It is late in the evening, almost night, when most of the lower East
Manhattan newsboys return to their lodging house every night. I know you
wonder how I know this. It is because my dear son, Mark, is a newsboy, or
a 'newsie,' as the boys call themselves. He doesn't know I am here. I
don't think he would accept me if he knew. But, I watch over him every day
from my tenement window.
-----------------------
"Wake up!" Kloppman yelled to the groggy newsies, "The presses are rollin'!" Specs never had to be woken up by Kloppman. He was awake nearly a half hour before everyone else every day. What he did during that time was known only by himself and God. That was the way he wanted to keep it. He didn't know that there was someone else in on the secret.
-----------------------
Every morning I wake up at four o'clock, an hour before the newsies are roused. Mark wakes himself a half-hour before anyone else. During that time he takes out his bible and prays. Today he takes a tattered photograph out from under his mattress, and cries. The picture is of me. He believes I am dead. I cannot bear to be the reason for his tears. I must tell him of my existence. There is a sound from the corner of my tiny apartment. The baby is no longer asleep. I will have Mary take care of him. Mary is sixteen now, and should learn how to take care of the baby. After all, I wont be strong enough to even talk soon. My days are numbered. I must confront my son before I die. I cannot bear the thought of leaving this earth without him knowing how much I love him.
-----------------------
"Hey Specs," Duchy called out to his best friend, " Ya gat a lettah!" At the mention of mail the newsies all stopped in their tracks. No one ever got mail at the lodging house. There was no reason for anyone to send anything to the newsies. "What's it say?" Jack pleaded Specs to share. " Ya' gotta' give him a chance ta' open it foirst, Cowboy," Kloppman reminded the eager teen. Specs opened the plain envelope with trembling fingers. The few letters received at the lodging house were always bad news. But who did he know that would send him any news? He had no family- anymore, and all of his friends were newsies, like him. He began reading the letter out loud. "Dear Mark," "Mark?" Race asked, clearly amused, "you'se name is Mark?" Specs just ignored the short Italian. "You most likely do not know who I am, or why I am writing this letter to you. Rest assured that I am someone who loves you very much. I am someone who has watched over you since you were born. I am also someone with a lot of explaining to do. Please join me and my family for supper tonight at six o'clock. You should be done selling by then. Love, Someone who cares (*author's note- he can find the apartment by using the return address*) "Are ya' gonna' go, or not?" Jack asked, breaking the tense silence.
"yeah, I feel like it's da right 'ting foah' me ta' do. Ya' know?" Specs looked at Jack with the question in his eyes. Jack just nodded his head somberly in response. Then, all the newsies left the lodging house to sell the afternoon edition.
-----------------------
I wrote him a letter. I am too afraid to tell him who I am. I must be braver if I am going to meet my son. He looks so much like his father.
~flash back~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
" You bitch!" He hit her "I will not take care of this baby! This is a whore's baby! I'll bet it's not even mine!" He hit her again. "He looks just like you, though!" She had responded. Stupid! Her husband would probably hit the baby too, now that she had said that. To her surprise, he didn't. What he did do was much worse. He evicted her. "Get out of my house, and don't ever come back. If I ever see you, or that boy again, I'll kill you both!" With that she picked up her screaming child and ran. She had nowhere to go, and no money. She could not possibly care for a baby. Around day three of her new life she decided it was better for everyone if she gave the boy away. The orphanage would not do. She only had one other person to turn to, her decesied father's best friend, John Kloppman. Leaving the child wrapped in a blanket with a photograph and a note on the front door, she knocked rapidly twice, then dissapered into an alley. She knew her son would be well taken care of at the lodging house.
-----------------------
"Wake up!" Kloppman yelled to the groggy newsies, "The presses are rollin'!" Specs never had to be woken up by Kloppman. He was awake nearly a half hour before everyone else every day. What he did during that time was known only by himself and God. That was the way he wanted to keep it. He didn't know that there was someone else in on the secret.
-----------------------
Every morning I wake up at four o'clock, an hour before the newsies are roused. Mark wakes himself a half-hour before anyone else. During that time he takes out his bible and prays. Today he takes a tattered photograph out from under his mattress, and cries. The picture is of me. He believes I am dead. I cannot bear to be the reason for his tears. I must tell him of my existence. There is a sound from the corner of my tiny apartment. The baby is no longer asleep. I will have Mary take care of him. Mary is sixteen now, and should learn how to take care of the baby. After all, I wont be strong enough to even talk soon. My days are numbered. I must confront my son before I die. I cannot bear the thought of leaving this earth without him knowing how much I love him.
-----------------------
"Hey Specs," Duchy called out to his best friend, " Ya gat a lettah!" At the mention of mail the newsies all stopped in their tracks. No one ever got mail at the lodging house. There was no reason for anyone to send anything to the newsies. "What's it say?" Jack pleaded Specs to share. " Ya' gotta' give him a chance ta' open it foirst, Cowboy," Kloppman reminded the eager teen. Specs opened the plain envelope with trembling fingers. The few letters received at the lodging house were always bad news. But who did he know that would send him any news? He had no family- anymore, and all of his friends were newsies, like him. He began reading the letter out loud. "Dear Mark," "Mark?" Race asked, clearly amused, "you'se name is Mark?" Specs just ignored the short Italian. "You most likely do not know who I am, or why I am writing this letter to you. Rest assured that I am someone who loves you very much. I am someone who has watched over you since you were born. I am also someone with a lot of explaining to do. Please join me and my family for supper tonight at six o'clock. You should be done selling by then. Love, Someone who cares (*author's note- he can find the apartment by using the return address*) "Are ya' gonna' go, or not?" Jack asked, breaking the tense silence.
"yeah, I feel like it's da right 'ting foah' me ta' do. Ya' know?" Specs looked at Jack with the question in his eyes. Jack just nodded his head somberly in response. Then, all the newsies left the lodging house to sell the afternoon edition.
-----------------------
I wrote him a letter. I am too afraid to tell him who I am. I must be braver if I am going to meet my son. He looks so much like his father.
~flash back~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
" You bitch!" He hit her "I will not take care of this baby! This is a whore's baby! I'll bet it's not even mine!" He hit her again. "He looks just like you, though!" She had responded. Stupid! Her husband would probably hit the baby too, now that she had said that. To her surprise, he didn't. What he did do was much worse. He evicted her. "Get out of my house, and don't ever come back. If I ever see you, or that boy again, I'll kill you both!" With that she picked up her screaming child and ran. She had nowhere to go, and no money. She could not possibly care for a baby. Around day three of her new life she decided it was better for everyone if she gave the boy away. The orphanage would not do. She only had one other person to turn to, her decesied father's best friend, John Kloppman. Leaving the child wrapped in a blanket with a photograph and a note on the front door, she knocked rapidly twice, then dissapered into an alley. She knew her son would be well taken care of at the lodging house.