"Grandma! Is it time for a story?" a
little girl with dark curly locks asked eagerly, her brown eyes sparkling.
"Yes,
Lottie, dear. Now gather up your brother and sister." The little girl obeyed
cheerfully. She brought over her older brother and sister.
The
older girl, Polly, had the same dark brown curls, but had blue eyes, and was
tall and skinny like her grandmother had been once. Danny, the boy, and the
eldest of the three had sandy blonde hair with brown eyes and stood taller than
the rest, and was already sprouting chin hairs. The girls sat down on the soft
rug in front of the fire while their grandma rocked gently in the old rocking
chair. The boy sat down reluctantly by his sisters, having tired of the old
woman's stories awhile ago, thinking he had heard them all before.
"What's
the story tonight, grandma?" Polly asked.
"Well,"
the old woman rocked smiling. "You've never heard this story before, but I
think all of you are old enough to hear it now." She stopped rocking and leaned
forward and whispered, "This is a story of a young man I knew once. He was the
most mysterious and famous man that lived among the poorest people in New York
City."
"What
was his name?" Lottie asked entranced. The grandmother leaned back and smiled
strangely.
"Spot
Conlon."
"Spot?" Danny scoffed. "What kind of a name
is that?" The woman gave him a sharp silencing glance and she continued.
"No
one was ever sure where he came from. Some say he just appeared one day. I
heard it was from Washington D.C. Others say he was a rich heir who had denied
his fortune and came to live as a stranger in Brooklyn."
"Why
don't they know?" Polly asked.
"Because
he never told anyone," she stated simply. "He was a newsy, just as I was in
1899; but not just any newsy. He was the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. Some
people even called him Brooklyn. I believe it was because he was the heart of
them. He made them work hard and became the most feared group of newsies in all
of New York. NO one messed with a Brooklyn newsy, let alone Spot Conlon."
"Why?"
asked Danny. His grandmother stared off into space. "There was something about
his presence- his eyes..."
"Was
he big?" the boy asked, sizing him up in his head.
"Oh, no. He was tall, but very thin. The
street life took it's toll on him as much as any another. It was his eyes that
did it, I think...yes I'm sure that's it." She shook her head. "Well, anyway,
he was a tough fighter. Someone said that he killed someone fighting, but I
never believed that. There was one other thing about Spot that set him apart
from all the others."
"What?"
the children cried in unison.
"He
carried a cane."
"A
cane?"
"Yes,
and he could shoot marbles like I never saw." She chuckled.
"He
couldn't walk?" Lottie asked, confused.
"Oh,
he could walk all right." She laughed. "I think the story of his cane was the
most popular story told at night among the newsies of New York."
"What
story? You've never told us that one before, grandma," Danny said, now very
interested.
"Well, like I said I heard once that he used
to live in Washington D.C. and was a newsboy there. One day he was walking
along the street selling his papers when he saw the very President of the United
States, President McKinley, coming out of a business building. Just as the
President was walking across the street to his cab, a runaway horse trailing a
wagon came tearing down the street right for President McKinley! The President
didn't see this, but Spot did. He dropped his papers, ran and pushed Mr.
McKinley with all his might, and both fell into a mud puddle next to the
President's cab just as the horse and wagon dashed across right where the man
had been standing! President McKinley saw the reason for Spot's rude push,
shook his hand, gave him a silver dollar, which was refused, and asked what he
wanted, anything at all and he would give it to him. Spot saw the stylish cane
the President was carrying (which was only for fashion in those days) and asked
for that! Not even a thousand dollars! President McKinley laughed, handed him
the cane and pressed a lot of money into his hand. Spot refused it, shook his
hand once more, tipped his hat to the powerful man, and walked away with
President McKinley's cane tucked under his arm!"
"That's all?" Danny gasped, unbelieving.
"Why?"
"Because he was too proud. He felt he could
earn his own living and saving Presidents was not part of that, or so I heard."
The old woman laughed at the children's astonished faces. "Come, now, I'm not
finished yet!"
"You
knew him, grandma?" Lottie asked softly.
"Yes,
I did."
"What else do you know about Spot?" "Well,
not much, but I know that he saved my life once, and I am forever indebted to
him."
"He saved your life? How?" Polly questioned
in awe. "Now that is another story for another bedtime." She smiled
mischievously.
"Is
that all?" Polly persisted.
"Just one more thing. Spot Conlon is your
great uncle."
"Really?" they cried, very excited.
"But
how grandmother?" Danny exclaimed. "You don't have any brothers except that one
that ran away. Was that him?"
"No,
that wasn't him. At first we loved each other secretly; meaning we never said a
word about it. Both of us knew, but we were from different worlds. I was from a
wealthy family and he was an orphan of the streets. It would never have worked
out that way. But you see we became so close that he asked if I could be his
sister. He had no one else, and I was so very alone, banished from seeing my
family ever again. So I agreed. Unfortunately, I left soon after. I headed west
and never saw Spot Conlon and the newsies ever again."
"Why
did you leave him?" Lottie whispered, tears in her brown eyes.
"I
couldn't stay. There was nothing for me there besides too many memories. Years
later I received a typed letter in the mail stating I had been adopted as a
legal sister to a mysterious person who lived in Colorado someplace."
"Wasn't
it Spot?" Lottie eagerly hoped.
"Well,
I couldn't tell at first. It didn't have his name on it. It was a Jonathan
Conlon, but maybe it was him." She smiled. "There was one thing though. I saw
that it had cost the person $50 to adopt me. I saw the price printed on the
letter. If it was Spot, no newsy could ever earn that much. Also, when I got
the letter it came with a large package. This was when your mother was grown
and in college. With the letter was a note saying: This is for you when I
die, dear sister. It wasn't signed."
"What
was in the package?" the children asked eagerly.
"Only
one thing."
"What??"
The old woman chuckled.
"A
cane."
"So
it was Spot, grandma!" Lottie cried. "I knew it was!"
The old woman laughed. "All I know is that it's
time for your bedtimes!"
"Awww!
Not yet!" they cried. The children stood up, obeying nonetheless.
"Can
we see his cane? Do you still have it?" Polly asked.
"Maybe
tomorrow."
"So Spot Conlon really is our great uncle,"
Danny remarked sleepily. He suddenly
turned to his grandmother. "But how did he die?"
"I don't know, Danny. I don't think we ever
will."
With the children in bed Cordelia VanCamp lay
down in her own bed and fingered Spot's cane sadly. A tear slipped down her
cheek, the only tear she had ever shed for him. Maybe soon she would see him
again.
"It
has been so long, " she whispered to the cane, and fell asleep.
THE
END
