Chapter Three Continued
There were always two things about Lower Manhattan Lodging House mornings that never changed – they started incredibly early and incredibly slow. Kids slumped over in their beds, refusing to wake up until they were prodded at least three times. Eyes peeked out from under threadbare covers, voices chorused in groans, and tired, sore feet hit the cold, wooden floor as their bodies realized it was once again time to work.
The line to the bathroom moved slowly in a buffet-like motion as faces were washed, bathrooms were used, and premature shaving was achieved (whether or not it was necessary). The boys in Kloppman's washroom fought over the few towels and the tiny bit of soap they could find, but in the end everyone was finally able to wash up and get dressed, and those sore feelings while unable to find a clean towel were washed away by the prospect of a new day in the city.
Boys in this facility didn't have much to look forward to – headlines never improved, the title of "street trash" wasn't exactly an upstanding one, and a constantly-growling stomach was never a welcomed addition to the day. But there were always those things to brighten one's day, whether they be as small as a smile from a young lady while out in the streets, or an extra piece of bread from the nuns that generously handed out a meager breakfast each morning. The boys could find hope in something as small as a newly polished marble, or as big as an overcast day, where triumphant clouds overpowered the hot summer sun.
The buffet line continued as the boys left the lodging house. First there was a stop at the nuns' horse cart to have a small breakfast and then there was another long wait at the distribution center, where the boys paid for their newspapers.
The mornings held a monotonous quality about them. The boys were up at the same time, they left the lodging house at the same time, and by the time they were at the distribution center, their leader Jack was already trying to annoy the staff at the New York World as he stood first in line.
The boys looked up to Jack or "Cowboy" as he was affectionately called. For some, he provided a safety net. As long as they were under Jack's command, they were secure. They had a job, a place to sleep, and food (most of the time). They counted on Jack for protection, but what the newsboys didn't know was that Jack harbored feelings for Santa Fe, despite his promise to stick with his boys. Jack never forgot about the day he had a chance to be taken to the train yards in Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. Perhaps the old man was ultimately right. Perhaps staying was for the best. But Jack couldn't help his thoughts. He couldn't help the way he felt about the open range. He felt it was calling to him – stronger than ever.
The New York World's distribution center was among the crowning achievements of Mr. Joseph Pulitzer. The metal gates that led to the office were the highest in the city, and Pulitzer had hired a staff he thought worthy of keeping the newsies in line. A Hungarian-born immigrant, Joseph came to America in 1864. Having purchased the World in 1883 for $346,000, Joseph worked to make the mediocre newspaper one of the premiere papers in New York City, directing its audience at immigrants, women, and the lower class workers of the city. With flashy front page images, scandalous stories, and flaming editorials aimed at the White House, Pulitzer redefined the newspaper 'world' and sold millions of copies doing so.
Though Pulitzer put out the image that he embraced those of the lower class, he indeed was an upper class businessman. He pitted his editors against each other, making sure that the workplace was filled with competition for the best story. Even though he suffered from poor eyesight, diabetes, weak lungs, exhaustion, and asthma, Pulitzer continued to run his paper with lethal fortitude. After all, he had "created the world" and he was determined to live in that very world – the one that regarded him as a king among newspaper tyrants.
While yells of "Get da lead outta yer pants!" and "Dose papes won't wait long ta be sold!", the newsies stood in line, impatiently waiting to buy their stack for the day. Behind Jack stood the rest of the boys in an unorganized line. Racetrack was checking his pocket watch to see how much time had elapsed while in line. Mush kept eyeing the women crossing the street in front of the distribution center. Kid Blink's eye was incessantly focused on the front of the line, anxious to buy his papers. Pie Eater was finishing up an extra roll he'd snatched from the nun's cart. Specs had been fumbling with his bowler hat, readjusting it just in time for Dutchy to push it over his eyes for the tenth time. Bumlets and Skittery discussed plans for a 'duel' later on with their prized walking sticks. Boots, Tumbler, Slider, and Snipeshooter were comparing marbles. Snitch was counting his coins, calculating how many papers he could afford. Snoddy stared off into space, his mind a jumbled mess of malcontent. Itey couldn't leave his suspenders alone as his teeth gnawed on the fabric. Swifty had his eyes on Jake who was practicing flipping his bowler in the air with ease. Crutchy was running his mouth a mile a minute to Sutty, a newcomer to the Lower Manhattan Newsboys. Glory was brooding in his corner, annoyed that he couldn't properly think over the loud banter of the boys. The line continued on, newsboys filling into the distribution center as morning wore on.
During the summer, Jack's right-hand man, David Jacobs, and his younger brother, Les, would be standing beside him to sell papers to help his family pay the bills. But springtime was upon Manhattan, and David was in school, leaving Jack without Les, whom could easily fake a nasty cough, enhancing their profits for the day. Though Jack enjoyed the younger boy's company, mainly for reasons of money, many of the boys sold separately, eager to gain as much profit as possible. A selling partner only hindered their earnings for the day, and brought on unwanted competition.
As the boys filtered through the line, the newsgirls entered through the gates, their arrival hindered by not only the farther walk from the boarding house, but the fact that the boys were always to go first – the girls to get the 'leftover papers'. It was an unspoken rule that had never been challenged and part of the ongoing argument over women's equality. There were only about a quarter as many newsgirls as boys, the rest of the street dwellers choosing places such as the factories or entertainment halls as their line of work. Of the ones that came, most were from the boarding house a few blocks away. The girls entered together, huddled in a pack formation designed to help keep the unwanted comments of the newsboys at bay. Many of the boys disliked sharing a job with members of the opposite sex, and some were relentless in letting the girls in on their opinions.
One was lucky if he could pick out a single conversation within the girls' group without getting caught up in an array of different topics. Gambler was annoyed at the incessant talking of Riley, who was babbling about the recent rainy weather, Sparrow was off daydreaming about a boy ahead of her in line, Annie, Mayhem, Slick, and Smalls were chatting about the best selling spots that the boys hadn't figured out yet, Sage was giving Calliope advice on her new relationship with the newsboy Snoddy, while Stretch and Holiday were eavesdropping on the conversation from the back of the line, eager to pick up today's gossip.
Once papers were purchased, the kids hurried to claim their selling spots before another newsie beat them to it. There was hardly any sharing when selling papes was concerned, even when one was new to the game. You sold by yourself, using your own wit, or you were simply not a real newsie – you were a cad in need of a good soaking – and there were plenty of newsies who would soak you in an instant. The newsies held their selling spots in high regard. It was like gang territory. One did not overstep his boundaries unless he wanted a fight, and a fight is what he would get if there were any discrepancies. Many of the newsies were highly skilled in the art of combat, merely because they had to fight to survive – to prove that they were not to be messed with, or to be taken as a lightweight fool.
~~
To be continued
There were always two things about Lower Manhattan Lodging House mornings that never changed – they started incredibly early and incredibly slow. Kids slumped over in their beds, refusing to wake up until they were prodded at least three times. Eyes peeked out from under threadbare covers, voices chorused in groans, and tired, sore feet hit the cold, wooden floor as their bodies realized it was once again time to work.
The line to the bathroom moved slowly in a buffet-like motion as faces were washed, bathrooms were used, and premature shaving was achieved (whether or not it was necessary). The boys in Kloppman's washroom fought over the few towels and the tiny bit of soap they could find, but in the end everyone was finally able to wash up and get dressed, and those sore feelings while unable to find a clean towel were washed away by the prospect of a new day in the city.
Boys in this facility didn't have much to look forward to – headlines never improved, the title of "street trash" wasn't exactly an upstanding one, and a constantly-growling stomach was never a welcomed addition to the day. But there were always those things to brighten one's day, whether they be as small as a smile from a young lady while out in the streets, or an extra piece of bread from the nuns that generously handed out a meager breakfast each morning. The boys could find hope in something as small as a newly polished marble, or as big as an overcast day, where triumphant clouds overpowered the hot summer sun.
The buffet line continued as the boys left the lodging house. First there was a stop at the nuns' horse cart to have a small breakfast and then there was another long wait at the distribution center, where the boys paid for their newspapers.
The mornings held a monotonous quality about them. The boys were up at the same time, they left the lodging house at the same time, and by the time they were at the distribution center, their leader Jack was already trying to annoy the staff at the New York World as he stood first in line.
The boys looked up to Jack or "Cowboy" as he was affectionately called. For some, he provided a safety net. As long as they were under Jack's command, they were secure. They had a job, a place to sleep, and food (most of the time). They counted on Jack for protection, but what the newsboys didn't know was that Jack harbored feelings for Santa Fe, despite his promise to stick with his boys. Jack never forgot about the day he had a chance to be taken to the train yards in Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. Perhaps the old man was ultimately right. Perhaps staying was for the best. But Jack couldn't help his thoughts. He couldn't help the way he felt about the open range. He felt it was calling to him – stronger than ever.
The New York World's distribution center was among the crowning achievements of Mr. Joseph Pulitzer. The metal gates that led to the office were the highest in the city, and Pulitzer had hired a staff he thought worthy of keeping the newsies in line. A Hungarian-born immigrant, Joseph came to America in 1864. Having purchased the World in 1883 for $346,000, Joseph worked to make the mediocre newspaper one of the premiere papers in New York City, directing its audience at immigrants, women, and the lower class workers of the city. With flashy front page images, scandalous stories, and flaming editorials aimed at the White House, Pulitzer redefined the newspaper 'world' and sold millions of copies doing so.
Though Pulitzer put out the image that he embraced those of the lower class, he indeed was an upper class businessman. He pitted his editors against each other, making sure that the workplace was filled with competition for the best story. Even though he suffered from poor eyesight, diabetes, weak lungs, exhaustion, and asthma, Pulitzer continued to run his paper with lethal fortitude. After all, he had "created the world" and he was determined to live in that very world – the one that regarded him as a king among newspaper tyrants.
While yells of "Get da lead outta yer pants!" and "Dose papes won't wait long ta be sold!", the newsies stood in line, impatiently waiting to buy their stack for the day. Behind Jack stood the rest of the boys in an unorganized line. Racetrack was checking his pocket watch to see how much time had elapsed while in line. Mush kept eyeing the women crossing the street in front of the distribution center. Kid Blink's eye was incessantly focused on the front of the line, anxious to buy his papers. Pie Eater was finishing up an extra roll he'd snatched from the nun's cart. Specs had been fumbling with his bowler hat, readjusting it just in time for Dutchy to push it over his eyes for the tenth time. Bumlets and Skittery discussed plans for a 'duel' later on with their prized walking sticks. Boots, Tumbler, Slider, and Snipeshooter were comparing marbles. Snitch was counting his coins, calculating how many papers he could afford. Snoddy stared off into space, his mind a jumbled mess of malcontent. Itey couldn't leave his suspenders alone as his teeth gnawed on the fabric. Swifty had his eyes on Jake who was practicing flipping his bowler in the air with ease. Crutchy was running his mouth a mile a minute to Sutty, a newcomer to the Lower Manhattan Newsboys. Glory was brooding in his corner, annoyed that he couldn't properly think over the loud banter of the boys. The line continued on, newsboys filling into the distribution center as morning wore on.
During the summer, Jack's right-hand man, David Jacobs, and his younger brother, Les, would be standing beside him to sell papers to help his family pay the bills. But springtime was upon Manhattan, and David was in school, leaving Jack without Les, whom could easily fake a nasty cough, enhancing their profits for the day. Though Jack enjoyed the younger boy's company, mainly for reasons of money, many of the boys sold separately, eager to gain as much profit as possible. A selling partner only hindered their earnings for the day, and brought on unwanted competition.
As the boys filtered through the line, the newsgirls entered through the gates, their arrival hindered by not only the farther walk from the boarding house, but the fact that the boys were always to go first – the girls to get the 'leftover papers'. It was an unspoken rule that had never been challenged and part of the ongoing argument over women's equality. There were only about a quarter as many newsgirls as boys, the rest of the street dwellers choosing places such as the factories or entertainment halls as their line of work. Of the ones that came, most were from the boarding house a few blocks away. The girls entered together, huddled in a pack formation designed to help keep the unwanted comments of the newsboys at bay. Many of the boys disliked sharing a job with members of the opposite sex, and some were relentless in letting the girls in on their opinions.
One was lucky if he could pick out a single conversation within the girls' group without getting caught up in an array of different topics. Gambler was annoyed at the incessant talking of Riley, who was babbling about the recent rainy weather, Sparrow was off daydreaming about a boy ahead of her in line, Annie, Mayhem, Slick, and Smalls were chatting about the best selling spots that the boys hadn't figured out yet, Sage was giving Calliope advice on her new relationship with the newsboy Snoddy, while Stretch and Holiday were eavesdropping on the conversation from the back of the line, eager to pick up today's gossip.
Once papers were purchased, the kids hurried to claim their selling spots before another newsie beat them to it. There was hardly any sharing when selling papes was concerned, even when one was new to the game. You sold by yourself, using your own wit, or you were simply not a real newsie – you were a cad in need of a good soaking – and there were plenty of newsies who would soak you in an instant. The newsies held their selling spots in high regard. It was like gang territory. One did not overstep his boundaries unless he wanted a fight, and a fight is what he would get if there were any discrepancies. Many of the newsies were highly skilled in the art of combat, merely because they had to fight to survive – to prove that they were not to be messed with, or to be taken as a lightweight fool.
To be continued
