Well, here's the next part. In this part Race meets the newsies and I have
included his pov on the strike. So we have a nice long chapter.
Nothing belongs to me, not even Race, wah. Please read and review.
The next morning dawned sunny and fresh. I smiled as Jack and I wandered the streets, looking for a fresh new start. We had no money, and nowhere to sleep, and yet we'd never been happier. Jack told me about how he'd met Spot while wandering around lost.
"Gave me sumdin' ta eat and listened ta me. When I told him bout ya, he said he'd help me." But it was plain we couldn't go back. We weren't Brooklyn boys.
It was almost night when we met our next new twist of fate. Both of us were hungry and willing to do anything. That's when a voice welcomed us into the world of the newises.
"Extry, extry! Read all about it! Runaway carriage kills toddla!" the boy's voice echoed over the street. I looked over. He didn't seem much older than me with blond hair and a patch over his left eye. Jack and exchanged looks as the boy sold his last paper and headed off, not before spotting us.
We made our way over to him and smiled. He grinned back. "Ya want sumdin'?" he asked.
"Yeah, we wus wonderin' ya know a place where we can grab sumtin' ta eat, and maybe sleep?" he nodded.
"Sure, but ya gotta be a newsie. Dey's always looking' fer new boys. Ya interested?" Instantly, I nodded. Jack hesitated, but then gave his agreement.
"Da name's Kid Blink." He said, shaking first my hand then Jack's.
"My name's Jack Kelly, but everybody calls me Cowboy, and dis 'ere is Anthony Higgins." He glanced at me.
"You gotta nick?" I shook my head.
"People, dey jist calls me Tony." Now Kid Blink shook his head.
"Ya's gots at have a nick. Tony ain't going to cut it. but it'll woik fer now." He led us down a small side street to a large brick building. A sign reading Newsboys Lodging house, in big yellow letters was hung outside. Kid Blink stepped inside and we followed. I noticed the large amount of boys gathered in the hall and on the stairs. They all watched us and spoke quietly. Kid Blink stepped up to the counter and spoke with an older man.
"Dese boys need a place for da night. Can dey stay 'ere? Dey's going to be woikin' in da morning." The old man nodded.
"Sure, but you'se gotta get up wid de udda boys." Jack and I agreed. He introduced us to the old man, who told us to call him Kloppman.
Then he led us around, introducing us to all the other boys, Mush, a naive boy with a kind smile, Skittery, a jokester who was sometimes moody, and all the others, Snitch, Jake, Itey, Snipshooter, Specs, Dutchy, Snoody, Bumlets, Pie eater, Swifty and the rest.
That night I slept in the bunk under Kid Blink's while Jack was one beside me. For the first time since I was nine years old, I felt at home.
But morning came far too soon. I groaned and yanked the covers over my head when Kloppman shook me. Finally, I crawled out of bed and made my way to the showers. I was still half asleep as we made our way to the distribution station just as the sun was coming up. Kid Blink came up and stuffed a dime in my hands.
I stared at him. "Ta buy yer papes." He said. "Ya can pay me back when ya get some dough." I nodded and bought twenty papes from a fat dirty man behind the counter the boys had dubbed Weasel. He eyed me but gave me my papes.
Then Jack and I split up. "See ya's tonight." He said, "Good luck." I nodded and made my way down the street. I eyed the headline, High Society businessman caught in scandal with vaudeville star. I smiled, this could be my lucky day.
I knew just where to go. I'd talked with the boys that morning and discovered that while there where newsies everywhere, there were none at the Sheepshead Races. And so I made my way down there, catching a ride on the back of a cart.
When I found myself at the races, I jumped off and positioned myself at the entrance where people were sure to see me. then I began to call out the headlines.
By ten I had sold my last paper, and I had fifty cents in my pockets, from the papes and tips. But I had nothing to do. I was planning on meeting Jack at noon and I had several hours to kill. I made my way inside and watched the races for some time before slowly approaching the betting booth. I eyed the odds carefully, before placing twenty-five cents on a horse named Golden Lighting. The odds weren't great, but I had a feeling.
By noon I was walking back to the restaurant Kid Blink told me about with almost three dollars in my pocket. I walked in grinning. Jack waved me over and I slid in beside him.
"Whudda ya grinnin' bout?" Mush asked me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the three dollars I'd made. The boys looked in awe.
"Ya made dat? Da foist day?" Jack asked. I laughed.
"Nah, I bet on a few races and I wus lucky. Dat's all."
"Ya went all the way outta Sheepshead?" Kid Blink asked, his eyes widening. I nodded. " I neva doughta dat. Da races would be a great place at sell." I shook my head.
"Da racetrack's mine." Jack laughed.
"Don't mess wid him when he says sumdin's his." He and I shared a laugh.
Then Blink smiled. " I jist thought a da perfect nick fer ya!" I stared at him. "Racetrack!"
"Racetrack." I whispered, smiling. Racetrack Higgins. I nodded. I liked it. And from that day forth, that was my name and I responded to no other.
But that ain't the end of my story, not by a long shot. It would be four years before the event that really brought us all together.
Those four years passed in a routine of much the same, though they didn't lack in moments of excitement or danger. But as poor as we were, none of us went to bed hungry, no matter how late we got home, Kloppman always had something left out for us, we always had a warm bed, though sometimes we had to share when times got hard.
Kloppman had a rule, if you walked through the doors, you paid for your bed. If you crawled through the window, you didn't. I made my way up the fire escape many nights.
I fit in well with the newsies, though; I've often been called the cynic of the group. We all had our roles.
Mush was the baby, with his young face and naivety and his habit of always looking on the bright side of things, everyone liked him and always babied him. Blink was the lady's man, always taking out some girl or another. Crutchy, our baby brother, who we looked out for, but avoided mention of his disability. He could usually manage fine without us. I was the smart ass, the cynical loud mouth that pretended to need no one, but did not fool his friends. And Jack, well, we'll get to Jack later.
As different as we seemed, there was one thing that held us together, we were friends, and friends are something you need to survive in these harsh streets. Some boys refuse to admit that, they say that friends make you weak, that they give your enemies a way to hurt you. That to be alone makes you strong, makes you tough. But I say that's a loud of bullshit. If you are alone all your life, then you'll never learn to be anything but tough and bitter. I've known plenty of loners, myself included, and every one of them are stilling wandering the streets, many of them in dealings way over their heads.
If you're not careful, this place, this city can consume you, suck you in and trap you. You begin to loose your dignity and do things your ma told you never to do. You become the man your pop pointed out on the street, begging for the spare change no one has, or is willing to give, to buy yourself one more beer so that you can forget. You become the man your parents warned you about. You become the man you ran away from, the man who hits his wife and kids, who makes her frightened to take the small amount you do bring home. I made myself a promise a long time ago that I would never be that man. I had seen far too many of my friends leave home because of it. Blink, Crutchy, even Jack. So far I've kept that promise.
And what brought me through it all, it wasn't my own resolve. If that was it, I would still be in that small bar down by the docks, drowning my sorrows away. But no, Jack, and Blink, David, Mush, Spot, Crutchy, they all brought me home, and reminded me that I did have something to live for in the faces of four angelic children, sleeping safe and sound in their beds. That is what brought me through those times. Not me, not my strength, but the combined effort of my friends. Friends are necessary to survival.
Yes the newsies were a family, and the size of that family would ebb and flow like the tide. Almost every newsie brought in a stray at some point. Jack came home about two weeks after we moved in with a young black shoe shiner, we instantly christened Boots. Others would come and go, but I liked Boots. He was only eight at the time and had recently lost his mother. Since most of us were orphans or runaways, and in some cases like mine, both, we could easily feel for him, though he quickly learned you would get no outward sympathy from the newsies.
That was the golden rule. Stick together, be a family, but at the very heart of it, every newsie was interested in just one thing; his own future. Now if that meant sharing a room with twenty other boys and forging a bond of friendship that would last for longer than time itself, then all those boys were in the right place at the right time.
I picked up a few strays too. The only one to stay, and the one we all grew to love, was Crutchy.
It was maybe three months after my escape from the Refuge when I, on my way to the races, almost stumbled over a fight in the middle of the street. In a flash, I was across the road and pulling the two bigger boys off of the smaller one. The biggest one glared at me and grabbed my shirt, proving to be much taller and stronger than I.
"Whudda dink youse doin'?" he grunted. I glared back.
"I could ax da same a' youse." I told him.
"Let's soak da little bum." The other bonehead growled. I frowned, then smirked.
"Sure, go right ahead. Won't be 'sponsable when Spot comes afta ya." My growing friendship with Spot Conlon was enough to put off a good deal of my attackers. Though he was only fourteen at the time, Spot's power was growing. Brooklyn was the home of the poorest and toughest boys in the city. Brooklyn could be a powerful ally or a deadly enemy.
"Youse one of Spot's boys?" the rough neck grunted again. I shrugged.
"Yeah, I'se just taking a message ta da Manhattan boys."
The gears in his head seemed to be turning as he still held me up in the air. Finally, he dropped me and the two boys vanished. I dusted myself off and held my hand out to the boy they'd been attacking.
He was gangly with curly reddish hair and large brown puppy eyes. Those eyes were fixed on me now.
"Hey kid." I held my hand out to him, but he didn't take it. "Wassa madda?" I asked.
"Are youse really friends wid Spot Conlon?" his voice was quiet, an awed whisper. I laughed.
"Yeah, but I ain't from Brooklyn. I'se from right here, in Manhattan. I jist happen ta know Spot. Anyway, ya need some help?" he shook his head and pointed to a wooden stick that had been thrown into an alley.
"Can ya get me dat?" I nodded and handed it to him. He took it, placed it under his arm, and used it to get himself to his feet. I watched, frowning, not having realized he was a crip before, but not saying a word. He began to limp off before I thought to run after him.
"Hey, where's ya going'?" he shrugged.
"Dunno. Don't gots nowhere ta go." I smiled and held out my hand.
"Racetrack Higgins." He grinned at my hand and took the outstretched hand.
"Charly Robbins." He said. I noticed him eyeing the papes under my arm.
"Whudda ya carryin' all dem papas foir?" he asked.
"I'se a newsie." I told him, "I sell 'em fer a penny each. Wus jist on me way down dere when I ran inta youse." He looked genuinely interested and I grinned.
"Is it hard?" I shook my head.
"Watch." And with that, I took a deep breath, stepped away from him and wandered down the street, calling out the headline.
"Mayor caught in doity dealin's! Been takin' bribes foir yeas!" People hurried to buy a pape and I quickly sold ten. I sauntered away, and hurried back to Charly, with ten cents in my pocket.
"Wow! Is dat story true?" he asked, his large eyes wider. I laughed.
"A' course." I showed him the article on page eight. Mayor of small town in Maine taking bribes from farmers.
"but dat's lyin!" he gasped. I shook my head.
"I ain't said nuttin dat ain't true. Besides, I'se gotta eat." And I gathered up my papes, preparing to head out for that track. He caught my sleeve.
"Can I come widcha?" he asked. "Sell papas too?" I was about to say no, then I wondered how much this kid need the break, the same break someone had given me. Then I nodded.
"Ya dink ya can make it all da way ta da tracks?" he nodded vigorously. I sighed, then smiled.
"Well, da foist ding ya gotta loin, is dat headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes." I gave him the finer points on selling papes as we walked along. Soon I noticed him getting a little tired, we were still a ways from the tracks and, while I usually made the walk in about a half an hour, I was used to it. It even took Jack longer. Many times, I hitched a ride on a cart, and I decided this was the prefect plan. I spotted one, heading out towards the tracks and I quickly waved the driver to stop. Dragging Charly along side me, I whispered to him, "Look as pitiful as ya can."
"Please, mista, can we bum a ride?" I begged him, putting all of my ability into it and forcing fake tears to well up in my eyes. He growled at us.
"No free rides. Get lost, kids."
"It's me ma!" I wailed, attracting a crowd. " She's havin' her baby, and me pop's out at da tracks! Me kid brudda, 'era, he can't walk all dat way! Please, mista!" I heard murmurs in the crowd, and I knew that if this man did not give us a ride, we would have several other offers. He was watching the crowd and knew the same thing. So he sighed and pointed to the back, where Charly and I climbed on. I laughed and patted him on the back, while he smiled.
When we got there, I quickly set him up in the entrance, giving him half my papes. I told him to look as pitiful as possible, and if no one seemed to be buying, to make up whatever headline he could. I headed off to sell my papes inside and when I returned a half an hour later, I found him happily counting the pennies he'd made.
I grinned and we managed to bum a ride home from a kind old gentlemen with a limp himself. I asked him to stop at the lodging house, then turned to Charley.
" Ya gots a place?" he shook his head.
"Nah, me ma's dead." I didn't ask about his father or the reason behind his mother's death. It was a simple don't ask, don't tell, policy that was strictly enforced. Instead, I led him up the steps and into the house, signing my name and telling Kloppman he had a new border.
Kloppman agreed to help, finding him an old crutch someone had left there years ago, instead of the stick he'd been using. Charley seemed grateful as I led him upstairs to the bunk where he dropped his stuff near my bunk. Then we settled down for a quiet game of poker before the others arrived.
As we sat, he inquired about my name. " Is yer name really Racetrack?" I nodded.
"It is now. Every newsie has a nick, youse get yers soon." He nodded.
"Yeah, I hate me name." I grinned at him over my cards.
"Trust me, Charley ain't so bad. Anthony's woise." He looked up at me, surprised, but not for long as boys suddenly began to flood the room. I introduced Charley to everyone and as Jack took his hand, he stared at him.
"Youse nick is Crutchy." He said. The kid looked surprised.
"Why?" Jack pointed to the crutch under his arm.
"Ya really use dat ding?" he nodded.
"I ain't no fake!" Charley drew himself up to his full height and glared at Jack, who laughed.
"Youse name is Crutchy so we'se member dat youse really a crip and so if anyone calls ya a fake, we can soak 'em good!" A slow smile spread over the face of the boy called Crutchy, and from then on, that was all he was.
He soon found a selling spot of his own, and he hardly made the long trek to the tracks with me. Almost no one did. I liked it that way. I liked to sell alone. I was better that way, with no one to worry about but myself.
That was just one incident in those four long years, one of many. Our lives were not without adventure or excitement. They were filled with daily escapades, and more often suffering. I went to bed hungry almost every night, even with the small meal Kloppman almost always left out for me. They were just never enough for a growing boy. I stood outside on Christmas Eve, selling my papes in the snow. I shivered in the freezing February wind without a coat. But I was happy. More happy than I'd been since my parents died.
Jack was our unofficial leader at the time. It had never been proclaimed, that's simply how it was. It was just the accepted fact. Jack had a control about him that made him seem so put together and a cocky attitude that won him a place in the hearts of every newsie in Manhattan.
I made fast and close friends with Kid Blink and Mush, and I would say that aside from Jack, they were my best friends. But we never sold together as other best friends did. I was always out at the races, alone. Every newsie had their turf and the others understood that. It was a simple balance. Sometimes, newsies would trade selling spots under mutual consent, just for a change. But I never did. The races were mine.
I became well known and even met a few of the jockeys who had laughed with my father so many years ago. Not one of them put this short cocky sixteen-year-old Italian Racetrack Higgins, with the shy little Anthony Higgins who had come there so many years ago. And that was to my benefit.
We spent our nights, when we were through with the evening edition, in Medda's dance hall. She let all the newsies in for free and we loved it. Afterwards, she'd bring us all back stage and give us plenty to eat. She would joke around with us and even play pranks on us. But more importantly, she was always there if we needed her. If we needed a place to stay for the night, if we'd gotten soaked, or if we just needed someone to talk to, she was there for us. She was kind of like our surrogate mother, I guess you could say.
In those four years, I changed quite a bit. I grew, but not much. I was sixteen, on my own, and perfectly happy. The newsies stuck together, we were a family. If one of us got into trouble with the bulls, the others covered for him. We sought revenge for newises who had been soaked or otherwise hurt by rival gangs or the DeLancy brothers, two boneheads with egos the size of all the rest of New York put together. They worked for Weasel and sometimes sought out lonely newsies to have some fun. Of course, Jack had his fun with them every morning, and we cheered him on.
The morning it all started, was like any other. We got up and made our way to the distribution station. Along the way, we met up with David Jacobs and his little brother Les. They were new, just started the day before. Jack had told me all about their run all over the city from Snyder the day before. I'd been on the roof smoking, when he walked up beside me.
"Hey Cowboy." I said.
"Hey Race. Sorry about the tracks." I shook my head.
"Wasn't too bad. I didn't bet that much." He smiled and sat down beside me. I could tell he wanted to say something. I offered him my cigarette, my cigar of the day long gone when Snipeshooter pinched it. He took a long puff and sighed.
"I ran into our old friend today." Instantly, I knew who he was talking about. Snyder.
"Oh?" I asked, not wanting to sound too worried.
"Don't worry, I lost him. but he's on the look out. We should lay low for a while." I nodded, though I knew we wouldn't.
Jack looked much the same as he had at thirteen, though taller. But I looked nothing like the boy I had been. I had a new name, a new life, nothing to worry about. He slapped me on the shoulder.
"We should get inside." I dropped my cigarette and we headed inside, and into bed.
But the next morning, Kid was the first one to the station and when we arrived, he had horrible news.
"Dey jacked up de price!" We stared at him, unable to understand what the hell he was talking about.
"Whut? Whudda ya talkin' bout, Kid?" I asked.
"Ten cents a hundred! I mean, it's bad enough we gotta eat what we don't sell! Now dey jacked up da price!" We couldn't believe it! I shook my head, this was going to break me! The other newsies had the same ideas. I pushed the image of back sleeping on the streets, stealing what I could to survive. I hated that. I never wanted to go back.
Jack stomped down the steps, and sat down heavily. He shook his head and took the cigarette Blink offered him. We all pestered him for a moment, asking him what we were going to do until Les shoved some of the older boys out of the way and scolded us, telling us to "Let him think."
It was a tense silence as Jack thought. I waited as long as I could before asking, "Jack, ya don't tinkin' yet?" He glared at me, then began to speak, slowly at first, but with growing confidence.
"Well, listen. One thing's fer surah, if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Nobody comes trough dose gates until dey put da price back where it was." There was a strange muttering running through the crowd. I frowned. David spoke up just then.
"What, like strike?"
"Yeah, like a strike." We stared at him, amazed. A strike? What was he thinking?
"Are ya odda your mind?" I asked him. But once Jack had an idea in his head, there was no stopping him. As much as David tried to talk him out of it, Jack marched us right out of those gates without any of us buying one pape. This idea was taking hold of all of us. Even David.
He had the words, but Jack had the stamina and the voice to carry them off. We made our decision. Strike! Nobody sells one pape until they pull the price back down! It was a fever that carried us away, our days of simply carrying the banner were over. We were on strike!
Jack called us together and told us we had to be "em-bastards." I dunno the real word Davy used. But he sent us off to every corner of New York, personally. I took Midtown. He took off toward Brooklyn, with Boots and Davy in tow to spread the word to Spot Conlon. If Spot joined then we'd have every newsie in New York.
I waved goodbye to Crutchy and set off. Several blocks later, I found my first midtown newsie. They were mulling around the distribution office, probably thinking the same things we were. I spotted one I knew well, Red, we called him because of his fiery hair, was shaking his head and glancing at the office, where the manager was glaring at the kids. Red spotted me and waved.
"Heya Race, dey jack youse boys up too?" I nodded.
"And we're doin' sumtin' bout it. We'se going' on strike!" Instantly, I was surrounded by thirty newsies all hanging on to me every word.
"You'se whut?" Red stared at me in disbelief.
"We'se going' on strike! Until dey lowea da price!" Several boys mumbled in agreement and many looked unsure. I was positive they'd seen the headline that day, about the trolley strike. Red shook his head.
"Race, I's ain't so sure bout dis."
"Look, " I said, " if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Pulitzer and Hearst, dey loose money if we don't sell da papes. Dey have ta listen at us." I saw the slowly growing looks of wonder and agreement in the crowd. I glanced at the manager and saw him watching me with worried eyes. I grinned. Another two minutes and they were right behind us. They ran out of the yard and hurried off to spread the word. I grinned and headed back to the square.
Crutchy was already there, as was Skittery and Blink. While we waited for Jack, we played a few games. When Jack showed up, I noticed he looked defeated.
"Jack, so where's Spot?" I asked. Jack leaned against the statue and frowned.
"He was concerned bout us bein' serious. Can ya imagine dat?" I frowned now too. Without Spot, there would never be enough of us. Jack seemed to grow more and more angry as each of us voiced our opinions.
He told us about a newspaperman, Denton, who was interested in our story. He was the one who had been watching us during that first fight. We felt defeated. But Davy wasn't finished.
He taught us the phrase, seize the day. And we seized it all right. Stampeding into the station and ripping up every damn pape we could find. I was having one hell of a time, taking out my angry and frustration on the cause of my immediate misery. Suddenly Jack began yelling.
"Cheeze it! It's da bulls, cheeze it!" We took off, but as I ran I glanced back and saw, to my horror, Crutchy, still laughing and tossing papes into the air.
"Crutchy!" I yelled, "Scram, scram!" He jumped down and tried to limp off. I ducked behind the statue, and watched as the Delancy brothers dragged him off. I winced as they kicked his crutch out from under him. The police just watched and I felt a surge of anger. Then I hurried back to the lodging house where the others were gathered.
"Race!" Jack yelled as I entered. Everyone else had already arrived. He slapped me on the shoulder. " We thought da bulls got ya!"
"Nah, but dey got Crutchy." I told him. There was silence all around the room. Jack looked furious.
"We get Crutchy out tonight." Several kids volunteered to go with him, me included, but he shook his head.
"Nah, jist me and Davy."
"Me?" Davy asked. "Why me?"
"Because you'se ain't got a record."
"And why you?" I asked.
"Because, it's me fault." Jack said, and grabbing his rope and a protesting Davy, he was gone. They got back later that night.
We'd tried to stay up, but most of the younger kids were still asleep. I had drifted off, on Blink's shoulder. Blink had been long gone, when I heard the door open. I shook my head and opened my eyes, expecting to hear the soft thump Crutchy's crutch always made, but there were only muffled footsteps.
I sighed as Jack silently made his way into the room, followed by Davy. Crutchy wasn't with them. Jack made his way through the crowded room. No one was sleeping in their beds that night. I watched him and when he got to his bed, his eyes caught mine. He looked down at the floor, then crawled into bed. I shook my head and tried to go back to sleep after offering Davy my bunk. We had suffered our first casualty. Crutchy was gone or as good as. I wondered if we'd all end up in the slammer at the end of this.
The next morning, we were right back where we'd started, in front of the office, waiting. The new boys they had hired watched us apprehensively from just inside the gates.
"Come ya graftas, cross da line!" I shouted.
Davy tried to keep us calm, but our tempers were boiling over the edge. We were all enraged about Crutchy and our last defeat.
"Alright, everyone, remain calm." He told us. Davy may have had the words, but we looked to Jack for our orders. He stared at them, anger burning in his eyes.
"Let's soak 'em fer Crutchy!" Then we rushed them. They hurried inside, looking for the doors back inside to escape. I was one for the first and was chasing them, when I saw the giant doors open. My breath caught in my throat as I saw the huge men, all armed with clubs and chains.
"Jack!" I yelled desperately, "Jack, it's a trick!" We ran for it, but they pulled the gates closed, trapping us. It seemed hopeless, we were all going to get soaked, or worse. I tried to help Jack, but he was cornered by a huge guy with a chain.
Suddenly, from nowhere, Spot appeared. He and his boys turned the tables and we had them on the run. I did my fair share of hitting, kicking, and just plain soaking. Finally, we had driven them back.
We were shouting and cheering and ripping up any pape we could find. Jack was waving his pape in the air when a man I had seen before in the square watching us, Denton, approached us.
"Boys! Freeze!" We did our best to pose, but were so crowded in a small area, only Jack looked good. He snapped the picture and we went back to cheering.
The next morning found us at Tibbys, a restaurant that offered cheap prices and good food. I often wonder if the owner, Mr. Tibby, ever regreted having his restaurant constantly overcrowded by hordes of boys, but he never said a word. He only got us our orders and let us stay as long as we want.
We were eating as we had no papes to sell, when Denton entered
"Good morning boys!" In an instant, he'd held up a pape. We stared in amazement to see a picture of us staring out from the pape. I laughed. We were in the papes! We were famous!
Most boys were overjoyed, but Skittery shook has head. "So what? So you get's yer pictures in da pape, so what's dat getcha?" we shook our heads and I felt the need to remind him.
"Hey glum and dumb! Whussa matta wid ya? Ya get your picture in de papes, you's famous. You's famous, ya get anythin' ya want." I slammed my fist down on the table, emphasizing my point, " Dat's what so great bout New York!" the boys laughed.
We were kings of New York! We had come so far! We celebrated for a while, before Jack set us down and got serious. "Now we needs a plan." From this came the idea for the rally. A rally for all the newsies of New York, so big everyone would feel stupid for ignoring us.
That night, we began to get ready, painting signs and posters. Jack had slipped upstairs for something when the door opened. We glanced up at the man who entered. I stared, Snyder!
He reached for the logbook, but Kloppman took it from him. I nudged Blink and we watched him apprehensively. I knew he wouldn't recognize me, but I worried about Jack.
"Can I help you?" Kloppman asked. The chatter died down so we could hear.
"You have a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly? I wish to see him." Kloppman, for all his complaining about us, was good to us and treated us well. He fed us, gave us a place to sleep and stay off the streets, he insured that we had a job every morning, by waking us up. He also pretended to know nothing if some bum came around asking about one of his boys.
"Jack Kelly?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. " Never heard of him. Never heard of him. Any of you boys ever hear of a Jack Kelly?" he asked.
"Dat's an unusual name fer dese parts." Specs called out. I glanced to the door and saw Jack enter with a smile on his face. Swifty caught him, but Snyder might see him. I took action.
"Oh, you mean Jack Kelly?" I stepped forward, taking my cigar out of my mouth and pulling my hat back. "Yeah he was here." I saw Jack staring at me. but I grinned. " But he put an egg in his shoe and…" I shrugged, "beat it."
The boys burst out laughing and Snyder glared at me. Kloppman waved me back, not before giving me a small smile. Jack slipped up behind him and began to make faces at Snyder behind his back, while sneaking sideways glances at me. I shook my head, knowing we were all in the slammer if Snyder turned around.
"I have reason to believe he's an escaped prisoner, possibly dangerous." I chuckled. Jack was only dangerous to anyone who messed with his newsies. But Kloppman pretended to be concerned.
"Oh, dangerous? I better look in my files. This way please." Jack ducked back behind the line of boys and I darted across the room to hold up a sign in front of him. Snyder turned to face us and found several signs and posters in his way.
"Give ta da newsie strike fund, mista?" I asked him, innocently. He glared at me and handed me a coin, which I took with the same hand that held my cigar, "accidentally" dropping some ash onto his coat. He didn't notice and I grinned at him behind his back.
To say the least, he found nothing and I slipped back upstairs to find Jack on the roof.
"Hey Jack." He turned and grinned at me.
"Hiya Race." He grinned at me. "I's thought ya wus going to turn me in down dere." I shook my head.
"Couldn't resist. Snyder always wus so fun." He shook his head.
"Ya shouldn't'a talked ta him. What if he recognized ya?" I held out my hands.
"Could you? I don't look nuttin' like I did. Don't worry bout me, Jacky boy. But I suggest you find a place ta sleep tanight. He may come back wid da bulls." Jack nodded and slipped down the fire escape.
The next time I saw him was the rally. He, Davy, and Spot were on stage giving speeches and telling us what we needed to do. There was one tense moment at the discussion of what do to about the soaking scabs, but Jack calmed things down, reminding us that we had to stick together.
Then Medda came out. She was in full prime that night and we sang right along with her, proud of ourselves and what we had become. After the song, we cheered and shouted, on some kind of high. But it couldn't last.
I noticed David hurry up to Jack and whisper something in his ear. I didn't pay much attention to it until I heard the police whistle. I glanced up and saw Snyder watching at the edge of the hall, while coppers were filling the halls rapidly, along with lots of huge thugs. Jack grabbed Sarah, David's sister, and they hurried out the back. I hoped he'd get away.
I put my arm around Medda and hurried to the stage, handing her over to her maid and bodyguard. Then I turned to join my friends.
"No, Race!" she called, "Stay with me!" I reassured her and turned back to the fighting. Instantly, I was face to face with a thug, at least two feet bigger than me. The scabber kicked out and I grasped my stomach, out of breath suddenly, doubled over with the pain of the surprise attack. It hurt and to say that it hurt a lot would be simplifying it just a tad. I could hear Medda screaming in the background, just as I saw the fist come down and pain blossomed along my jaw. The hit sent me reeling back onto the fake bridge and I quickly began to loose consciousness. The last thing I remember was Medda's screams.
No! No! For God's sake! He's just a child! Can't you see that? Racetrack!" my mind faded as I felt two sets of hands drags me outside. Then, nothing…
I must have woken up in prison, because when I next opened my eyes, we were all seated in a small cell, Blink beside me on my right and Spot on my left. The younger ones were on the cots, while us older kids had taken up the floor. I couldn't see David, Les, or Jack.
"Hey, Race." I hear Blink mutter beside me. I glanced at him and winced. His face was bruised something awful and he held his right side like it hurt him to move. His eye, under the patch, was bruised and swollen. I winced.
"Hey Blink, you all right?" he nodded. I shifted and felt a sharp pain run up my side. I winced and gingerly touched it.
"Ya wanna be careful." Spot spoke up. He was nursing a black eye. "I saw ya get kicked and it didn't look like much fun." I shook my head, and then regretted it.
"Where's Jack?" Blink shook his head.
"Dunno. We tried at get him out da front, but dere wus coppas everywhere. Dey got me and Jack ran back inside." He looked sorry, like he'd failed Jack by getting caught.
"Dey got him too." Spot said. Those of us still awake looked at him. "I saw it. Dey punched him hard when he wus tryin' ta get back up da stairs." We sighed. It was all over. Who knew what was happening now. Part of me wished I could just go back to the way things were, when the newsies were a family and we were happy. I sighed wearily and let my head fall back against the cold stone wall. Slowly, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
"Get up, you street rats!" a voice hollered at us. I blinked, and remembered where I was. Spot helped me stand and we were led out where each of our wrists was cuffed. At least the older ones were. They seemed to know exactly who were the leaders. Spot, Blink, Mush, and I, along with a few others were all led in, in handcuffs. We stood beside the judge's seat and waited.
He looked down at us, unsympathetically, even though we were all covered in bruises and cuts.
"Are any of you boys represented by council?" We glanced at each other, unsure of his meaning, " No? Good, that will move things along considerably." But Spot wasn't going to let anyone talk to him that way.
"Hey, yer honoa, I object!" he said. The judge glared at him.
"On what grounds?"
"On da grounds 'a Brooklyn, yer honoa." Spot answered, with a serious look on his face as if he meant every word. Of course, we cracked up, the judge was not amused. He banged his, well honestly, I don't know what it's called, but you know what I'm talking about, he banged his whatever-ya-call- it, to quiet the room.
"I fine each of you five dollars, or two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge." We stared at him. None of us had that much money, even if we scraped all our savings together. I shook my head and spoke up.
"Whoa. We ain't got five bucks. We ain't even got five cents. Hey, yer honoa, how's 'bout I roll ya for it. Double er nuttin'?" the boys cracked up again and I smiled. Again, the judge was not pleased.
"Move along, move along." He ordered. But we were saved when Denton appeared, claiming he'd pay all our fines. As we were led off, he leaned over and whispered, "Look, we've got to meet at the restaurant. Everybody. We have to talk." We nodded.
"Move along." The judge ordered. We glared at him. Just as we were being led off, Jack was led in. He looked like he'd had better nights, but some of us looked worse. He was handcuffed too.
"Hey fellas!" he called, grinning when he saw us.
"Hey Cowboy!" I called back, "Nice shiner!" I added, noticing the large bruise on his chin.
"Move along." The judge chirped his favorite line and we were led out of the courtroom. As soon as the cuffs were off, we were gone. I sat next to Blink at the restaurant. We waited for Denton for what seemed like forever. We talked about what it would be like to have our names in all the papes, about how the whole city would know the injustice we'd suffered, and the strike would take hold of everybody.
But when he did show up, what he had to tell us, well, it wasn't the good news we'd been hoping for. Instead, he came to tell us goodbye, that he'd been reassigned. We couldn't believe it, not even when he told us that not one of the papes had printed the story, not even his. I tossed my cigar down in defeat. Denton handed his story, the story about the rally to David, asking him at least to read it. As Denton shut the door behind him, I realized I'd never felt to defeated, so betrayed. I thought it was the worst I'd ever felt in my whole life. I was wrong.
As the door slammed shut, David crushed the paper in his fist and threw it to the table.
"We get Jack out of the Refuge tonight. From now on, we trust no one but the newsies." We nodded and set off.
That night, Davy, Les, Mush, Boots, Blink and I slipped into the Refuge. The night was dark and hid us from the bulls patrolling outside. Davy pointed out where he and Jack had seen Crutchy. I nodded, confirming that was where they kept the boys.
But just as we were about to cross the courtyard, the door opened. We ducked behind some cans and watched as Jack was led out to the carriage.
"Hey, it's Jack!" Les began to approach the men, but David pulled him back.
"Where dey taking him?' Mush asked. Davy took off his cap and put it in his pocket.
"Only one way to find out. Racetrack, watch him." I took Les and we watched him run after the carriage. Silently, we crept out the way we had come. We managed to reach the square safely and settled down to wait. Les was tucked under my arm, as I sat against the statue. The air was cold and we were all shivering.
"Do you think he'll bring Jack back with him?" Les asked. Blink and Mush sighed, but I frowned. Davy had told me to watch him, not to tell him lies, but I had learned that sometimes, a lie is what you need.
"Surah, maybe."
"Great," Les smiled, " then everything will be alright again, right? Then we'll go back on strike until they lower the price." I sighed.
"If only dings were dat easy, kid." I sighed.
"Well, why not? Why can't they be?" He looked up at me. He was so young, had seen so little of how cruel I knew the world could be.
"Because life ain't like dat. Life ain't so kind ta kids like you'se and me. Neva has been, neva will. But we'se gonna make it. Takes more den dis ta keep ol' Cowboy down. Trust me. He'll be back." I felt horrible lying to him like that, but what else could I do? He watched me for a few moments as I blew lightly on my cigar. I grinned and offered him a puff. He took it and inhaled, just a bit too deeply, and began to cough.
"Davy told ya to watch him, not kill him." Blink said, laughing. I smiled.
"Don't worry, kid. You'll get da hang a' it." Les smiled at me.
Not long after we heard footsteps. We quickly got to our feet and let out a sigh of relief when Davy appeared out of the gloom. I groaned when I saw he was alone.
"Where's Jack?" Les asked. Davy shook his head and pulled Les into a tight hug. I knew things weren't looking good. Blink tapped me on the shoulder and we headed off, back to the lodging house and the disappointed newsies. We crawled up the fire escape and into our beds without a word to the others.
The next morning was the worst day of my life, even more so than when my parents died, or when I found myself locked in prison. The next morning, we were gathered in front of the office once again. But this time, scuffles and fights were breaking out all over. It was disorganized and bound for disaster. Without Jack, the strike had no spirit, no backbone. Without Denton, the strike had no press, no pity. It was plain to us that without Jack, the strike would die.
"Race! Help me!" Davy called, trying to calm the crowd of angry newsies down.
"Alright, I aint' deaf!" I yelled at him, just as frustrated as the rest of us, but I shoved several scrimmaging boys apart. Spot joined me, facing the gates. After a few seconds, I felt someone grabbing my arm.
"Hey Race, come here." I turned to see Spot, staring in confusion at the gates. "Tell I'm seein' tings. Just tell me I'm seein' tings." He held up his hands to fend off whatever offensive vision he was seeing. I glanced at the gates and frowned. Jack was walking out. It looked like he had a clean fresh gray suit I'd never seen him wear before.
"No, you ain't seeing tings. Dat's Jack. What's he doin'?" My mind was still too angry, too frustrated with the loss of last night to understand that we were about to lose again, and this time, the price would be our spirit.
"He's dressed like a scabba!" Spot said, his voice getting louder. I couldn't believe it! Jack, what are ya doing, Jack? I thought franticly. Mush tried to get him to look at him, but Jack refused. Boots and Blink tried to push through to talk to Jack, but the bulls held them back.
"The clothes are a gift, from Mr. Pulitzer himself, for his special new employee." Weasel looked all too proud of himself. Then Spot realized what all our minds had been struggling to comprehend.
"He sold us out!"
I launched myself at the line of bulls, yelling at Jack, " I'll give ya a new suit! I'll soak ya! Ya bum! Ya fake!" Davy grabbed me and held me back. I shook my head, unable to believe. My best friend! Spot had the same idea as he hurled himself at the boy who had once called himself our friend.
"Hey, hey, hey! Lemme get me hands doity. Come 'era ya doity rotten scabba! Traita!" We dragged him back, wanting nothing more than to let him go running at Jack, and get in a few punches of our own. Remember when I said I'd thought I'd never felt so betrayed when Denton left us? This was worse. This was way way worse. I was fighting back tears. He'd led us on this suicide mission and sold us out when things were the worst! Some friend.
Davy was pacing up in front of the rest of us, still trying to hold back Spot. Weasel smiled and let him through. He walked up to Jack and they spoke too softly for any of us to hear. But whatever Jack said, it wasn't what Davy wanted to hear. He began to walk back, but stood for a moment, staring at our angry and betrayed faces. Then he turned and rushed Jack, but was stopped by the police and Weasel. They began to push through the crowds, while we fought to get at our former friend.
We called out to him, Spot still calling him a traitor, Boots yelling, heartbreakingly, "I trusted you!" I had my own to add.
"Seize da day, huh Jack?" For an instant, I thought I saw him glance back, but I convinced myself it was only my imagination. As we watched him leave, a child's voice drifted through to our already sick hearts.
"He's foolin' 'em, so he can spy on 'em or something. Yeah, yeah, that's it. He's foolin' 'em!" Les stared up at us, begging us to tell him he was right. Davy said nothing but hugged his distraught little brother. I patted him on his head and sighed.
"Yeah, he's spyin' on 'em, kid." Then we turned our backs on Jack as he had on us.
The next few days, we spent at the lodging house, unwilling and unable to leave and face the world. Kloppman seemed to understand and no one paid in those few days. We played several halfhearted games of poker or blackjack, but that one quickly lost interest. I hadn't been to the races in over a week and a half, not since that day it all started. All we could do was wonder where we had gone wrong. No one looked at Jack's bunk and at night, you could hear the smaller ones crying.
Then two days afterwards, much earlier than I had ever woken up before, even in the winter when we got up before the sun, I felt someone shake me. I rolled over and waved them away.
"Race, Race get up!" I groaned and rolled back over. It was Les.
"Whudda ya doin' 'era, kid?" He tugged on my arm again.
"Get up! We gotta get moving. Come on!" I stared at him, before fumbling for the bedside switch and flicking it on. This conjured several grunts and groans from the other boys, especially Blink. He leaned over and glared at me as I grabbed my watch and struggled to make sense out of the small symbols and motions I would have otherwise known in an instant.
"Les, da ya know whut time it is?" I asked him.
"I know, we're late already! Let's go!" He yanked on my arm again and turned to drag Blink out of bed. Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. Without so much as a word to explain, Les dragged us out the door and down the hall. We snuck past Kloppman's room downstairs and out into the street. When we reached the distribution office, we stopped.
"What's going' on, Les?" I asked. He didn't answer and only dragged me to a small basement window near the wagons. I peered in and saw Jack's face peering out. I jumped back and then glared.
"Whudda youse want?" He frowned.
"Look, Race, it's a long story. I'll tell ya sometime, but now we need yer help." I shook my head.
"Not a chance, Cowboy." I said his name harshly. He grabbed my arm.
"Please, Race. For da newsies." I sighed.
"What?" He ducked down and appeared a moment later, his hands full of a stack of papers. I took them and frowned over them. The Newsie Banner was printed on the top.
"What's dis?" I asked him. The others had crowded out behind me. A few took the papers and read over them, smiles slowly spread across their faces.
"Our secret weapon. Load dem inta da wagon. We need ta get da woid out ta all da kids a New York." Slowly, I began to understand and I handed the papes to Blink.
"Put 'em inta da wagon." We loaded stack after stack until sunrise. Then we set out, each carrying a large stack in hand, to spread the word, once and for all.
Each kid I found I handed a pape to. "Ya know howta read?" I asked a kid shining shoes in the street. He nodded.
"Read dis." I handed him the pape and set off. By noon, I was out. I made my way back to the statue and we waited. Denton had vanished that morning, and we had no idea where he'd gone. We waited. Time passed and not one kid had shown up.
"So when's de uddas comin', Jack?" Mush asked. Jack shook his head.
"Dey aint' coming. Ain't gonna be nobody but us." I sighed. I didn't know if I could handle one more disappointment. We had our leader back, but we could still loose.
I noticed Les move quietly off to the side. He stared up at Pulitzer's building. Then he sang softly to himself. "When the circulation bell starts ringing, will we hear it?
I came up behind him and stomped out my cigarette. " Nah." He smiled at me. " What if the Delancey's come out swinging, will we hear it?"
He shook his head and gave a violent "No!"
I smiled and shoved his hat over his eyes. "Dat a boy." The others came up behind us and stared up at the office of the man who had caused all this trouble. Suddenly, a soft noise caught my ear, growing steadily louder. We turned and stared as a huge mass of children, all ages, boys and girls, in all manner of dress, and all waving our pape, came rushing into the square from all sides. In seconds the place was filled the to brim and we cheered louder than any of them. Slowly, we made our way to the front of the crowd, where I noticed the doors opening slightly. I tapped Jack on his shoulder.
"Dear me, whut da we have 'era?" Jack grinned and he and Davy moved up. They entered the building and we were left to wonder. Spot and the boys from Brooklyn milled in the corner, while we waited. Les tugged on my shoulder.
" What do you think he's telling them?" He shouted, above the chanting children in the square. I shrugged and watched the doors carefully. It seemed like hours, before they opened again and Davy walked out, just a bit a head of Jack. We all pushed towards Jack, begging to be told what he said. But Jack leaned over and whispered in Les's ear. I listened heard to hear, but couldn't. Then he lifted Les up on his shoulders and the whole square fell silent.
"We beat 'em!" he yelled. And the square exploded in noise. There was cheering and shouting of every kind. Hugging and crying even. We couldn't believe it. We had taken on the most powerful man in New York and beaten him! How many of us really thought we could have gotten this far at the beginning I dunno, I sure didn't. But that made this day even more exciting.
I really don't have the vocabulary or even if I did, I could never find the right words to tell you what we felt like in that crowded square that hot summer day. I doubt I ever will, even if I live to tell this story to my great-grandkids.
Les was higher than all of us and so he saw the paddy wagon before the rest of us. "Jack!" he called, "it's the bulls, lemme down!" Jack let him down and the instant he saw who was seated in the front, we shoved him down and to the back, just in time to run into Denton.
"Jack, it's over. " None of us were convinced and dragged Jack off farther. But Denton grabbed him. " No, no. You don't have to run. Not anymore. Not from the likes of him. Come on, Come on." He pulled Jack to the front where we could see much more clearly and I was shocked to see Snyder in cuffs! The bulls led him around to the back where they opened the cart and several boys jumped out, the last being our very own Crutchy! He was grinning and waved as we called out to him.
But Crutchy was to have his revenge before his reunion. , He tapped Snyder on the shoulder. "Ah, remember whut I told ya, Mr. Snyder. The foist ding ya do in jail, make friends wid da rats. Share whut ya got in common." We laughed. Snyder glared at us and climbed in. Crutchy was given the privilege of slamming the door on him and we cheered louder than ever before.
Crutchy made his way over to us and greeted us as energetically as we greeted him. Denton smiled. "You won't be seeing much of him anymore. Say goodbye Warden."
"See ya warden! Goodbye!" We called out. I was never happier to see a man go to jail. Then Crutchy turned back to us.
"Oh, Jack, you ought ta seen it! He comes stormin' inta the Refuge waving his walkin' stick like a sword and he's leadin' in dis army of lawyers and cops."
"Who comes stormin' in?" Jack asked.
"You know, your friend. Him!" Crutchy pointed across the square to a carriage and a very familiar man waving his hat at the cheering children. Teddy Roosevelt! We stared amazed, and then cheered even louder. It was all too unbelievable. The governor! Roosevelt was here? I felt the same as I had that day, that day that seemed like a lifetime ago. This day got better and better!
"The Governor's very grateful that you brought this problem to his attention. I said you might need a lift somewhere. He'd be happy to oblige. Anywhere you want. And this time, you ride inside. " We laughed. But Jack looked serious.
"So, can he drop me at the train yards?" I frowned. What? The train yards? Jack was really going to leave us? After all this, he still wanted to leave? But why? I wondered, we're his family.
I sighed, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. And I knew I had to let him go. So I put on my excited face and cheered him on as he rode off, waving at us and shaking our hands.
But as soon as the carriage was gone, my mask fell. The street cleared rapidly and we watched from the corner, saddened at the loss of our friend and yet excited at the victory we'd just won. We entered the distribution office and smiled at each other. Then we turned around, surprised at the sudden rush of cheering in the crowd.
The carriage was back! Jack was back! We rushed the carriage, shouting at our friend, who dared even think of leaving us. Sarah got to Jack first and he pulled her into a kiss. We whistled and cheered and patted them on the back. I'm sure they would have wanted a bit more courtesy or privacy, but we were too hyped up to give a thought to anything but our elation.
That night, we didn't go home. We were still out celebrating all night. We ran through the streets, whooping and shouting, letting the whole world know we had won. We crept in that next morning just after sunrise. Kloppman let us sleep that day, for the first time in history.
Things had changed for the better. Though they did not lower the price, they did open a new policy that let us sell back our unsold papes back at the end of the day. We no longer had to eat them. This made up a great deal for the price rise.
Davy got his nickname from that strike. It was Spot's idea, Jack said. Davy became known all throughout New York as the Walking Mouth, though we just all called him Mouth.
We had power, we had learned that during those two hot weeks, we had learned that lesson well. Power of the press. We learned that every dog has his day, and that sometimes, when one voice stands up and shouts loud enough for the world to hear, that others will join with him, and grow louder, and louder, until nothing can silence them. it is a valuable lesson, indeed. And Pulitzer learned to respect the rights of the working boys of New York.
But that ain't the end of my story. There's still more to come. It's not like my life ended after the strike. Of course not. Things went on, though they were quiet. For a month or two. Then the worst thing that could have happened to me did.
Nothing belongs to me, not even Race, wah. Please read and review.
The next morning dawned sunny and fresh. I smiled as Jack and I wandered the streets, looking for a fresh new start. We had no money, and nowhere to sleep, and yet we'd never been happier. Jack told me about how he'd met Spot while wandering around lost.
"Gave me sumdin' ta eat and listened ta me. When I told him bout ya, he said he'd help me." But it was plain we couldn't go back. We weren't Brooklyn boys.
It was almost night when we met our next new twist of fate. Both of us were hungry and willing to do anything. That's when a voice welcomed us into the world of the newises.
"Extry, extry! Read all about it! Runaway carriage kills toddla!" the boy's voice echoed over the street. I looked over. He didn't seem much older than me with blond hair and a patch over his left eye. Jack and exchanged looks as the boy sold his last paper and headed off, not before spotting us.
We made our way over to him and smiled. He grinned back. "Ya want sumdin'?" he asked.
"Yeah, we wus wonderin' ya know a place where we can grab sumtin' ta eat, and maybe sleep?" he nodded.
"Sure, but ya gotta be a newsie. Dey's always looking' fer new boys. Ya interested?" Instantly, I nodded. Jack hesitated, but then gave his agreement.
"Da name's Kid Blink." He said, shaking first my hand then Jack's.
"My name's Jack Kelly, but everybody calls me Cowboy, and dis 'ere is Anthony Higgins." He glanced at me.
"You gotta nick?" I shook my head.
"People, dey jist calls me Tony." Now Kid Blink shook his head.
"Ya's gots at have a nick. Tony ain't going to cut it. but it'll woik fer now." He led us down a small side street to a large brick building. A sign reading Newsboys Lodging house, in big yellow letters was hung outside. Kid Blink stepped inside and we followed. I noticed the large amount of boys gathered in the hall and on the stairs. They all watched us and spoke quietly. Kid Blink stepped up to the counter and spoke with an older man.
"Dese boys need a place for da night. Can dey stay 'ere? Dey's going to be woikin' in da morning." The old man nodded.
"Sure, but you'se gotta get up wid de udda boys." Jack and I agreed. He introduced us to the old man, who told us to call him Kloppman.
Then he led us around, introducing us to all the other boys, Mush, a naive boy with a kind smile, Skittery, a jokester who was sometimes moody, and all the others, Snitch, Jake, Itey, Snipshooter, Specs, Dutchy, Snoody, Bumlets, Pie eater, Swifty and the rest.
That night I slept in the bunk under Kid Blink's while Jack was one beside me. For the first time since I was nine years old, I felt at home.
But morning came far too soon. I groaned and yanked the covers over my head when Kloppman shook me. Finally, I crawled out of bed and made my way to the showers. I was still half asleep as we made our way to the distribution station just as the sun was coming up. Kid Blink came up and stuffed a dime in my hands.
I stared at him. "Ta buy yer papes." He said. "Ya can pay me back when ya get some dough." I nodded and bought twenty papes from a fat dirty man behind the counter the boys had dubbed Weasel. He eyed me but gave me my papes.
Then Jack and I split up. "See ya's tonight." He said, "Good luck." I nodded and made my way down the street. I eyed the headline, High Society businessman caught in scandal with vaudeville star. I smiled, this could be my lucky day.
I knew just where to go. I'd talked with the boys that morning and discovered that while there where newsies everywhere, there were none at the Sheepshead Races. And so I made my way down there, catching a ride on the back of a cart.
When I found myself at the races, I jumped off and positioned myself at the entrance where people were sure to see me. then I began to call out the headlines.
By ten I had sold my last paper, and I had fifty cents in my pockets, from the papes and tips. But I had nothing to do. I was planning on meeting Jack at noon and I had several hours to kill. I made my way inside and watched the races for some time before slowly approaching the betting booth. I eyed the odds carefully, before placing twenty-five cents on a horse named Golden Lighting. The odds weren't great, but I had a feeling.
By noon I was walking back to the restaurant Kid Blink told me about with almost three dollars in my pocket. I walked in grinning. Jack waved me over and I slid in beside him.
"Whudda ya grinnin' bout?" Mush asked me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the three dollars I'd made. The boys looked in awe.
"Ya made dat? Da foist day?" Jack asked. I laughed.
"Nah, I bet on a few races and I wus lucky. Dat's all."
"Ya went all the way outta Sheepshead?" Kid Blink asked, his eyes widening. I nodded. " I neva doughta dat. Da races would be a great place at sell." I shook my head.
"Da racetrack's mine." Jack laughed.
"Don't mess wid him when he says sumdin's his." He and I shared a laugh.
Then Blink smiled. " I jist thought a da perfect nick fer ya!" I stared at him. "Racetrack!"
"Racetrack." I whispered, smiling. Racetrack Higgins. I nodded. I liked it. And from that day forth, that was my name and I responded to no other.
But that ain't the end of my story, not by a long shot. It would be four years before the event that really brought us all together.
Those four years passed in a routine of much the same, though they didn't lack in moments of excitement or danger. But as poor as we were, none of us went to bed hungry, no matter how late we got home, Kloppman always had something left out for us, we always had a warm bed, though sometimes we had to share when times got hard.
Kloppman had a rule, if you walked through the doors, you paid for your bed. If you crawled through the window, you didn't. I made my way up the fire escape many nights.
I fit in well with the newsies, though; I've often been called the cynic of the group. We all had our roles.
Mush was the baby, with his young face and naivety and his habit of always looking on the bright side of things, everyone liked him and always babied him. Blink was the lady's man, always taking out some girl or another. Crutchy, our baby brother, who we looked out for, but avoided mention of his disability. He could usually manage fine without us. I was the smart ass, the cynical loud mouth that pretended to need no one, but did not fool his friends. And Jack, well, we'll get to Jack later.
As different as we seemed, there was one thing that held us together, we were friends, and friends are something you need to survive in these harsh streets. Some boys refuse to admit that, they say that friends make you weak, that they give your enemies a way to hurt you. That to be alone makes you strong, makes you tough. But I say that's a loud of bullshit. If you are alone all your life, then you'll never learn to be anything but tough and bitter. I've known plenty of loners, myself included, and every one of them are stilling wandering the streets, many of them in dealings way over their heads.
If you're not careful, this place, this city can consume you, suck you in and trap you. You begin to loose your dignity and do things your ma told you never to do. You become the man your pop pointed out on the street, begging for the spare change no one has, or is willing to give, to buy yourself one more beer so that you can forget. You become the man your parents warned you about. You become the man you ran away from, the man who hits his wife and kids, who makes her frightened to take the small amount you do bring home. I made myself a promise a long time ago that I would never be that man. I had seen far too many of my friends leave home because of it. Blink, Crutchy, even Jack. So far I've kept that promise.
And what brought me through it all, it wasn't my own resolve. If that was it, I would still be in that small bar down by the docks, drowning my sorrows away. But no, Jack, and Blink, David, Mush, Spot, Crutchy, they all brought me home, and reminded me that I did have something to live for in the faces of four angelic children, sleeping safe and sound in their beds. That is what brought me through those times. Not me, not my strength, but the combined effort of my friends. Friends are necessary to survival.
Yes the newsies were a family, and the size of that family would ebb and flow like the tide. Almost every newsie brought in a stray at some point. Jack came home about two weeks after we moved in with a young black shoe shiner, we instantly christened Boots. Others would come and go, but I liked Boots. He was only eight at the time and had recently lost his mother. Since most of us were orphans or runaways, and in some cases like mine, both, we could easily feel for him, though he quickly learned you would get no outward sympathy from the newsies.
That was the golden rule. Stick together, be a family, but at the very heart of it, every newsie was interested in just one thing; his own future. Now if that meant sharing a room with twenty other boys and forging a bond of friendship that would last for longer than time itself, then all those boys were in the right place at the right time.
I picked up a few strays too. The only one to stay, and the one we all grew to love, was Crutchy.
It was maybe three months after my escape from the Refuge when I, on my way to the races, almost stumbled over a fight in the middle of the street. In a flash, I was across the road and pulling the two bigger boys off of the smaller one. The biggest one glared at me and grabbed my shirt, proving to be much taller and stronger than I.
"Whudda dink youse doin'?" he grunted. I glared back.
"I could ax da same a' youse." I told him.
"Let's soak da little bum." The other bonehead growled. I frowned, then smirked.
"Sure, go right ahead. Won't be 'sponsable when Spot comes afta ya." My growing friendship with Spot Conlon was enough to put off a good deal of my attackers. Though he was only fourteen at the time, Spot's power was growing. Brooklyn was the home of the poorest and toughest boys in the city. Brooklyn could be a powerful ally or a deadly enemy.
"Youse one of Spot's boys?" the rough neck grunted again. I shrugged.
"Yeah, I'se just taking a message ta da Manhattan boys."
The gears in his head seemed to be turning as he still held me up in the air. Finally, he dropped me and the two boys vanished. I dusted myself off and held my hand out to the boy they'd been attacking.
He was gangly with curly reddish hair and large brown puppy eyes. Those eyes were fixed on me now.
"Hey kid." I held my hand out to him, but he didn't take it. "Wassa madda?" I asked.
"Are youse really friends wid Spot Conlon?" his voice was quiet, an awed whisper. I laughed.
"Yeah, but I ain't from Brooklyn. I'se from right here, in Manhattan. I jist happen ta know Spot. Anyway, ya need some help?" he shook his head and pointed to a wooden stick that had been thrown into an alley.
"Can ya get me dat?" I nodded and handed it to him. He took it, placed it under his arm, and used it to get himself to his feet. I watched, frowning, not having realized he was a crip before, but not saying a word. He began to limp off before I thought to run after him.
"Hey, where's ya going'?" he shrugged.
"Dunno. Don't gots nowhere ta go." I smiled and held out my hand.
"Racetrack Higgins." He grinned at my hand and took the outstretched hand.
"Charly Robbins." He said. I noticed him eyeing the papes under my arm.
"Whudda ya carryin' all dem papas foir?" he asked.
"I'se a newsie." I told him, "I sell 'em fer a penny each. Wus jist on me way down dere when I ran inta youse." He looked genuinely interested and I grinned.
"Is it hard?" I shook my head.
"Watch." And with that, I took a deep breath, stepped away from him and wandered down the street, calling out the headline.
"Mayor caught in doity dealin's! Been takin' bribes foir yeas!" People hurried to buy a pape and I quickly sold ten. I sauntered away, and hurried back to Charly, with ten cents in my pocket.
"Wow! Is dat story true?" he asked, his large eyes wider. I laughed.
"A' course." I showed him the article on page eight. Mayor of small town in Maine taking bribes from farmers.
"but dat's lyin!" he gasped. I shook my head.
"I ain't said nuttin dat ain't true. Besides, I'se gotta eat." And I gathered up my papes, preparing to head out for that track. He caught my sleeve.
"Can I come widcha?" he asked. "Sell papas too?" I was about to say no, then I wondered how much this kid need the break, the same break someone had given me. Then I nodded.
"Ya dink ya can make it all da way ta da tracks?" he nodded vigorously. I sighed, then smiled.
"Well, da foist ding ya gotta loin, is dat headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes." I gave him the finer points on selling papes as we walked along. Soon I noticed him getting a little tired, we were still a ways from the tracks and, while I usually made the walk in about a half an hour, I was used to it. It even took Jack longer. Many times, I hitched a ride on a cart, and I decided this was the prefect plan. I spotted one, heading out towards the tracks and I quickly waved the driver to stop. Dragging Charly along side me, I whispered to him, "Look as pitiful as ya can."
"Please, mista, can we bum a ride?" I begged him, putting all of my ability into it and forcing fake tears to well up in my eyes. He growled at us.
"No free rides. Get lost, kids."
"It's me ma!" I wailed, attracting a crowd. " She's havin' her baby, and me pop's out at da tracks! Me kid brudda, 'era, he can't walk all dat way! Please, mista!" I heard murmurs in the crowd, and I knew that if this man did not give us a ride, we would have several other offers. He was watching the crowd and knew the same thing. So he sighed and pointed to the back, where Charly and I climbed on. I laughed and patted him on the back, while he smiled.
When we got there, I quickly set him up in the entrance, giving him half my papes. I told him to look as pitiful as possible, and if no one seemed to be buying, to make up whatever headline he could. I headed off to sell my papes inside and when I returned a half an hour later, I found him happily counting the pennies he'd made.
I grinned and we managed to bum a ride home from a kind old gentlemen with a limp himself. I asked him to stop at the lodging house, then turned to Charley.
" Ya gots a place?" he shook his head.
"Nah, me ma's dead." I didn't ask about his father or the reason behind his mother's death. It was a simple don't ask, don't tell, policy that was strictly enforced. Instead, I led him up the steps and into the house, signing my name and telling Kloppman he had a new border.
Kloppman agreed to help, finding him an old crutch someone had left there years ago, instead of the stick he'd been using. Charley seemed grateful as I led him upstairs to the bunk where he dropped his stuff near my bunk. Then we settled down for a quiet game of poker before the others arrived.
As we sat, he inquired about my name. " Is yer name really Racetrack?" I nodded.
"It is now. Every newsie has a nick, youse get yers soon." He nodded.
"Yeah, I hate me name." I grinned at him over my cards.
"Trust me, Charley ain't so bad. Anthony's woise." He looked up at me, surprised, but not for long as boys suddenly began to flood the room. I introduced Charley to everyone and as Jack took his hand, he stared at him.
"Youse nick is Crutchy." He said. The kid looked surprised.
"Why?" Jack pointed to the crutch under his arm.
"Ya really use dat ding?" he nodded.
"I ain't no fake!" Charley drew himself up to his full height and glared at Jack, who laughed.
"Youse name is Crutchy so we'se member dat youse really a crip and so if anyone calls ya a fake, we can soak 'em good!" A slow smile spread over the face of the boy called Crutchy, and from then on, that was all he was.
He soon found a selling spot of his own, and he hardly made the long trek to the tracks with me. Almost no one did. I liked it that way. I liked to sell alone. I was better that way, with no one to worry about but myself.
That was just one incident in those four long years, one of many. Our lives were not without adventure or excitement. They were filled with daily escapades, and more often suffering. I went to bed hungry almost every night, even with the small meal Kloppman almost always left out for me. They were just never enough for a growing boy. I stood outside on Christmas Eve, selling my papes in the snow. I shivered in the freezing February wind without a coat. But I was happy. More happy than I'd been since my parents died.
Jack was our unofficial leader at the time. It had never been proclaimed, that's simply how it was. It was just the accepted fact. Jack had a control about him that made him seem so put together and a cocky attitude that won him a place in the hearts of every newsie in Manhattan.
I made fast and close friends with Kid Blink and Mush, and I would say that aside from Jack, they were my best friends. But we never sold together as other best friends did. I was always out at the races, alone. Every newsie had their turf and the others understood that. It was a simple balance. Sometimes, newsies would trade selling spots under mutual consent, just for a change. But I never did. The races were mine.
I became well known and even met a few of the jockeys who had laughed with my father so many years ago. Not one of them put this short cocky sixteen-year-old Italian Racetrack Higgins, with the shy little Anthony Higgins who had come there so many years ago. And that was to my benefit.
We spent our nights, when we were through with the evening edition, in Medda's dance hall. She let all the newsies in for free and we loved it. Afterwards, she'd bring us all back stage and give us plenty to eat. She would joke around with us and even play pranks on us. But more importantly, she was always there if we needed her. If we needed a place to stay for the night, if we'd gotten soaked, or if we just needed someone to talk to, she was there for us. She was kind of like our surrogate mother, I guess you could say.
In those four years, I changed quite a bit. I grew, but not much. I was sixteen, on my own, and perfectly happy. The newsies stuck together, we were a family. If one of us got into trouble with the bulls, the others covered for him. We sought revenge for newises who had been soaked or otherwise hurt by rival gangs or the DeLancy brothers, two boneheads with egos the size of all the rest of New York put together. They worked for Weasel and sometimes sought out lonely newsies to have some fun. Of course, Jack had his fun with them every morning, and we cheered him on.
The morning it all started, was like any other. We got up and made our way to the distribution station. Along the way, we met up with David Jacobs and his little brother Les. They were new, just started the day before. Jack had told me all about their run all over the city from Snyder the day before. I'd been on the roof smoking, when he walked up beside me.
"Hey Cowboy." I said.
"Hey Race. Sorry about the tracks." I shook my head.
"Wasn't too bad. I didn't bet that much." He smiled and sat down beside me. I could tell he wanted to say something. I offered him my cigarette, my cigar of the day long gone when Snipeshooter pinched it. He took a long puff and sighed.
"I ran into our old friend today." Instantly, I knew who he was talking about. Snyder.
"Oh?" I asked, not wanting to sound too worried.
"Don't worry, I lost him. but he's on the look out. We should lay low for a while." I nodded, though I knew we wouldn't.
Jack looked much the same as he had at thirteen, though taller. But I looked nothing like the boy I had been. I had a new name, a new life, nothing to worry about. He slapped me on the shoulder.
"We should get inside." I dropped my cigarette and we headed inside, and into bed.
But the next morning, Kid was the first one to the station and when we arrived, he had horrible news.
"Dey jacked up de price!" We stared at him, unable to understand what the hell he was talking about.
"Whut? Whudda ya talkin' bout, Kid?" I asked.
"Ten cents a hundred! I mean, it's bad enough we gotta eat what we don't sell! Now dey jacked up da price!" We couldn't believe it! I shook my head, this was going to break me! The other newsies had the same ideas. I pushed the image of back sleeping on the streets, stealing what I could to survive. I hated that. I never wanted to go back.
Jack stomped down the steps, and sat down heavily. He shook his head and took the cigarette Blink offered him. We all pestered him for a moment, asking him what we were going to do until Les shoved some of the older boys out of the way and scolded us, telling us to "Let him think."
It was a tense silence as Jack thought. I waited as long as I could before asking, "Jack, ya don't tinkin' yet?" He glared at me, then began to speak, slowly at first, but with growing confidence.
"Well, listen. One thing's fer surah, if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Nobody comes trough dose gates until dey put da price back where it was." There was a strange muttering running through the crowd. I frowned. David spoke up just then.
"What, like strike?"
"Yeah, like a strike." We stared at him, amazed. A strike? What was he thinking?
"Are ya odda your mind?" I asked him. But once Jack had an idea in his head, there was no stopping him. As much as David tried to talk him out of it, Jack marched us right out of those gates without any of us buying one pape. This idea was taking hold of all of us. Even David.
He had the words, but Jack had the stamina and the voice to carry them off. We made our decision. Strike! Nobody sells one pape until they pull the price back down! It was a fever that carried us away, our days of simply carrying the banner were over. We were on strike!
Jack called us together and told us we had to be "em-bastards." I dunno the real word Davy used. But he sent us off to every corner of New York, personally. I took Midtown. He took off toward Brooklyn, with Boots and Davy in tow to spread the word to Spot Conlon. If Spot joined then we'd have every newsie in New York.
I waved goodbye to Crutchy and set off. Several blocks later, I found my first midtown newsie. They were mulling around the distribution office, probably thinking the same things we were. I spotted one I knew well, Red, we called him because of his fiery hair, was shaking his head and glancing at the office, where the manager was glaring at the kids. Red spotted me and waved.
"Heya Race, dey jack youse boys up too?" I nodded.
"And we're doin' sumtin' bout it. We'se going' on strike!" Instantly, I was surrounded by thirty newsies all hanging on to me every word.
"You'se whut?" Red stared at me in disbelief.
"We'se going' on strike! Until dey lowea da price!" Several boys mumbled in agreement and many looked unsure. I was positive they'd seen the headline that day, about the trolley strike. Red shook his head.
"Race, I's ain't so sure bout dis."
"Look, " I said, " if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Pulitzer and Hearst, dey loose money if we don't sell da papes. Dey have ta listen at us." I saw the slowly growing looks of wonder and agreement in the crowd. I glanced at the manager and saw him watching me with worried eyes. I grinned. Another two minutes and they were right behind us. They ran out of the yard and hurried off to spread the word. I grinned and headed back to the square.
Crutchy was already there, as was Skittery and Blink. While we waited for Jack, we played a few games. When Jack showed up, I noticed he looked defeated.
"Jack, so where's Spot?" I asked. Jack leaned against the statue and frowned.
"He was concerned bout us bein' serious. Can ya imagine dat?" I frowned now too. Without Spot, there would never be enough of us. Jack seemed to grow more and more angry as each of us voiced our opinions.
He told us about a newspaperman, Denton, who was interested in our story. He was the one who had been watching us during that first fight. We felt defeated. But Davy wasn't finished.
He taught us the phrase, seize the day. And we seized it all right. Stampeding into the station and ripping up every damn pape we could find. I was having one hell of a time, taking out my angry and frustration on the cause of my immediate misery. Suddenly Jack began yelling.
"Cheeze it! It's da bulls, cheeze it!" We took off, but as I ran I glanced back and saw, to my horror, Crutchy, still laughing and tossing papes into the air.
"Crutchy!" I yelled, "Scram, scram!" He jumped down and tried to limp off. I ducked behind the statue, and watched as the Delancy brothers dragged him off. I winced as they kicked his crutch out from under him. The police just watched and I felt a surge of anger. Then I hurried back to the lodging house where the others were gathered.
"Race!" Jack yelled as I entered. Everyone else had already arrived. He slapped me on the shoulder. " We thought da bulls got ya!"
"Nah, but dey got Crutchy." I told him. There was silence all around the room. Jack looked furious.
"We get Crutchy out tonight." Several kids volunteered to go with him, me included, but he shook his head.
"Nah, jist me and Davy."
"Me?" Davy asked. "Why me?"
"Because you'se ain't got a record."
"And why you?" I asked.
"Because, it's me fault." Jack said, and grabbing his rope and a protesting Davy, he was gone. They got back later that night.
We'd tried to stay up, but most of the younger kids were still asleep. I had drifted off, on Blink's shoulder. Blink had been long gone, when I heard the door open. I shook my head and opened my eyes, expecting to hear the soft thump Crutchy's crutch always made, but there were only muffled footsteps.
I sighed as Jack silently made his way into the room, followed by Davy. Crutchy wasn't with them. Jack made his way through the crowded room. No one was sleeping in their beds that night. I watched him and when he got to his bed, his eyes caught mine. He looked down at the floor, then crawled into bed. I shook my head and tried to go back to sleep after offering Davy my bunk. We had suffered our first casualty. Crutchy was gone or as good as. I wondered if we'd all end up in the slammer at the end of this.
The next morning, we were right back where we'd started, in front of the office, waiting. The new boys they had hired watched us apprehensively from just inside the gates.
"Come ya graftas, cross da line!" I shouted.
Davy tried to keep us calm, but our tempers were boiling over the edge. We were all enraged about Crutchy and our last defeat.
"Alright, everyone, remain calm." He told us. Davy may have had the words, but we looked to Jack for our orders. He stared at them, anger burning in his eyes.
"Let's soak 'em fer Crutchy!" Then we rushed them. They hurried inside, looking for the doors back inside to escape. I was one for the first and was chasing them, when I saw the giant doors open. My breath caught in my throat as I saw the huge men, all armed with clubs and chains.
"Jack!" I yelled desperately, "Jack, it's a trick!" We ran for it, but they pulled the gates closed, trapping us. It seemed hopeless, we were all going to get soaked, or worse. I tried to help Jack, but he was cornered by a huge guy with a chain.
Suddenly, from nowhere, Spot appeared. He and his boys turned the tables and we had them on the run. I did my fair share of hitting, kicking, and just plain soaking. Finally, we had driven them back.
We were shouting and cheering and ripping up any pape we could find. Jack was waving his pape in the air when a man I had seen before in the square watching us, Denton, approached us.
"Boys! Freeze!" We did our best to pose, but were so crowded in a small area, only Jack looked good. He snapped the picture and we went back to cheering.
The next morning found us at Tibbys, a restaurant that offered cheap prices and good food. I often wonder if the owner, Mr. Tibby, ever regreted having his restaurant constantly overcrowded by hordes of boys, but he never said a word. He only got us our orders and let us stay as long as we want.
We were eating as we had no papes to sell, when Denton entered
"Good morning boys!" In an instant, he'd held up a pape. We stared in amazement to see a picture of us staring out from the pape. I laughed. We were in the papes! We were famous!
Most boys were overjoyed, but Skittery shook has head. "So what? So you get's yer pictures in da pape, so what's dat getcha?" we shook our heads and I felt the need to remind him.
"Hey glum and dumb! Whussa matta wid ya? Ya get your picture in de papes, you's famous. You's famous, ya get anythin' ya want." I slammed my fist down on the table, emphasizing my point, " Dat's what so great bout New York!" the boys laughed.
We were kings of New York! We had come so far! We celebrated for a while, before Jack set us down and got serious. "Now we needs a plan." From this came the idea for the rally. A rally for all the newsies of New York, so big everyone would feel stupid for ignoring us.
That night, we began to get ready, painting signs and posters. Jack had slipped upstairs for something when the door opened. We glanced up at the man who entered. I stared, Snyder!
He reached for the logbook, but Kloppman took it from him. I nudged Blink and we watched him apprehensively. I knew he wouldn't recognize me, but I worried about Jack.
"Can I help you?" Kloppman asked. The chatter died down so we could hear.
"You have a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly? I wish to see him." Kloppman, for all his complaining about us, was good to us and treated us well. He fed us, gave us a place to sleep and stay off the streets, he insured that we had a job every morning, by waking us up. He also pretended to know nothing if some bum came around asking about one of his boys.
"Jack Kelly?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. " Never heard of him. Never heard of him. Any of you boys ever hear of a Jack Kelly?" he asked.
"Dat's an unusual name fer dese parts." Specs called out. I glanced to the door and saw Jack enter with a smile on his face. Swifty caught him, but Snyder might see him. I took action.
"Oh, you mean Jack Kelly?" I stepped forward, taking my cigar out of my mouth and pulling my hat back. "Yeah he was here." I saw Jack staring at me. but I grinned. " But he put an egg in his shoe and…" I shrugged, "beat it."
The boys burst out laughing and Snyder glared at me. Kloppman waved me back, not before giving me a small smile. Jack slipped up behind him and began to make faces at Snyder behind his back, while sneaking sideways glances at me. I shook my head, knowing we were all in the slammer if Snyder turned around.
"I have reason to believe he's an escaped prisoner, possibly dangerous." I chuckled. Jack was only dangerous to anyone who messed with his newsies. But Kloppman pretended to be concerned.
"Oh, dangerous? I better look in my files. This way please." Jack ducked back behind the line of boys and I darted across the room to hold up a sign in front of him. Snyder turned to face us and found several signs and posters in his way.
"Give ta da newsie strike fund, mista?" I asked him, innocently. He glared at me and handed me a coin, which I took with the same hand that held my cigar, "accidentally" dropping some ash onto his coat. He didn't notice and I grinned at him behind his back.
To say the least, he found nothing and I slipped back upstairs to find Jack on the roof.
"Hey Jack." He turned and grinned at me.
"Hiya Race." He grinned at me. "I's thought ya wus going to turn me in down dere." I shook my head.
"Couldn't resist. Snyder always wus so fun." He shook his head.
"Ya shouldn't'a talked ta him. What if he recognized ya?" I held out my hands.
"Could you? I don't look nuttin' like I did. Don't worry bout me, Jacky boy. But I suggest you find a place ta sleep tanight. He may come back wid da bulls." Jack nodded and slipped down the fire escape.
The next time I saw him was the rally. He, Davy, and Spot were on stage giving speeches and telling us what we needed to do. There was one tense moment at the discussion of what do to about the soaking scabs, but Jack calmed things down, reminding us that we had to stick together.
Then Medda came out. She was in full prime that night and we sang right along with her, proud of ourselves and what we had become. After the song, we cheered and shouted, on some kind of high. But it couldn't last.
I noticed David hurry up to Jack and whisper something in his ear. I didn't pay much attention to it until I heard the police whistle. I glanced up and saw Snyder watching at the edge of the hall, while coppers were filling the halls rapidly, along with lots of huge thugs. Jack grabbed Sarah, David's sister, and they hurried out the back. I hoped he'd get away.
I put my arm around Medda and hurried to the stage, handing her over to her maid and bodyguard. Then I turned to join my friends.
"No, Race!" she called, "Stay with me!" I reassured her and turned back to the fighting. Instantly, I was face to face with a thug, at least two feet bigger than me. The scabber kicked out and I grasped my stomach, out of breath suddenly, doubled over with the pain of the surprise attack. It hurt and to say that it hurt a lot would be simplifying it just a tad. I could hear Medda screaming in the background, just as I saw the fist come down and pain blossomed along my jaw. The hit sent me reeling back onto the fake bridge and I quickly began to loose consciousness. The last thing I remember was Medda's screams.
No! No! For God's sake! He's just a child! Can't you see that? Racetrack!" my mind faded as I felt two sets of hands drags me outside. Then, nothing…
I must have woken up in prison, because when I next opened my eyes, we were all seated in a small cell, Blink beside me on my right and Spot on my left. The younger ones were on the cots, while us older kids had taken up the floor. I couldn't see David, Les, or Jack.
"Hey, Race." I hear Blink mutter beside me. I glanced at him and winced. His face was bruised something awful and he held his right side like it hurt him to move. His eye, under the patch, was bruised and swollen. I winced.
"Hey Blink, you all right?" he nodded. I shifted and felt a sharp pain run up my side. I winced and gingerly touched it.
"Ya wanna be careful." Spot spoke up. He was nursing a black eye. "I saw ya get kicked and it didn't look like much fun." I shook my head, and then regretted it.
"Where's Jack?" Blink shook his head.
"Dunno. We tried at get him out da front, but dere wus coppas everywhere. Dey got me and Jack ran back inside." He looked sorry, like he'd failed Jack by getting caught.
"Dey got him too." Spot said. Those of us still awake looked at him. "I saw it. Dey punched him hard when he wus tryin' ta get back up da stairs." We sighed. It was all over. Who knew what was happening now. Part of me wished I could just go back to the way things were, when the newsies were a family and we were happy. I sighed wearily and let my head fall back against the cold stone wall. Slowly, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
"Get up, you street rats!" a voice hollered at us. I blinked, and remembered where I was. Spot helped me stand and we were led out where each of our wrists was cuffed. At least the older ones were. They seemed to know exactly who were the leaders. Spot, Blink, Mush, and I, along with a few others were all led in, in handcuffs. We stood beside the judge's seat and waited.
He looked down at us, unsympathetically, even though we were all covered in bruises and cuts.
"Are any of you boys represented by council?" We glanced at each other, unsure of his meaning, " No? Good, that will move things along considerably." But Spot wasn't going to let anyone talk to him that way.
"Hey, yer honoa, I object!" he said. The judge glared at him.
"On what grounds?"
"On da grounds 'a Brooklyn, yer honoa." Spot answered, with a serious look on his face as if he meant every word. Of course, we cracked up, the judge was not amused. He banged his, well honestly, I don't know what it's called, but you know what I'm talking about, he banged his whatever-ya-call- it, to quiet the room.
"I fine each of you five dollars, or two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge." We stared at him. None of us had that much money, even if we scraped all our savings together. I shook my head and spoke up.
"Whoa. We ain't got five bucks. We ain't even got five cents. Hey, yer honoa, how's 'bout I roll ya for it. Double er nuttin'?" the boys cracked up again and I smiled. Again, the judge was not pleased.
"Move along, move along." He ordered. But we were saved when Denton appeared, claiming he'd pay all our fines. As we were led off, he leaned over and whispered, "Look, we've got to meet at the restaurant. Everybody. We have to talk." We nodded.
"Move along." The judge ordered. We glared at him. Just as we were being led off, Jack was led in. He looked like he'd had better nights, but some of us looked worse. He was handcuffed too.
"Hey fellas!" he called, grinning when he saw us.
"Hey Cowboy!" I called back, "Nice shiner!" I added, noticing the large bruise on his chin.
"Move along." The judge chirped his favorite line and we were led out of the courtroom. As soon as the cuffs were off, we were gone. I sat next to Blink at the restaurant. We waited for Denton for what seemed like forever. We talked about what it would be like to have our names in all the papes, about how the whole city would know the injustice we'd suffered, and the strike would take hold of everybody.
But when he did show up, what he had to tell us, well, it wasn't the good news we'd been hoping for. Instead, he came to tell us goodbye, that he'd been reassigned. We couldn't believe it, not even when he told us that not one of the papes had printed the story, not even his. I tossed my cigar down in defeat. Denton handed his story, the story about the rally to David, asking him at least to read it. As Denton shut the door behind him, I realized I'd never felt to defeated, so betrayed. I thought it was the worst I'd ever felt in my whole life. I was wrong.
As the door slammed shut, David crushed the paper in his fist and threw it to the table.
"We get Jack out of the Refuge tonight. From now on, we trust no one but the newsies." We nodded and set off.
That night, Davy, Les, Mush, Boots, Blink and I slipped into the Refuge. The night was dark and hid us from the bulls patrolling outside. Davy pointed out where he and Jack had seen Crutchy. I nodded, confirming that was where they kept the boys.
But just as we were about to cross the courtyard, the door opened. We ducked behind some cans and watched as Jack was led out to the carriage.
"Hey, it's Jack!" Les began to approach the men, but David pulled him back.
"Where dey taking him?' Mush asked. Davy took off his cap and put it in his pocket.
"Only one way to find out. Racetrack, watch him." I took Les and we watched him run after the carriage. Silently, we crept out the way we had come. We managed to reach the square safely and settled down to wait. Les was tucked under my arm, as I sat against the statue. The air was cold and we were all shivering.
"Do you think he'll bring Jack back with him?" Les asked. Blink and Mush sighed, but I frowned. Davy had told me to watch him, not to tell him lies, but I had learned that sometimes, a lie is what you need.
"Surah, maybe."
"Great," Les smiled, " then everything will be alright again, right? Then we'll go back on strike until they lower the price." I sighed.
"If only dings were dat easy, kid." I sighed.
"Well, why not? Why can't they be?" He looked up at me. He was so young, had seen so little of how cruel I knew the world could be.
"Because life ain't like dat. Life ain't so kind ta kids like you'se and me. Neva has been, neva will. But we'se gonna make it. Takes more den dis ta keep ol' Cowboy down. Trust me. He'll be back." I felt horrible lying to him like that, but what else could I do? He watched me for a few moments as I blew lightly on my cigar. I grinned and offered him a puff. He took it and inhaled, just a bit too deeply, and began to cough.
"Davy told ya to watch him, not kill him." Blink said, laughing. I smiled.
"Don't worry, kid. You'll get da hang a' it." Les smiled at me.
Not long after we heard footsteps. We quickly got to our feet and let out a sigh of relief when Davy appeared out of the gloom. I groaned when I saw he was alone.
"Where's Jack?" Les asked. Davy shook his head and pulled Les into a tight hug. I knew things weren't looking good. Blink tapped me on the shoulder and we headed off, back to the lodging house and the disappointed newsies. We crawled up the fire escape and into our beds without a word to the others.
The next morning was the worst day of my life, even more so than when my parents died, or when I found myself locked in prison. The next morning, we were gathered in front of the office once again. But this time, scuffles and fights were breaking out all over. It was disorganized and bound for disaster. Without Jack, the strike had no spirit, no backbone. Without Denton, the strike had no press, no pity. It was plain to us that without Jack, the strike would die.
"Race! Help me!" Davy called, trying to calm the crowd of angry newsies down.
"Alright, I aint' deaf!" I yelled at him, just as frustrated as the rest of us, but I shoved several scrimmaging boys apart. Spot joined me, facing the gates. After a few seconds, I felt someone grabbing my arm.
"Hey Race, come here." I turned to see Spot, staring in confusion at the gates. "Tell I'm seein' tings. Just tell me I'm seein' tings." He held up his hands to fend off whatever offensive vision he was seeing. I glanced at the gates and frowned. Jack was walking out. It looked like he had a clean fresh gray suit I'd never seen him wear before.
"No, you ain't seeing tings. Dat's Jack. What's he doin'?" My mind was still too angry, too frustrated with the loss of last night to understand that we were about to lose again, and this time, the price would be our spirit.
"He's dressed like a scabba!" Spot said, his voice getting louder. I couldn't believe it! Jack, what are ya doing, Jack? I thought franticly. Mush tried to get him to look at him, but Jack refused. Boots and Blink tried to push through to talk to Jack, but the bulls held them back.
"The clothes are a gift, from Mr. Pulitzer himself, for his special new employee." Weasel looked all too proud of himself. Then Spot realized what all our minds had been struggling to comprehend.
"He sold us out!"
I launched myself at the line of bulls, yelling at Jack, " I'll give ya a new suit! I'll soak ya! Ya bum! Ya fake!" Davy grabbed me and held me back. I shook my head, unable to believe. My best friend! Spot had the same idea as he hurled himself at the boy who had once called himself our friend.
"Hey, hey, hey! Lemme get me hands doity. Come 'era ya doity rotten scabba! Traita!" We dragged him back, wanting nothing more than to let him go running at Jack, and get in a few punches of our own. Remember when I said I'd thought I'd never felt so betrayed when Denton left us? This was worse. This was way way worse. I was fighting back tears. He'd led us on this suicide mission and sold us out when things were the worst! Some friend.
Davy was pacing up in front of the rest of us, still trying to hold back Spot. Weasel smiled and let him through. He walked up to Jack and they spoke too softly for any of us to hear. But whatever Jack said, it wasn't what Davy wanted to hear. He began to walk back, but stood for a moment, staring at our angry and betrayed faces. Then he turned and rushed Jack, but was stopped by the police and Weasel. They began to push through the crowds, while we fought to get at our former friend.
We called out to him, Spot still calling him a traitor, Boots yelling, heartbreakingly, "I trusted you!" I had my own to add.
"Seize da day, huh Jack?" For an instant, I thought I saw him glance back, but I convinced myself it was only my imagination. As we watched him leave, a child's voice drifted through to our already sick hearts.
"He's foolin' 'em, so he can spy on 'em or something. Yeah, yeah, that's it. He's foolin' 'em!" Les stared up at us, begging us to tell him he was right. Davy said nothing but hugged his distraught little brother. I patted him on his head and sighed.
"Yeah, he's spyin' on 'em, kid." Then we turned our backs on Jack as he had on us.
The next few days, we spent at the lodging house, unwilling and unable to leave and face the world. Kloppman seemed to understand and no one paid in those few days. We played several halfhearted games of poker or blackjack, but that one quickly lost interest. I hadn't been to the races in over a week and a half, not since that day it all started. All we could do was wonder where we had gone wrong. No one looked at Jack's bunk and at night, you could hear the smaller ones crying.
Then two days afterwards, much earlier than I had ever woken up before, even in the winter when we got up before the sun, I felt someone shake me. I rolled over and waved them away.
"Race, Race get up!" I groaned and rolled back over. It was Les.
"Whudda ya doin' 'era, kid?" He tugged on my arm again.
"Get up! We gotta get moving. Come on!" I stared at him, before fumbling for the bedside switch and flicking it on. This conjured several grunts and groans from the other boys, especially Blink. He leaned over and glared at me as I grabbed my watch and struggled to make sense out of the small symbols and motions I would have otherwise known in an instant.
"Les, da ya know whut time it is?" I asked him.
"I know, we're late already! Let's go!" He yanked on my arm again and turned to drag Blink out of bed. Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. Without so much as a word to explain, Les dragged us out the door and down the hall. We snuck past Kloppman's room downstairs and out into the street. When we reached the distribution office, we stopped.
"What's going' on, Les?" I asked. He didn't answer and only dragged me to a small basement window near the wagons. I peered in and saw Jack's face peering out. I jumped back and then glared.
"Whudda youse want?" He frowned.
"Look, Race, it's a long story. I'll tell ya sometime, but now we need yer help." I shook my head.
"Not a chance, Cowboy." I said his name harshly. He grabbed my arm.
"Please, Race. For da newsies." I sighed.
"What?" He ducked down and appeared a moment later, his hands full of a stack of papers. I took them and frowned over them. The Newsie Banner was printed on the top.
"What's dis?" I asked him. The others had crowded out behind me. A few took the papers and read over them, smiles slowly spread across their faces.
"Our secret weapon. Load dem inta da wagon. We need ta get da woid out ta all da kids a New York." Slowly, I began to understand and I handed the papes to Blink.
"Put 'em inta da wagon." We loaded stack after stack until sunrise. Then we set out, each carrying a large stack in hand, to spread the word, once and for all.
Each kid I found I handed a pape to. "Ya know howta read?" I asked a kid shining shoes in the street. He nodded.
"Read dis." I handed him the pape and set off. By noon, I was out. I made my way back to the statue and we waited. Denton had vanished that morning, and we had no idea where he'd gone. We waited. Time passed and not one kid had shown up.
"So when's de uddas comin', Jack?" Mush asked. Jack shook his head.
"Dey aint' coming. Ain't gonna be nobody but us." I sighed. I didn't know if I could handle one more disappointment. We had our leader back, but we could still loose.
I noticed Les move quietly off to the side. He stared up at Pulitzer's building. Then he sang softly to himself. "When the circulation bell starts ringing, will we hear it?
I came up behind him and stomped out my cigarette. " Nah." He smiled at me. " What if the Delancey's come out swinging, will we hear it?"
He shook his head and gave a violent "No!"
I smiled and shoved his hat over his eyes. "Dat a boy." The others came up behind us and stared up at the office of the man who had caused all this trouble. Suddenly, a soft noise caught my ear, growing steadily louder. We turned and stared as a huge mass of children, all ages, boys and girls, in all manner of dress, and all waving our pape, came rushing into the square from all sides. In seconds the place was filled the to brim and we cheered louder than any of them. Slowly, we made our way to the front of the crowd, where I noticed the doors opening slightly. I tapped Jack on his shoulder.
"Dear me, whut da we have 'era?" Jack grinned and he and Davy moved up. They entered the building and we were left to wonder. Spot and the boys from Brooklyn milled in the corner, while we waited. Les tugged on my shoulder.
" What do you think he's telling them?" He shouted, above the chanting children in the square. I shrugged and watched the doors carefully. It seemed like hours, before they opened again and Davy walked out, just a bit a head of Jack. We all pushed towards Jack, begging to be told what he said. But Jack leaned over and whispered in Les's ear. I listened heard to hear, but couldn't. Then he lifted Les up on his shoulders and the whole square fell silent.
"We beat 'em!" he yelled. And the square exploded in noise. There was cheering and shouting of every kind. Hugging and crying even. We couldn't believe it. We had taken on the most powerful man in New York and beaten him! How many of us really thought we could have gotten this far at the beginning I dunno, I sure didn't. But that made this day even more exciting.
I really don't have the vocabulary or even if I did, I could never find the right words to tell you what we felt like in that crowded square that hot summer day. I doubt I ever will, even if I live to tell this story to my great-grandkids.
Les was higher than all of us and so he saw the paddy wagon before the rest of us. "Jack!" he called, "it's the bulls, lemme down!" Jack let him down and the instant he saw who was seated in the front, we shoved him down and to the back, just in time to run into Denton.
"Jack, it's over. " None of us were convinced and dragged Jack off farther. But Denton grabbed him. " No, no. You don't have to run. Not anymore. Not from the likes of him. Come on, Come on." He pulled Jack to the front where we could see much more clearly and I was shocked to see Snyder in cuffs! The bulls led him around to the back where they opened the cart and several boys jumped out, the last being our very own Crutchy! He was grinning and waved as we called out to him.
But Crutchy was to have his revenge before his reunion. , He tapped Snyder on the shoulder. "Ah, remember whut I told ya, Mr. Snyder. The foist ding ya do in jail, make friends wid da rats. Share whut ya got in common." We laughed. Snyder glared at us and climbed in. Crutchy was given the privilege of slamming the door on him and we cheered louder than ever before.
Crutchy made his way over to us and greeted us as energetically as we greeted him. Denton smiled. "You won't be seeing much of him anymore. Say goodbye Warden."
"See ya warden! Goodbye!" We called out. I was never happier to see a man go to jail. Then Crutchy turned back to us.
"Oh, Jack, you ought ta seen it! He comes stormin' inta the Refuge waving his walkin' stick like a sword and he's leadin' in dis army of lawyers and cops."
"Who comes stormin' in?" Jack asked.
"You know, your friend. Him!" Crutchy pointed across the square to a carriage and a very familiar man waving his hat at the cheering children. Teddy Roosevelt! We stared amazed, and then cheered even louder. It was all too unbelievable. The governor! Roosevelt was here? I felt the same as I had that day, that day that seemed like a lifetime ago. This day got better and better!
"The Governor's very grateful that you brought this problem to his attention. I said you might need a lift somewhere. He'd be happy to oblige. Anywhere you want. And this time, you ride inside. " We laughed. But Jack looked serious.
"So, can he drop me at the train yards?" I frowned. What? The train yards? Jack was really going to leave us? After all this, he still wanted to leave? But why? I wondered, we're his family.
I sighed, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. And I knew I had to let him go. So I put on my excited face and cheered him on as he rode off, waving at us and shaking our hands.
But as soon as the carriage was gone, my mask fell. The street cleared rapidly and we watched from the corner, saddened at the loss of our friend and yet excited at the victory we'd just won. We entered the distribution office and smiled at each other. Then we turned around, surprised at the sudden rush of cheering in the crowd.
The carriage was back! Jack was back! We rushed the carriage, shouting at our friend, who dared even think of leaving us. Sarah got to Jack first and he pulled her into a kiss. We whistled and cheered and patted them on the back. I'm sure they would have wanted a bit more courtesy or privacy, but we were too hyped up to give a thought to anything but our elation.
That night, we didn't go home. We were still out celebrating all night. We ran through the streets, whooping and shouting, letting the whole world know we had won. We crept in that next morning just after sunrise. Kloppman let us sleep that day, for the first time in history.
Things had changed for the better. Though they did not lower the price, they did open a new policy that let us sell back our unsold papes back at the end of the day. We no longer had to eat them. This made up a great deal for the price rise.
Davy got his nickname from that strike. It was Spot's idea, Jack said. Davy became known all throughout New York as the Walking Mouth, though we just all called him Mouth.
We had power, we had learned that during those two hot weeks, we had learned that lesson well. Power of the press. We learned that every dog has his day, and that sometimes, when one voice stands up and shouts loud enough for the world to hear, that others will join with him, and grow louder, and louder, until nothing can silence them. it is a valuable lesson, indeed. And Pulitzer learned to respect the rights of the working boys of New York.
But that ain't the end of my story. There's still more to come. It's not like my life ended after the strike. Of course not. Things went on, though they were quiet. For a month or two. Then the worst thing that could have happened to me did.