7. Dave: Still the Walking Mouth

"Now can anyone tell me the difference between a Major Historical Event and a Minor Historical Event? Yes, Tony."

"A Major one is an event that effected lots of people and a minor one is an event that changed the history for only a few?"

"That's a good way of putting it, yes. Can you give me an example of both?"

"Uhm…for major it could be…like anything that made it into our history books."

"Such as?"

"Uhm…the Civil War, Revolutionary War, Columbus sailing to America."

"Very good, now how about for a minor event?"

Silence fell over the classroom as Mr. David Jacobs looked out over the faces of his fifth grade students. Quirking an eyebrow as he slowly moved from his place against the windows back to lean back on his desk, David was far from the strict schoolmasters he'd had growing up. He'd learned a long time ago that children were not going to trust or respect an adult who thought the kids were weak, stupid, and meaningless. Instead, he'd made it his personal quest to show every student to enter his classroom that not all adults thought they were all powerful just because they were adults. Taking note from the way Bryan Denton had treated them all back in the summer of '99, David had been able to reach and gain the respect of his students by doing nothing more than treating them as an equal.

Smiling, he folded his arms over his chest and looked out over the thoughtful faces. Finally, from the back row, a timid hand stretched out into the air. Carolina Delancey, the quietest and most troubled of all his students. Eyebrows rising, David stood up straight again and nodded.

"Carolina, yes."

"The Newsie Strike of 1899?"

Smiling from ear to ear, David nodded and moved to start walking down the aisles of seats again. "The Strike, very good. Now why would that be considered a minor historical event?"

"She only said dat cuz her old man was a thug durin' it."

"Yeah! Didn't her old man wipe the ground with you, Mr. Jacobs?"

"Tony, Jeffery, that's enough. Now does anyone know why that would be a minor historical event?"

Again, silence. Sighing, Dave patted Carolina's shoulder and offered her an understanding smile. True her father Oscar and his brother Morris had done their best to beat the life out of him, but it was no reason to hold a grudge towards the innocent little girl. She had nothing to do with it, wasn't even a glint in Oscar's eye at the time, the only fault she had was one she had no control over and that would be having been born to him and having his last name. The daughter of a gangster was not an easy thing to be.

"The Newsies Strike of 1899 is historical because, it was a children's strike—kids just about your age and a little older—who saw that they were being treated unfairly and decided to do something about it. Had it not been for those boys and girls, those of you who sell papers after school would probably still have to eat what you didn't sell. Now how many of you would like that? You bought a hundred papes at what had just the night before been fifty-cents per hundred and now was sixty-cents per hundred and then on top of all that, you only sold about half of those hundred papers. You couldn't take them back to the Distribution Center and sell them back like you can now. You would be stuck with them until you either sold them or maybe stumbled upon another newsie who was having a streak and needed more papers and you were able to sell them off to the other newsie. Those boys and girls changed history, even if it had only been for the newsies of New York City and the boroughs."

"So, wait…wouldn't that make it a major historical event?"

Laughing lightly as he moved back to his desk, David shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. You see, not many people know of the strike because they're afraid if they tell their children about it, you'll all start to strike against everything. Most adults, as you well know, are terrified of what kind of power you kids hold. Granted, I'm sorry to say you kids don't have near the amount of power you once had back when I was still growing up, but you still have enough power to make a difference around here."

Glancing to the clock, David sighed softly before pulling a bag of hard butterscotch candies from his desk drawer. Moving down each row of desks, he allowed his students to each have one of the bitter-sweet treats.

"Well class, we only have a few minutes left of this year. I want to let you all know that you've been a wonderful class and I have learned a lot from you—as I hope you've learned at least something from me and from each other. For those of you who are going on to higher levels, I wish you all the luck, and for those of you thinking of ending your education now," David paused to pluck the cabbie hat off a boy in the back row. Placing it in the boys hand and shaking his head, he continued, "I hope you reconsider. An education is the most valuable trade you could ever want. With an education you can become anything you want to be. A teacher, a journalist, a politician, a doctor, even gangsters have to have a least an education of some form."

Carolina gave a small smile and blushed softly as she reached in for a piece of candy before looking back down at her desk. Smiling and moving on to the next student, Dave looked at the clock once more.

"Mr. Jacobs? What you gonna do this summer? Ya gonna go start anymore strikes?"

"No, Tony. I'm going out to California for a few days in a couple of weeks. It was exactly thirty years ago this summer that my fellow newsies and I won our strike. So, all of us that are able to go are going out there for a reunion and to catch up. It's been far too long since we last all were together."

As the last student reached into the bag for a treat, the shrill ring of the bell sounded off the walls, sending the anxious class into a frenzy of cheers and shouts. Hordes of children rushed from their seats and into the halls, barely thinking enough to call a "Have a nice summer" back over their shoulders to their teachers. Dave remembered those days all too well.

Papers and primers littered the floor, pencils and crayons scattered in every direction as he moved to sit back down at his desk. Dave knew all too well that many of the students he'd taught throughout the years never made it past the fifth grade and instead would go out into the work force. True, different laws had been passed that regulated how much time a child could spend working, but still nothing was in place that enforced all children to attend school through high school.

Reaching into his bottom desk drawer, he removed the small charred framed picture that once hung on the wall by the blackboard. Earlier that year, while the school slept, a fire had broken out in the classroom next to his, all but completely wiping out the surrounding rooms. When David and his class had returned the next morning, they found the charred remains of their classroom scattered across the front lawn among the remains of the two other classrooms. Sitting on what was left of his desk, had been that frame with what was left of his cherished newspaper. That paper was all he had left to remember a number of his friends by, now even that was gone.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jacobs?"

Looking up from the paper, David was rather shocked to see Carolina standing before him. It was hard to believe that such a shy, sweet little girl could be the daughter of one of New York's most notorious gangsters. Because of her family's name, Carolina had been heckled and tormented most of her life by the children of her father's rivals and feared by everyone else.

"Carolina, what are you still doing here?"

"My uhm…my dad wanted me to give you this. He figured you wouldn't accept it if he tried to give it to you, so he sent it with me." Holding a thin, wrapped object out to him, Carolina offered a rare tiny smile.

"You're father sent something…for me? Uhm…well, thank you. And thank him for me."

Smiling a bit more and nodding, the girl with bouncy blond curls like her mother turned and ran from the room. Watching her bolt from his classroom as he held the somewhat weighty object in his hand did little to boost his confidence in what Oscar Delancey could have sent to him. Gulping back his fear, Dave slowly opened the wrapping. What he found inside dumbfounded him beyond all belief.

"Davy,

Lina told me what happened to your classroom earlier this year. For whatever reason you seem to be the only teacher she has ever spoken highly of, and to me, that's enough to send some kind of a thank you to. Don't go thinkin' this means I like you though, cuz I don't. I just felt you should be thanked for helping my little girl out when no other teachers would. Don't ask where I found this. No one should be without a picture of their family…no matter how messed up their family was.

-Oscar"

Setting the chicken scratch letter off to the side, Dave pulled a fresh looking and newly framed copy of his beloved newspaper. Staring at it for a minute, he carefully set it down before leaping from his seat and running to the window. Glancing out onto the front lawn, he watched as a man dressed in a fine black suit emerged from a car and moved to scoop Carolina up into a hug. Dave watched as the girl rattled on and motioned up towards her second story class window and smiled brightly. The man in the black suit set the girl back down onto the ground before opening the door to the shiny black car for her. Closing it, Oscar Delancey—self proclaimed king of the New York streets—looked up at where Dave still stood dumbfounded and gave a subtle nod.


Les blinked at his brother in slight disbelief. It was hard to imagine Oscar Delancey doing anything for a former newsie, let alone anything nice! "Must be dying," he muttered, shaking his head as he glanced down at the confused face of the boy next to him. Reaching out to ruffle his hair, Les laughed lightly at his son. "Oscar worked for his Uncle Wiesel at the Distribution Center, he also was nothing more than a common thug who tried to beat up on every newsie who crossed him."

Forming a silent "Oh", Donnie nodded and looked back at his Uncle David. "So, how come he gave you the picture then if he didn't like you guys?"

"I'm still not sure."

"Well, I had a run in with him myself, actually. After Spot's trial. He came up to thank me for it." Les shook his head again as he glanced back at the picture.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Donnie looked to his Uncle then back to his father. "But, I thought you were Spot's lawyer? How come he'd come up to thank you?"

David quirked an eyebrow as he looked to his younger brother. He remembered that trial like it was yesterday; it had been Les' first big case after graduating from law school and was the first time he realized the good guy didn't always win. Sighing heavily, Les ran a hand down his face. "I did defend Spot. The only thing I can think of for why Oscar would come up and thank me is because Spot killed his brother Morris in a bar fight a few years after," trailing off, he shook his head and glanced out the window, not wanting to think about why Spot had followed through with his threat.

Confused and looking for answers, Donnie looked to the sad face of his uncle in hopes of him shining some light on the situation. Offering him a half-hearted smile, Dave pointed down to the overly enthusiastic face of the ten-year-old boy just up and to the left of Boots. "Snipes never did know how to keep himself out of trouble."