An old man sat in his withered recliner, a cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth and laugh lines surrounded his dark brown eyes. Three little boys sat at his feet the youngest being five the second oldest ten and the oldest being thirteen. They stared up at their grandfather with questioning eyes, the same dark brown ones as the man in the chair. One boy held an old newspaper clipping in his hand, there were a dozen or so teenage boys each with a stunned or smiling expression. The old man knew the story all to well.
"Boys dinners almost ready!" a figureless voice called from the kitchen. The old man smiled he loved that voice, he heard the voice corresponding with another figureless voice and it made him smile wider.
"Grandpa can you please tell us the strike story," the youngest spoke with wide puppy dog eyes and the other boys chimed in as a chorus, "Please pretty please." They looked up at the old man begging him.
The old man sighed, "Well deah me, if you got time I got time but we gotta go way back, back to the summer of 1899"
The summers in Manhattan were hot and the headlines were junk, Trolley Strike drags on for Third week the papes would say. And that headline dragged on as much as the trolley strike did. At least that's what I remembered. I woke that morning in a bunk next to Snipeshooter, I swung my legs over the side of my bed and made a grab for my morning cigar. It was gone and would you guess where it was, it was in the mouth of that little rascal in a cabby hat.
I jumped off my bed and was ready to take it back in a hurry, "hey that's my cigar!"
"You'll steal anudder," little imp.
"Hey bummahs we got work to do!" great Kid Blink
"Since when did you become me mudda," nice Specs voice of reason.
"Ah stop your bawlin," good maybe one of these loonies will listen to Crutchy
"Hey who ast you!" they did have a point
This is what we did every morning a rowdy bunch like us wasn't just going to be quiet in the mornings, we all liked to sing and if we wanted to sing we'd sing damnit! We talked about prime time sellin spots, mush suggested Bottle Alley or the harbor. I like central park its guarantee. Jack sells to bankers, bums or barbers, they almost all know how to read. We get as cleaned up as a bunch of poor boys can dunking ourselves in icy tub water and the boys who need shaving shave and we wash our faces the best we can. Unless your going for that fake cripple look or homeless boy then stay as dirty as you please but don't come near me if you smell like the Delancys. Me and the rest of the Hattaners would run down the stairs and pass Kloppman, the owner of the Duane Street Lodging house. He never missed a face, he'd count to make sure we were all out and wake us up in the morning. By the time we were to the stairs me and the boys were almost always in full song.
"Ain't it a fine life Carrying the banner through it all? A mighty fine life Carrying the banner tough and tall Every morning We goes where we wishes we's as free as fishes Sure beats washing dishes What a fine life Carrying the banner home-free all!"
We sang the chorus all together each boy adding a special part, each of us had a special part in the group. We had nicknames, we looked out for each other, we were one big family. We were all orphans unless someone's pop was in the slammer some kids had that issue. Jack "cowboy" Kelly was the lucky one his parents were out west looking for a ranch and once they found one they were sending for him. As silly as it sounds I was gonna miss old Jackie boy when he went I'd known him since we first ran into each other hawking headlines at age seven I was sixteen now and Jack was seventeen. He was the leader he was loud, street smart and knew Manhattan like the back of his hand. He was as almost as well known as Spot Conlon these days. After running through the streets like nuts we would go to the distribution office and while we waited we started up on a favorite past time of ours, teasing the poor widdle Delancy brothers. I antagonize and out wit them with well, my wit and Jack beats them to a pulp using their own stupidity against them. The boys don't stand a chance. Never have never will.
"That was even better than yesterday," I yell as I take my number two spot in line at the window to get my papes from the Weasel. Today Jack used Morris as a human shield and Oscar punch Morris right in the nose. Me I told them they smelt like a sewer, I was the wise guy and Jack was the fighter. That's just how it is and always will be me and Jack a pair. There was a new guy today, Davey with his little brother Les, my oh my did that kid have a future in selling he looked like a born newsie. Looks like he'd be selling with Jack today, I was going to take my seventy five papes to central park then go to the Sheepshead to watch the races. I got a hot tip today on the horse Oregon Trail, she's supposed to be a real speed demon. Or so I'm told. I walk into the races like every other respective fellow and take a spot up front after I place my bets I cheer on Oregon trail hoping to get my moneys worth. But as I saw Oregon Trail cross the finish line last my Italian blood boiled.
"Who evah gave me dis lousy tip should be shot ya heah me!" I threw my yellow slip on the grounded and walked out of the races, I blew my money today big time. I took a walk around the city to calm my blood and nicked a cigar from one of the vendors. I smoked the cigar down to the nub then chucked it down the alley way and there coming down the street was my buddy Jack.
"Hey Race how was that hot tip on Oregon Trail." he gave me a punch in the arm.
"Well lets just say nobody told the horse" Jack laughed and nodded his head knowingly, he knew about these not so hot tips I got sometimes.
"I gotta tell ya bout this goil, her names Sarah she's a real looker and smart to, she's from a good family and is real pretty did I mention that."
"Oh boy Jack you got it bad" well it wasn't the first time Jack charmed the ladies real quick, as they say a smile as sweet as butter. I wasn't so lucky, we walked up the stairs past Kloppman and Jack told all the newsies about this girl Mush looked especially interested. Poor kid, he was a hopeless romantic and Blink was just well being Blink listening but not. I peeled off my sticky cloths and jumped bed I closed my eyes and hoped for a better day. I newsies should know better not to hope though.
"Dinners ready!" The figureless voice was back again. All the little boys groaned and the old man stood up and rubbed his stomach.
"I'll finish after dinner, Lord knows I need my nutrients in my old age," and with that the three boys with the dark brown eyes trailed after him into the kitchen.