Things went downhill after that. A few of the younger men at the wharf had heard about the incident with the three guys, and they began to cause trouble. It took me awhile to pin it down, but I realized that this was about me. My reputation had grown after taking down three men at once, so guys would pick on my boys in the hopes of drawing me out; that way they could fight me and hopefully boost their own reputations. It was aggravating because my boys kept getting hurt, and I kept having to fight. The good news was that I was getting better—faster—as was my reputation. But it kept me busy all spring, and I have to say that getting jumped by a gang is no fun. I had started implementing safety systems for my guys, and we had teamed up with the bootblacks, with whom we were finally on better terms, to create a more unified message system as well as to provide some backup. Bootblacks are a bit more accepted by the bulls, so they could always get help if someone was in real trouble. It's a handy system. We also teamed up with all the other street folks and the like in our area. I even had the girls at Ms. Cara's listening for information on planned attacks for us. I knew that things would die down eventually; I only hoped I could hold out and that none of my guys would get hurt. I took the brunt of things on myself, though.
I have to say that I enjoyed having a birthday. I had never had one before. I mean, I obviously got older and all, but many of the guys are like me—they either don't know their birthdays or they don't tell. It's just not something we discuss because nobody cares. Katja cared, though—enough to not just acknowledge but also create a day for me. She even picked one with special meaning to her. I tried to tell myself that she was just being nice, but a part of me felt pretty self-satisfied; she must really like me. No. I squashed that thought. Spot Conlon does not have feelings like that. He's a womanizer, not a one-woman guy. I ruthlessly crushed those feelings. Actually, no I didn't. After all, why else had I asked her father about taking her out, just the two of us?
Katja was so adorable when she gave me my gift. She was shy and a bit offended that I would laugh at her like that. Maybe it wasn't tactful, but I couldn't help it! She just got so flustered and ended up throwing a present at me. Yeah, it definitely didn't help that whole problem with having feelings when she did something so cute.
That summer things changed in the business. The boys and I had a rough go of it when the price for our papes went up. I would have to come up with something; this was too much for many of my younger boys to handle. I was mulling this and a few things I had heard over on a stack of crates at the docks one day in July when the Cowboy showed up. I don't see him often, but he's a good guy—the leader of the East Side boys in Manhattan. He told me about his plans for a strike, something I had already heard about. Word on the street travels fast, and I make it a point to listen and be in the know. Jack's new pal Dave was talking awfully fast trying to get me to commit to the thing. Mouth. I had to think about it, so I played it cool-but Mouth had a brain, and I suspected he was right and that it would work-IF their boys could see it through.
That night I headed over to Manhattan after hearing about Jack's boys' run on the distribution center. Blink was there; he told me about Jack's trip to the refuge to get Crutchy out. That's when I made my decision. If Jack was willing to risk getting caught and sent back to the refuge, he was serious. The fact that Crutchy was there was actually enough. He's the most honest newsie anyone has ever known and did not deserve the refuge. But Jack's actions sealed it. I headed back and gathered the boys to tell them about the strike. It turned out to be a good thing I did.
The next day we were headed over to Manhattan early when we heard from one of my runners that things were going down at the distribution office. I signaled to Red, and we climbed up on the rooftops. I split the guys and we surrounded the office—just in time by the looks of things. The Five Pointers were there to do the dirty work. Thankfully those guys, despite their reputation, had nothing on Brooklyn. We grew up the hard way. The whole thing was over in minutes, and the strike was on.
The whole affair was a tense one. I did enjoy getting to know Denton, though. I didn't tell him much about myself; it never pays to give a newspaper man information, and I didn't trust him. I used him. I learned a bit about the business, and I learned a bit more about college. He was a nice enough guy, and I could see how much of an inspiriation he was to Mouth. He's one of the lucky newsies-he has a family and a future. After all of this, I think it might be in journalism. However, it was the big rally at Irving Hall that cemented my own future.
Jack had been talking for a bit, but the conversation moved toward not soaking the scabs. Dave and I had had this argument several times, but here it was, on display for everyone. I had actually realized already that Dave was right, but I also knew that many of the boys, particularly my own, were itching for a more direct fight. By letting them see that I felt the same way but was still willing to go along with Mouth, they would accept it more readily-so I let Jack and Dave push me a bit on stage, getting a bit worked up and letting things progress until Jack cornered me-actually, he and Mouth were the only ones who knew that the whole thing was a show.
I surveyed the group from the stage; there they were—thousands of newsboys from all over New York, looking at Jack and looking at me. They relied on us. There was Jack, looking to me for a decision. I felt the weight of the world on me for a moment, and my eyes fell on little Roller. I realized that the show I was putting on was important, but it was even more important that we all take this seriously and come out on top. I took a deep but invisible breath, then spoke my part.
"I say that what you say . . . " I paused for dramatic effect, staring down Jack and knowing in that instant that I held the entire strike in my hands " . . . is what I say." I smirked at Jack, and he grinned back. We spit shook on it before enjoying some vaudeville entertainment. This was what we had needed-a sense of unified strength and relaxed fun. The evening was going well when Mouth shook me and said something in my ear.
"It's Snyder. We gotta get Jack out," he said. I nodded and moved off. Mouth moved toward the Cowboy, but I thought about Roller. I headed over to Red.
"Get the youngsters out. Bulls are here," I said before turning to help Mouth. The noise picked up, and the whole situation devolved rapidly. We tried to get Jack out—we really did—but we were vastly overfaced. While we had numbers, most of them were young and small. I helped get a number of little kids and girls out before things were getting desperate. I joined the fray, but I don't remember much. I think I was targeted pretty early, because it wasn't long before I woke up in a jail cell with a number of other newsies, mostly from Manhattan. These guys had certainly put it all out there for Jack—Blink was still out when I awoke, and Racetrack looked a bit rough. They filled me in-well, Snoddy did-Race and Blink had been out before Jack was caught.
I was pleased with two main developments-the first was that most of my own boys had gotten out as far as I could gather-Trug and Fish were in with me, but the rest were nowhere to be seen. The same was true for most of the other boroughs. It also appeared as if most of the younger, more vulnerable boys had gotten out-Snipeshooter and Boots being the noteable exceptions. That told me the boys were devoted to each other as well as their cause. Good. That will make them more likely to stick it out. They had managed to get Dave out somehow, which also told me they were not fools. Good. We had this strike thing in the bag-we just needed to get out of jail.
The next morning we were taken in front of the judge as a group. That snooty, crooked, and awful man barely gave us a glance.
"Are any of you represented by counsel?" he asked, and as most of the boys were still trying to figure out what he meant, my mind was taking a different track. This man wasn't here to listen to us, and we had no options. The only thing left was to take this smug mug down a peg.
"Good, that'll move things along considerably," he said before anyone had answered, and I knew there would be no justice here.
"Your honor, I object," I said, mostly just hoping to get him to look at us. We are human beings, for crying out loud. Snipeshooter can't be twelve yet, and Boots is about the same. Pie Eater is probably the oldest, and even he's only 17. The judge looked at me with a piercing stare that probably intimidated lots of people, but it just annoyed me.
"On what grounds?" he asked, hoping I wouldn't know how to answer. I didn't really, but that wasn't going to stop me. If he was going to make a mockery of our justice system, so was I.
"On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor," I said as if it were obvious. In that moment I knew—I wanted to become a lawyer so that newsies and others like us would always have "counsel." The boys all laughed, and I decided that I would enjoy the game while I could. Why not have fun with the man since we weren't going to get anything else out of the deal? Before I could stop the snickering, though, the judge had passed his sentence. Five bucks? What newsboy had that? Well, I did, but I wasn't about to say it—or pay it to this crooked windbag.
Racetrack was quick; I always liked his wit and sarcasm. He offered to roll the judge for it. That was pretty funny. We were about to be shuffled off when that newspaper man Denton came and paid our fines.
As soon as I was released I headed over to Brooklyn to check on the boys. Red had done a good job—only the two other Brooklynites had been arrested with me, and nobody was seriously hurt. I did, however, have to dig out some of my cash. I had depleted the jar, and I took as equitably as I could from each boy's sock to cover lodging for those who needed it—our younger boys, those who were not healthy, and those doing a lot of picketing. A bunch of us slept on the streets, and I was mostly staying in Manhattan with the other strike leaders. Food was a bigger problem, because all of the boys had to eat, including the ones like Red who slept on the streets for a few days until the lodging house waived its fee. I know several of the older boys kicked down some cash, and we had collected some donations, but most of it had to come from me. I had two hundred newsies. While many of them lived with families and were at least able to eat something, a lot of the boys had nothing. It pained me to dig into that fund, but what else could I do? Not a one of my boys went hungry (though I did!), and I am proud of that—it wasn't the case in the other boroughs. Everybody got at least one large meal a day, even if the lodging and food for my Brooklyn boys did cost me $35. Yes, that's right—the average monthly wage for a working American and more than most newsies see in a lifetime. I was just glad I had it. The rest of the boys combined for $15, a large portion of which came from Red, who like me was careful with his cash and had some savings. He was stoic about it, though.
Those two weeks were rough, but the result led to perhaps one of the most fortuitous events of my life. After the demonstration at the plaza, Governor Roosevelt showed up and gave me a ride back to Brooklyn. I got to spend 30 minutes in a carriage with Governor Theodore Roosevelt, and I was definitely going to take advantage of it!
"Well, young man, you seem to have quite a reputation," the governor said.
"I lead the Brooklyn newsies—the toughest group there is," I said evasively. He grinned at that.
"You are going places, I think. Have you thought about your future beyond newspapers?" he asked, and this time I grinned.
"I am planning to go to college. I'm saving now, but it may take me awhile. I want to be a lawyer."
The governor chuckled. "I take it your recent brush with the law influenced that decision," he said, and I couldn't help but smirk.
"Yeah," I said.
"You are tough. We need more tough people in high places," he replied. I thought about that. Denton had told me Roosevelt was tough; they had known each other down in Cuba.
"Yes, sir," I said. Then the conversation turned to pure gold. Roosevelt told me about a lawyer in Brooklyn—a friend of his—named Donovan.
"I'll have you begin to study with him. You can learn about the field before heading to college. It might help," he said.
I couldn't thank the man enough. I don't normally have a lot of patience for the high society types, but Governor Roosevelt was different. He told me about some of his hunting adventures out west, and he made me promise to send him a letter every month about the affairs of the street rats of New York.
"I want to know the truth about what's really going on in my state and city," he said. "You can help make sure nobody pulls the wool over my eyes again." I promised I would do that.
My return to the lodging house was strange. None of the boys were there yet, having to walk from the rally, and I had a lot on my mind. I spent several hours on the roof. None of the boys even knew I was there. I lay there thinking for hours; I had a lot to consider going forward.