Jack slowly walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. He stopped for just a
moment to peer over the side into the freezing water. The night was cold,
and he could see his breath as he exhaled into the early November air. It
was unusually frigid for the month, and he wished he had more then his thin
coat to shield him from the wind.
Nothing like being a poor newsboy in the winter he thought as he continued on his way to Spot Conlon's territory. "Can't wait to quit this damn job." He said aloud, to no one in particular. He knew that wasn't true though. Newsie was in his blood, and to forsake it would be like forsaking himself. He continued on, counting his steps as he moved closer to the Brooklyn lodging house. He passed the docks, knowing that even the tough Brooklyn newsies wouldn't be out tonight. Those boys could handle themselves like a pro in a street fight, but wouldn't even try to battle this cold lake front weather.
Jack wondered if Spot would be expecting him. He hadn't told Spot he would be making an appearance in his part of the city, but sometimes it seemed as if Spot could read his mind. Must be the leader thing he thought. Conlon and Jack shared the same responsibilities and had many of the same traits that brought them to the top. If anyone could read Jack's mind, Spot would be the guy.
He stopped on the front step of the lodging house to toss out the cigarette he had been smoking on the way their. He had been smoking a lot more then usual lately, and his habit was starting to get expensive. He opened the door and saw Mr. Killey at the front desk. He walked up to the graying Irish man and asked if Spot was in.
"Yeah, go right on up." Mr. Killey replied, "He's been expecting you for some time now." Jack nodded and laughed to himself on the way up. Of course.
Spot was sitting at the top of the stairs playing with his slingshot. Me lifted it up and aimed for Jack's head, though there was no ammunition in it. "How's it goin' old man? Your 19th everything you's expect it ta be and more?" He put down the slingshot to spit on his hand and extend it to Jack.
"It wasn't bad." He said before he returned Spot's gesture. "Well have a seat Jackey- boy. What's ailin' you so that it brings you to Brooklyn this late at night? Gurl troubles?"
"I think you knows what this is about Spot. Look, can we talk somewhere more, ya know, quite." He gestured to the three newsies listening in on their conversation, ready to pounce on Jack if he threatened their leader. "'Scuse us boys, Jack and I need a little alone time. We'll just be outside for a few minutes." Spot told the goons as he started down the stairs. Jack followed slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets in anticipation of the cold night air. Spot opened he door and sat on the front step. "This yours?" He picked up the cigarette butt that Jack had shed earlier. Jack laughed as Spot through it off the step. "How 'bout I gets you a new one. Consider it your birthday present." He pulled two cigarettes out of his pocket and handed one to Jack.
"Some bad weather we's been havin'. Can't wait 'till spring." Jack commented as he lit the cigarette that Spot had just given him.
"Gotta get through a few months of winter first." Spot said, "But somehow I don't think you'se came all this way to talk about the weather."
"Nah. I came to tell you'se I'm retirein'."
"Retirein' eh? The great leader of the Manhattan newsies? The famous strike leader who got his picture in the paper? Cowboy, Jack Kelly, or whatever it was your mudder called you, given' it all up and quitin'?
"Yeah." Was all Jack could say before taking a drag on the cigarette.
"Any particular reason?"
He sighed. "I'm getting' to old for this Spot. You can only be a newsie for so long. There's never been a guy in this business older then twenty-one. It's time to get a real job. Besides, I need to make some money if I ever plan to ask Sarah to marry me. Ya can't be cheap child labor when ya ain't a child no more."
"You're two years from twenty- one Jack. Might as well stay leader for those two years. Ya really wanna end up in one of those factory jobs with no union and no friends? Is a girl really that important to ya?"
"Nah, but you gotta quit sometime in your life. It'll happen to you to someday Spot. Don't you eva' think about what'll happen to you when you get olda?"
"I'm never gonna get old, Jackey-boy." Spot said with a laugh.
"What are you talkin' about Spot. We all get old."
The boy ignored his comment. " You're the best damn newsie that this city has ever seen, and not a bad leader either. I'm not letting you just walk away from the job like you were nothing. You're not just another street rat from the slums. You're a giant, a politician, and a fighter."
If it weren't so cold out, Jack might have blushed. The Great Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies didn't just hand out compliments.
"Besides, who would you get to take your place?" He continued on. Jack paused for a second, as if to be sure of his choice. "I think Boots would do good. He's almost 16 and's been gainin' a lot of respect for his age. I'd leave it to Race-track or Mush but I doubt they'd wants it, and with Kid Blink already working in a factory, and Crutchey, well ya know.
"Yeah, I know." Spot said, remembering the night that he and two other Brooklyn newsies had found him dead in an alley, lying there, beaten to death like a dog. Jack had always felt responsible for that, even though it had nothing to do with him. "That ain't the reason you're quitin' right? I mean, every leader looses a few men. Ya gotta move on." "That's what I'm tryin' to do Spot. But I can't move on if I stay leader. I need to forget about this. About all of it. It's just too much.
There was a pause in the cold air. Spot didn't know what to say to get Jack to stay with the newsies. He would never admit this to his face, but Spot had always respected Jack. Spot ruled Brooklyn, owned it. He was a king, and sometimes it was lonely at the top. But Jack was different. His newsies respected him, but still joked around with him. He could be your best buddy and be in charge at the same time. Spot knew there was no way Manhattan would ever find anyone like him.
Spot brought his mind back on track, and tried to think of what argument Jack would listen too. He decided on a tactic. "Ya know Jack, I never thought you'd wimp out on me. You turn a year older, ya come here all depressed and lookin' for sympathy, and you never even think that your newsies need you. If your gonna be that big of a wimp ya shoulda never been leader. You can lead a strike against the most powerful man in the city and win it, but ya can't even win against yourself."
Jack sighed. He knew Spot was right, but he couldn't admit it. The two sat in the cold night for awhile, not sure what to say to each other. It seemed like days had passed before Jack finally spoke.
"Well, I better be getting' back to Manhattan. The boys'll be expectin' me."
"yeah, see ya Kelly."
Jack started to walk away from the lodging house. He paused to turn back in a typical movie fashion. "Boots could still take over in a year or two, right?" He shouted.
Spot laughed. "Yeah, he could."
Jack started to walk away again. He pulled his cowboy hat back over his head. Two years. Maybe by then he'd have enough money to go to Santa Fe. Perhaps he'd even take Sarah with him.
Perhaps.
Nothing like being a poor newsboy in the winter he thought as he continued on his way to Spot Conlon's territory. "Can't wait to quit this damn job." He said aloud, to no one in particular. He knew that wasn't true though. Newsie was in his blood, and to forsake it would be like forsaking himself. He continued on, counting his steps as he moved closer to the Brooklyn lodging house. He passed the docks, knowing that even the tough Brooklyn newsies wouldn't be out tonight. Those boys could handle themselves like a pro in a street fight, but wouldn't even try to battle this cold lake front weather.
Jack wondered if Spot would be expecting him. He hadn't told Spot he would be making an appearance in his part of the city, but sometimes it seemed as if Spot could read his mind. Must be the leader thing he thought. Conlon and Jack shared the same responsibilities and had many of the same traits that brought them to the top. If anyone could read Jack's mind, Spot would be the guy.
He stopped on the front step of the lodging house to toss out the cigarette he had been smoking on the way their. He had been smoking a lot more then usual lately, and his habit was starting to get expensive. He opened the door and saw Mr. Killey at the front desk. He walked up to the graying Irish man and asked if Spot was in.
"Yeah, go right on up." Mr. Killey replied, "He's been expecting you for some time now." Jack nodded and laughed to himself on the way up. Of course.
Spot was sitting at the top of the stairs playing with his slingshot. Me lifted it up and aimed for Jack's head, though there was no ammunition in it. "How's it goin' old man? Your 19th everything you's expect it ta be and more?" He put down the slingshot to spit on his hand and extend it to Jack.
"It wasn't bad." He said before he returned Spot's gesture. "Well have a seat Jackey- boy. What's ailin' you so that it brings you to Brooklyn this late at night? Gurl troubles?"
"I think you knows what this is about Spot. Look, can we talk somewhere more, ya know, quite." He gestured to the three newsies listening in on their conversation, ready to pounce on Jack if he threatened their leader. "'Scuse us boys, Jack and I need a little alone time. We'll just be outside for a few minutes." Spot told the goons as he started down the stairs. Jack followed slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets in anticipation of the cold night air. Spot opened he door and sat on the front step. "This yours?" He picked up the cigarette butt that Jack had shed earlier. Jack laughed as Spot through it off the step. "How 'bout I gets you a new one. Consider it your birthday present." He pulled two cigarettes out of his pocket and handed one to Jack.
"Some bad weather we's been havin'. Can't wait 'till spring." Jack commented as he lit the cigarette that Spot had just given him.
"Gotta get through a few months of winter first." Spot said, "But somehow I don't think you'se came all this way to talk about the weather."
"Nah. I came to tell you'se I'm retirein'."
"Retirein' eh? The great leader of the Manhattan newsies? The famous strike leader who got his picture in the paper? Cowboy, Jack Kelly, or whatever it was your mudder called you, given' it all up and quitin'?
"Yeah." Was all Jack could say before taking a drag on the cigarette.
"Any particular reason?"
He sighed. "I'm getting' to old for this Spot. You can only be a newsie for so long. There's never been a guy in this business older then twenty-one. It's time to get a real job. Besides, I need to make some money if I ever plan to ask Sarah to marry me. Ya can't be cheap child labor when ya ain't a child no more."
"You're two years from twenty- one Jack. Might as well stay leader for those two years. Ya really wanna end up in one of those factory jobs with no union and no friends? Is a girl really that important to ya?"
"Nah, but you gotta quit sometime in your life. It'll happen to you to someday Spot. Don't you eva' think about what'll happen to you when you get olda?"
"I'm never gonna get old, Jackey-boy." Spot said with a laugh.
"What are you talkin' about Spot. We all get old."
The boy ignored his comment. " You're the best damn newsie that this city has ever seen, and not a bad leader either. I'm not letting you just walk away from the job like you were nothing. You're not just another street rat from the slums. You're a giant, a politician, and a fighter."
If it weren't so cold out, Jack might have blushed. The Great Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies didn't just hand out compliments.
"Besides, who would you get to take your place?" He continued on. Jack paused for a second, as if to be sure of his choice. "I think Boots would do good. He's almost 16 and's been gainin' a lot of respect for his age. I'd leave it to Race-track or Mush but I doubt they'd wants it, and with Kid Blink already working in a factory, and Crutchey, well ya know.
"Yeah, I know." Spot said, remembering the night that he and two other Brooklyn newsies had found him dead in an alley, lying there, beaten to death like a dog. Jack had always felt responsible for that, even though it had nothing to do with him. "That ain't the reason you're quitin' right? I mean, every leader looses a few men. Ya gotta move on." "That's what I'm tryin' to do Spot. But I can't move on if I stay leader. I need to forget about this. About all of it. It's just too much.
There was a pause in the cold air. Spot didn't know what to say to get Jack to stay with the newsies. He would never admit this to his face, but Spot had always respected Jack. Spot ruled Brooklyn, owned it. He was a king, and sometimes it was lonely at the top. But Jack was different. His newsies respected him, but still joked around with him. He could be your best buddy and be in charge at the same time. Spot knew there was no way Manhattan would ever find anyone like him.
Spot brought his mind back on track, and tried to think of what argument Jack would listen too. He decided on a tactic. "Ya know Jack, I never thought you'd wimp out on me. You turn a year older, ya come here all depressed and lookin' for sympathy, and you never even think that your newsies need you. If your gonna be that big of a wimp ya shoulda never been leader. You can lead a strike against the most powerful man in the city and win it, but ya can't even win against yourself."
Jack sighed. He knew Spot was right, but he couldn't admit it. The two sat in the cold night for awhile, not sure what to say to each other. It seemed like days had passed before Jack finally spoke.
"Well, I better be getting' back to Manhattan. The boys'll be expectin' me."
"yeah, see ya Kelly."
Jack started to walk away from the lodging house. He paused to turn back in a typical movie fashion. "Boots could still take over in a year or two, right?" He shouted.
Spot laughed. "Yeah, he could."
Jack started to walk away again. He pulled his cowboy hat back over his head. Two years. Maybe by then he'd have enough money to go to Santa Fe. Perhaps he'd even take Sarah with him.
Perhaps.