern face of Kloppman, the owner of the Manhattan lodging house, blocked the feeble rays out as he leaned over each bunk in turn. Even he would admit that it wasn't his favorite activity, waking up forty-six boys of various ages ranging from ten to seventeen, all of whom worked too hard and slept too little; but it had to be done if the city was going to hear the news each day.

"Snipeshooter, wake up m'boy, wake up!" he called, bending at the waist to shake the young boy sleeping soundly on the bottom bunk, his wiry brown hair splayed across the flat, dingy-white and blue striped pillow. The boy rolled over, mumbling inaudibly and clutching the thin wool blanket closer to his chest. With one last shake Kloppman stood up to face off against one of the older boys on which he used a different approach.

"Specs! Time to get up!" he called brandishing his walking stick and rapping it loudly against the brass bunk so that the curly haired boy started with a kick of his legs and reached in a blind panic for his wire rimmed spectacles.

Across the room now boys were starting to stir, reaching groggily for their clothes, which hung limply on bedposts, dirty from a week's hard work out on the dusty streets of Manhattan.

Kloppman retreated from the room as the boys pulled themselves out of bed and headed into the bathroom where a few would bath hurriedly in the freezing water from the pump, one jumping into the dirty water left by the boy before. The older boys shaved as quickly as possible while others crowded around the sink washing their faces with the strong soap provided by Kloppman, groping blindly for towels and talking loudly amongst themselves.

Despite the early wake up, they were a loud and energetic bunch as they discussed their favorite selling places and tactics, the girls they had met the day before and the ones they hoped to meet that day. Hard workers, but still young boys, Kloppman had to chuckle at their conversations, which floated downstairs and to his ears behind the reception desk.

Glancing at his pocket watch, which was already reading twenty-five after five, he placed his black bowler hat firmly on his head and shuffled to the rickety wooden staircase, hitting the railing with his cane.

A minute later a stream of boys appeared, still talking and laughing loudly, some taking the time out of their conversations to wave or call goodbye to the old man who was counting them as they passed.

When he was sure that all forty-six of his boys were on their way to work, he slumped momentarily against the railing; closing his eyes and praying briefly that each would have a good selling day, that the weather would keep pushing towards spring and the rain would hold off until night fall. And then he too would start on his day's work.

Across town in another boarding house a woman in her mid-forties faced a similar task. In her house she lodged sixteen girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen, all of whom worked at the factories that lined the city and made it hum with the noise of productivity.

Upstairs in four rooms the girls lay sleeping heavily, worn out from their days of working multiple weaving machines in the crowded rooms of the factories and the household chores they were expected to help with around the house at the end of each day.

Mrs. Miller ran a house primarily for girls who were both educated and well brought up, able to perform household tasks including cleaning, cooking and sewing. The sixteen girls that boarded with her were also expected to help out with the younger children who worked in the bobbin rooms of the factories and boarded in the house next door with her younger sister Miss. Amy.

As the clock in the parlor chimed five times, Mrs. Miller abandoned her knitting and walked up the stairs, her long skirts swishing gently, a silver bell held in one hand, the other resting on the banister.

Entering each room, separated by ages, she rang the bell until the girls raised their heads drowsily and acknowledged the start of another day.

Pulling on their winter woolen dresses, they made their way into the two bathrooms on the upper floor, sharing the mirrors as they arranged their hair into tightly braided buns held back with heavy pins to keep loose hairs from escaping and becoming tangled in the machinery.

All of their meals were shared with Miss Amy's younger pupils so the older girls could help keep the twenty-two rambunctious children under control. Before they could begin their meal, the younger girls had their hair plaited by the older girls and then they all took a seat around the long wooden table set in the kitchen of Mrs. Miller's boarding house.

Mrs. Miller and her sister both prided themselves on the caliber of their girls and often stressed the importance of punctuality, shooing the girls out of the house at exactly six forty-five. The older girls obligingly took the hands of the youngest girls and made their way through the crowded city towards the factories.

Although the majority of the girls who boarded at both houses had families of their own, they often lived outside of the city and opted for their daughters to board in order to make it to work on time each morning, and send their earnings home at the end of each week.

It was true that the younger girls suffered severe homesickness when they first arrived, but they soon adjusted to life at the factory, and at the boarding house as well, coming to view the older girls as sisters and temporary mothers. And although the older girls often griped about the burden of the twenty-two little girls to whom they had to watch, it brought them serene comfort at the end of the day, when hair had to be brushed out and small heads were laid on their laps. Motherhood was, after all, in each of their intended futures, and the oldest of girls, aged sixteen to eighteen were expected to leave the factories either before or shortly after their eighteenth birthdays to be married.

Until that day however, the girls formed a close bond between themselves, not only in their own house, but the other houses filled with factory girls as well.