May 1, 1903
He stepped out onto the corner of Nassau and Frankfort streets, pressing his eyes shut at the dying sunlight of the day. With his eyes closed and one deep breath it was easy enough to believe that Manhattan had refused to change in the 13 months he had been away. Bryan Denton had traveled the world and in all his travels had found no other place that smelled like lower Manhattan.
The clamoring of a motor and a ridiculous honking noise pulled Denton's eyes open. A dull red Pierce Motorette car trotted past him and around the corner to Frankfort Street, making it impossible to deny the change. More automobiles and less horses, were an undeniable march towards progress. And yet, everything remained the same.
"Thousands of Workers Hold up Construction! Subway Strike!" A shrill young voice carried across the paved street. Denton snapped his attention to the newsboy waving around a single edition of The Evening World. The man stood rooted just steps from the entrance of The Sun offices starring out at the newsy. It wasn't a boy the reporter recognized. The bustle was starting, as the workday dwindled to a close and reporters, editors, and printers set home for the evening.
"Samuels from the World mentioned getting some leads on stories about the strike three days ago. Says they've got some chirping little birds about." A young reporter explained to his trailing companion, paying no mind to his steps forward and knocking into Denton.
"Careful there chap," The other reporter laughed. "That's Bryan Denton, our ace war correspondent."
"Pardon, Mr. Denton" The younger reporter mumbled embarrassed.
"Who needs leads on labor strikes? Nothing quite so predictable as strikes in this city." Denton smiled sardonically at the reporters. He knew Franklin Pierce, a sports reporter who had been with the Sun as long as he had.
"Denton covered the newsboy strike, a couple years back. Made a real splash of it, helping print a one-sheet and everything for the little street urchins." Franklin laughed.
"If that was the Evening World, it must be past four?" Denton wondered out loud, ignoring the annoyance that flared in him at the insult to the boys he had known. He'd never bothered explaining himself to anyone at the paper, and he wasn't about to start now.
"You've just returned from covering the Venezuelan Crisis?" The younger reporter asked eagerly. Denton could sense in the tone a curiosity and hunger.
"I've a dinner to not be late for, gentlemen." Denton nodded a quick and slightly rude farewell, turning on his heel and striding away before he could be drawn into the excitement of the young reporter whose name he would learn later.
Denton stepped across the road hurrying and meandering in only the way being in Manhattan could make him move. A pair of police officers trotted by on their horses, muttering greetings to him as they passed. He maneuvered past a gangly boy crouching over a portly gentlemen shining his boots and regurgitating the shouted headlines of thousands striking and delays in subway construction.
Reporting in New York City was so simple. The chatter was endless - whispering, murmuring, shouting, singing, every word so clear and in English. In Venezuela, he had to concentrate so much more on listening and understanding every word. Denton let memory guide him downtown as he began a soft effortless whistle.
Stepping around a corner, Denton noticed the children immediately. The newsboys had taught Bryan Denton that the children of New York were an undeniable force and noticing had become an instinct.
Two small almost identical-looking boys sat on the steps of a building with a boot blacking kit between them. Each boy was wearing a hat, ridiculously too big for their heads, and yet not enough to cover their bright red hair. Another older boy was hoovering impatiently nearby with a kit of matches slung over his shoulders. The three boys clearly knew each other, as they were engaged in a heated conversation.
"Stoleroff reported his pocket picked." One of the twins quipped.
"That's was in the Evening World." The match boy replied.
"Yes, but Laces…" The other twin began but stop at a sharp loud whistle from above. It was the kind of whistle that required hooking two fingers into one's bottom lip and pressing the air through gaps. A reprimanding sound. Denton snapped his head back, inexplicably ready to find the source of the whistle. The boys had started moving.
"…Well she said Stoleroff stole the money himself." One of the twins continued to explain. Denton frowned at the retreating boys, curious as to why black boots would have noticed something below the fold several pages into last evening's paper.
"Extra, Extra! The King of New York Returns!" The headline carried from across the street, not quite shouted but projected enough to catch his attention. Denton spun around to find the newsboy, an unfamiliar voice saying familiar words.
The young man across the way stood with his feet comfortably apart, his cap barely above his eyes, and none of his papers in his hands. He was the only newsy on the block and though he wasn't the scrappy little boy anymore his face was, in fact, more familiar then his voice.
"Well look at you," Denton smiled brightly. Les Jacobs was taller than Denton now, though still just as scrawny as he had been. All sharp angles and thin limbs, in a way neither his older brother or sister had ever been.
"If it ain't the ace war correspondent." Les grinned pushing his cap up. There was still something about his cheeks, not quite the roundness but maybe the dimples, that brimmed with a boyish youth.
"Isn't this where Jack use to sell?"
"Only on Fridays." Les shrugged. "I read your last piece on Venezuela, don't agree with Teddy?"
"You know, he's never liked that nickname," Denton commented waving off his own surprise at the boy's astute observation.
"You are going to be late to dinner." Les nodded, finally reaching down to hoist his bag of papers over his shoulder. He tilted his head in the direction downtown where Denton was expected for dinner.
"How do you know I'm having dinner?"
"Ace War Correspondent back in New York City for the first time in years, call it a lucky guess." Les shrugged again, a gesture that seemed forced on the savvy young man. Denton frowned.
"With such a quick mind, I hope you are keeping up with your studies."
Les stepped away from the reporter, pulled out a paper and shouted a headline. Denton kept walking along knowing from experience the newsboy would follow after his sale.
"$100 picked pocketed near No.57 Stanton Street!" The shouted headline attracted a passing businessman. It was a full block before Les rejoined Denton.
"My brother wrote you." Les practically whined, once he was in step with Denton.
"Your brother writes me on occasion. As does Jack." Denton smiled wearily at the boy, the reporter knew that no matter how much his elder brother might want him to return to a schoolroom, Les Jacobs never would.
"I learned everything a school could teach me from Davey and Jack." Les snapped sullenly and Denton didn't doubt it for a moment. David Jacobs and Jack Kelly had taught Denton a great deal he had never learned from his lessons either.
"You shouted a headline earlier, about the pickpocketing of one hundred dollars. It's the second time I've heard that story this evening," Denton started curiously.
"It's a good headline." Les replied by way of explanation.
"Does that Evening World accuse the victim of stealing it himself?" Denton wondered.
"Why don't you buy the pape, and read for yourself?" Les quipped, stepping away to make yet another sale.
It wasn't a quiet walk downtown and it didn't escape Denton's attention that Les seemed to know where he was heading for dinner. The crowds were getting thicker in the financial district as banks closed for the day, and men started to make their way home and the newsboy kept his distance for a while to shout headlines. Denton watched from across the street as Les stopped to speak to a friendly carriage driver or nearby bootblack, never once hesitating or falling too far behind. Les Jacobs and Manhattan itself had grown, changed, in a way that was off-putting even if familiar.
The whistling came from every direction, in every pitch and swam between shouting and laughter with motors and horses, so it was impossible to track the meddles. Unless, of course, you knew what to listen for amongst the chaos. A feather settled in the corner of a window and Les spotted the bird immediately. A boy, dressed as a clerk, stepping down from locking an office door.
"Laces spotted the Gov arriving near a quarter of an hour ago, and suspects he likely wants a paper." The bird murmured as he accepted his own paper. Les nodded not daring to speak any words but looking into his bag to count his remaining papers. With only two left, he crossed the street to find Denton once again.
"The others, the reporters in the office, were chatting about how they've been getting tips from the children of the city, whispers in the shadows, knowledgeable little ruffians. Do you happen to know anything about it?' Denton questioned as if the boy had been in conversation with him their entire walk.
"No." Les shook his head. "I do know Ted arrived near a quarter of an hour ago, and he isn't a patient man from what I remember."
"President Roosevelt may appreciate your cheek, but do show some respect if I invite you to dinner?" Denton sighed.
"You'll buy my last two papers?" Les demanded.
"You knew I would seven blocks ago." Denton sighed impatiently. He had forgotten the very impertinence of the newsboys.
"The President is going to ask you to go to Panama." Les mused.
"I am a newspaperman, not a presidential errand boy" Denton explained.
"A newspaperman the president likes to read, even when you don't agree. He's got interests in Panama and needs an inside man."
"And I suppose one of these whispers in the shadows told you so?"
"No, they may have told me he was waiting. But I told you, David taught me to read and Jack taught me to understand. I've been more educated than most blokes. Anyone paying attention knows why Roosevelt wants to see you tonight." Les grinned as he held open to door to the Citadel.
"Tiresome, overly confident boys." Denton rolled his eyes, stepping into the bustling Delmonico's. One whiff of the heavenly steak and Denton remembered he hadn't eaten since morning. The meal would be long, involved but also undeniably delicious.