My Dearest Ones,
As I write this, I am an old man at 80, in the year of 1962. I am dying. I cannot deny the fact at this point, so I choose to accept it. I urge you to do the same. Over the years, you three, my precious children, have asked so many questions that I chose not to answer. All of them had to do with our family. With your uncles, aunts, and your mother. I'm ready to answer these questions now, or as ready as I'll ever be. I'm sorry for not answering them sooner; I could not bring myself to.
Your mother. Where can I even start? Clara, you remember her, and Carly too, a little. But Caleb, you don't, as she died bringing you into this world. When it happened, I was devastated. My Ace, the beautiful, smart, kind, loving, wonderful Katherine Plummer, gone at 29. At first, I hated you for taking her away from, Caleb. But as time passed, I realized you weren't to blame, so I loved you. You were the last piece of my Ace, my Katherine. I'm guessing you all know that she was a reporter, and maybe even that her first big article was for the New York Sun. But you don't know that the article was about the newsboys' strike of 1899, or that I and most of your uncles and some of your aunts were part of that strike. Uncle Spot, he was the tough leader of Brooklyn. Everyone was scared of him, especially Finch. Auntie Smalls, she led the Bronx. She was always full of spunk, yelling and laughing. So pretty much the same as she is now. Ha. Albert, Finch, Davey, Henry, all those boys, they were the newsies of Manhattan. Where did I fit in? I, whether you believe it or not, was the leader of the newsies of Manhattan. I started the strike. Without Uncle Davey, or Uncle Crutchie, though, the strike would have ended the first day. They stood up for justice even after I sat down.
Uncle Crutchie. Only Clara will remember him, and her only vaguely. He was a fun loving, optimistic man. You all know the crutch in my closet, since you've all gotten in trouble for touching it more than once. That was supposed to be for Crutchie for his 24th birthday, which he never reached. He was always playing the hero, and he took it to far. He was only trying to save the orphan from a horse, but while he was fast enough to save the boy, he was too slow to save himself. The day I got the news was the second hardest day of my life, other than losing Katherine. Crutchie was my best friend, my brother more than any other boy ever was or ever will be.
Every single kid helped in the strike. Every last one. But without Ace, Katherine, we would have been ignored. Nobody would have listened to us, the invisible, the street rats, the orphans. She wrote the article that showed the world that we were on the children's crusade, that we were standing up for ourselves, each other and kids across the world. I fell in love with her from the moment I first saw her. I wish I could say the same about her to me, but I can't. She rejected me time after time, didn't accept me until a fight over her father. Then she kissed me. You've all asked often why you don't have grandparents. She gave up her family for me, and I ran from mine when I was young. The only grandparent you might have known was none other than Joseph Pulitzer, the owner of the World newspaper. He disowned your mother when we got married, and didn't even attend her funeral. Clara, Carly, Caleb, you were better off not knowing him.
You three have countless aunts and Uncles. Spot, Smalls, Albert, Henry, Race, Specs, Owl, Boots, Sprints, Les, Davey. All the ones I haven't named. I want you three to show them this letter. Tell them I love them. Tell them Jacky loves them. Tell them it's finally time for me to make the trip to Santa Fe. They'll know what I mean.
Your loving Father,
Jack Kelly
P.S. I love you all. Don't waste your life missing me. Just look forward to seeing me again, where it's clean and green and pretty and your mother is waiting for me. I love you, Clara. I love you, Carly. I love you, Caleb. I love you, NEWSIES OF NEW YORK! See ya in Santa Fe, Jack.