For the Sake of Freedom.
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The Sixth of April, 1917.
"Pop!" Racetrack Higgins dropped the brush he'd been using when his sixteen year old son burst into the stable and almost ran over several stable hands in his haste to meet his father.
"Whoa, whoa, Vinnie, slow down dere. Where's da fira?" Race asked jokingly as Vincenzo Higgins reached out to pet the large mare his father was currently training.
"Didn't ya head, Pop? We're at war!" And he brandished the pape, blaring the single word headline, WAR!
Race took the pape, studying it carefully before handing it back to his son who had quickly sold ten papes to the other workers in the barn. He didn't like this, he thought, remembering another war long ago in his own childhood. He too had been sixteen, but remembered it well. he'd sold lots of papes during that time.
"Ain't dis excitin?" Vinnie began to say as his father put away his brush and led the horse back to his stall. Then he put his arm around his son and they set off for home.
"We'll win, a course." Vinnie said, as they walked. "but ain't it gonna be great, ta see dem off? God, I'd love ta be one a dem." He said, as they passed several men already suited up for their long trip overseas. Race frowned.
"Don't even dink bout it. Youse sixteen, too young for anydin' like dat. Besides, who would help me take cae a yer little sisters and brudda?" he asked, with a smile as they reached their apartment house.
"Aw, Pop?" Vinnie moaned good-naturedly. Race laughed and pushed open the door to their apartment.
"Get ready." Vinnie braced himself which was lucky as the next moment two girls and a boy launched themselves at their father and brother.
Race laughed and picked up Dino, the youngest boy, about twelve years old and full of energy. He began talking the moment his father walked in the door about his adventure of the day. Jack Kelly, Race's best friend and idol to the little Dino, had taken the kids to Brooklyn for the day. Jack was a photographer, a good one and spends many days in the slums of New York where he and Race had grown up.
Race laughed to himself as the second eldest, Marina began to tell him about her day. She was the only one still in school, besides little Zaira, and reminded Race so much of his friend, Davy. She had decided a long time ago that the only way out of the slums of New York was an education. She was not happy to remain there, like her father and brothers. She wanted more, so much more than what she had and often scolded her father, telling him he could be so much, what with his talent with horses and than that book, written almost nine years ago, that had sold nation wide, and made him quite famous. But Race always insisted that he was happy where he was. There was no reason to leave. But Marina was destined for greater things. Everyone could see it.
Vinnie was busy with the youngest, Zaira, nine years old and already an actress. She was the melodramatic baby of the family, telling stories and acting them out, playing all the parts. She was loud and determined to be heard.
These five people made up the Higgins family. They seemed happy and together, but every once and a while, someone would glance up to the far wall above the small table and see the picture taken many years ago, by Jack. Framed and fraying with age, it showed two young people, a much younger Race, and a beautiful young woman, with long flowing red hair and a pair for crystal clear blue eyes. They were gazing at each other, with nothing but love shining out of their eyes.
Vinnie often stared at it, wondering how his father could have changed from that happy loud mouthed but fun loving man he was in the picture to the sober, quiet, yet content man he was now. He remembered his mother very little, but he knew she had brought out something in his father, something no one else could. Still, they were happy.
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That night, Vinnie found himself on the rooftop, waiting for his best friend. He smoked the cigar nicked from his father's bedside and waited; patiently shuffling the cards his father had given him for his birthday only a month ago. After long last, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to greet the single son of the Kelly household and his best friend into the whole world, Anthony Kelly, or Snickers,
"Hey Snicks." He said, holding out his hand. He spit in his hand and they shook. Anthony grinned at him.
"Heyya Cards," he replied, conjuring his own newsie nick. "So whut yer old man say?" Vinnie smiled.
"Same ding as yers, probably. Too young, he needs me 'era." Anthony nodded.
"We are sixteen." His friend said, " When dey wus sixteen, dey wus on strike. Dat wus war in a way. Besides, we should be able ta make our own decisions." Vinnie nodded, well aware of what his father had been doing at sixteen.
"It's our chance. Our chance ta do somedin' right, ta save da woild from injustice and tyranny." Vinnie said, meaning every word. "Dey would a' done it, so why can't we?" Anthony nodded and soon the talk turned to other things, but the idea still remained fresh in each boys mind.
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September 13, 1917
Almost five months had passed, each day dawning with a new headline and a new step of determination. Vinnie watched jealously as Les Jacobs joined up and was shipped out, almost all of New York coming out to see him.
That night he brought up the war again with his father. The younger children were in bed and Race was cleaning up, doing the chores that would have belonged to Mrs. Higgins had there been a woman alive to claim the name. Vinnie sat at the empty table, dealing the cards for their nightly game of poker.
It was their time to talk, to stay in touch, their private time as father and son. It was a time that was special to both of them. It usually took place on the roof, but as it was raining, it would be indoors tonight.
Race sighed as he watched the rain come down. It was right that it would rain tonight. He'd had an awful feeling as he waved to Les, who leaned out of the train window to bid his friends a final goodbye. This war could only bring pain, and he knew the feeling of pain all too well. Hadn't he lost his parents at nine, his wife only nine short years ago? Hadn't his whole life been one series of injustices after another? He had claimed his philosophy at the age of sixteen when he told Les, one night as their world seemed to crumble to bits, " The woild, it ain't kind ta kids like us. Life ain't eva easy fer us, no madda whut we do. But ya gotta make da best a it, ya gotta play da hand ya get."
When he turned and sat down at the table, the last thing he wanted to discuss was the war. But the moment Vinnie cleared his throat, Race knew what was coming.
"Pop?" Vinnie asked as he glanced up from his cards. Race lit h is cigar and looked at him. "Ya know, a bunch a guys from da lodgin' house, dey's joinin' up. Dey want me ta too." Race just shook his head.
"No, we've been ova dis, Vinnie. Fer one ding, youse ain't eighteen. Fer anudda, I ain't given up me son. I don't cae whut anyone else is doin'." He said, waving aside Vinnie's protests, " I made a promise ta meself when I wus sixteen. Dat me kids wus gonna be bedda den me. Dat youse weren't gonna go trough da pain and sufferin' dat I did. And sendin' ya off ta war ain't exactly keepin' dat promise."
"Pop, I'd be doing somdin' great! I'd be protectin' America gianst' evil!" Race shook his head.
"I saw men come home afta da Spanish American War and dey looked like dey'd been ta Hell and back. I ain't lettin' ya go trough dat. And dat's final. Now deal." Vinnie sighed and began to shuffle. Soon the war was all but forgotten as the two smoked their cigars and laughed. Race felt safe, secure, for once, a feeling he'd experienced very little in his short life of thirty-four years. Vinnie laughed in much the same way he did as he displayed a full house, beating his father for the first time in a week.
Race watched him carefully as he redealt, his dark brown eyes focused solely on the task of shuffling. He was so intent, so dedicated. When he got an idea in his mind, you couldn't shake him off it, making him so much like his father. That worried Race, what with this war and everything, but Vinnie had never deliberately disobeyed his father. He knew that his father loved him and his siblings, and would and had done anything for them.
Vinnie glanced at his father who frowned over his cards, feeling strangely guilty. Part of him wanted nothing more than to reassure his father that he would keep his word that he had no reason to worry. Race had done so much for him and his siblings. He had given up a promising career as a jockey to stay home and take care of them. Oh, they had their troubles, but they were a family and that was important.
But this was something so much bigger, so much bigger than that, than anything. And he wasn't missing it. After all, he was sixteen, and look what Race had been doing at sixteen. Fighting for something he believed in, fighting to free the oppressed children of New York from the horrible labor conditions. His father was a legend down at the distribution office. and people expected great things from Vinnie. He was, after all, the son of Racetrack Higgins. And Vinnie was determined to live up to their expectations. He was full of idealistic thoughts and just bursting to do something great. This war was his chance.
But not tonight. Tonight was about him and his father. He laughed as Race told him a story about one of the newer jockeys down at the stables where he worked. Here he felt so comfortable, so safe. The moon rose over their game, but they played long into the night, laughing about everything.
It was the last time the two of them would ever sit at the same table again.
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