8

ON THE LAST LAP TO OUR GOAL

At last we were roll-called to get on the boat. We were launched in a big barge and while the waves were throwing us up and down and sideways, I was greatly wondering to myself how could we go on the ocean in such an open boat--suppose it rains? -But then, I thought maybe it doesn't rain on the ocean. But there is no room to move! After sailing for a while, I looked out and saw a large ferry boat with little windows on decks. "Ah, that's different," I thought to myself; at least you can get inside and have some room. We all went on deck and sat down bundled up and now, me thought, we are on our way to cross the ocean. But after sailing for a few hours we neared a huge passenger-ship against which the other boats looked like toys. Here we embarked and settled, for our long journey. It took us two weeks to get across the sea it was considered fast time. We were given our berths in steerage, one cot above the other and everything went well until, well until the world began to go topsy-turvy. We began to feel sea-sick, each taking a turn. But being a malady of a passing nature we were soon relieved and mother began to worry and plan about our new destination.

The sail on the ship was mingled with the usual joys and sorrows. One midnight, some passengers were relating, the ship stopped long enough to throw the corpse of a dead man overboard to appease the whales and waves of the ocean and thereby giving the steamer a safe voyage across. There were groups of immigrants from all nationalities enjoying themselves in their characteristic folkways. --Here a group of Slavic youths were playing on their accordions and dancing to the tune, while in another corner were Italian concertists playing mandolins and banjoes and singing to harmony. One young man was performing comical acts and generally made a fool of himself to amuse the passengers from the upper cabins, thereby making a few pennies and getting some fruit thrown over to him. I remember seeing the same young man, later, on Rutgers Square, sitting near the fountain with such poise and gentlemanship. I couldn't approach him, while on the ship he was fooling and mingling with everyone.

The fortnight passed by and the entire ship was on its feet observing the myriad of lights twinkling from the Golden Land and winking to each of us immigrants, in a different way: To some it shone, like bright stars promising flirtingly, happy days and a prosperous life; while to others they were stern looks of destiny, enchanting their future lives with hard toil and worry. Not a few worried about their entrance within the gates of freedom, amongst them being my mother who was in fear of non-admittance because she didn't give proper notice of our arrival and so we feared not having someone to welcome us at Castle Garden and so we'd be undesirable aliens. But the Statue of Liberty smiled happily on us and when our steamer the "Patricia"--to immortalize it--pulled into harbor, it didn't take more than two hours and we were riding on a Broadway car towards the East Side, escorted by our father and best friend up to the present day--B.J. Father was waiting for us at Castle Garden all dolled up, but we soon recognized him though he left us having a thick black beard and here he was clean shaven and looked ten years younger.

The street-car looked novel to me, being run without horses but after being transferred from it to a horse-drawn car on Madison Street, I regretted the change just as if it were a symbol of our future life--changeable from fair to worse and better. And so we arrived on the corner of Henry and Clinton Streets.

CHAPTER III

IN THE LAND OF CHANCE

1

GAZE AND DAZE

A drab five-story tenement presently suitable for discard but a model dwelling for twenty five families, thirty five years ago. As each flat had a bath and toilet in the hallway shared by two tenants; a sink with hot and cold running water on the premises--that was as modern and up-to-date as any East Side denizen could wish for. A coal stove in the kitchen served as a cooker and heat supplier and the coal was supplied by a monger underneath the structure so much per bag. Into the entrails of that haven, father conveyed us to the very last floor and introduced us into the circle where he lodged. For the first time in a life time I had coffee with milk, crispy rolls and fresh buns--the taste of which still tickles my palate. After that breakfast, America looked rosy to me. The hallways were play-grounds for boys and girls--spinning tops, tossing pictures, playing school--all that was of interest and new.

2

SIGHT SEEING

Yoshke, a landsman boarding in the same flat took me out for a good time. Upon his shoulder he took the burden or pleasure to show me places. He brought me to the Bowery, then the center of amusement and made the rounds of the penny arcades where we cranked the handles of one machine and another and I took in sights both alluring and fascinating. For a change, after inserting another few pennies, he tubed me up with rubber pipes and I listened to concerts a penny's worth. In addition he treated me with chocolate-coated bons, after it opened in my mouth a flow of whiskey surprised my gums and tuned my tongue ready for a toast. The rolling trucks and din of the elevated lulled me into unconscious nervousness and buzzed in my ears a serenade of a good time.

Several days later a set of old-town lads took me out slumming to Chinatown and thereabouts. I marveled at the length of the Oriental queues which I saw for the first time and regretted the unrealized almonds in their eyes which I would fain crack most relishingly. The boys treated me with bamboo sticks which suck sweet and Chinese nuts, soft and hollow. Wasn't that adventure galore?

On another day they took me on a spree to Central Park. We covered a score of miles back and forth and we gave our calves good exercise but we saw real bulls and bears--not phony ones of the stock market type--besides cooing monkeys and affable gorillas. Not mentioning the museums with stuffed monsters and artful nudes. My curiosity was aroused above my knowledge and life seemed more mystified than nature revealed. Homeward we stopped at one comrade's house where I was feted with the usual bowl of fruit among which was a long pale object, they called "pinaane." They saved me an embarrassing moment by peeling it for me for fear I may have eaten it over and above, skin and all. My teeth gradually slid into it and it was cool and gliding but I made the best of it and liked it too and am still in love with it up to the present day.

That was all in the honeymoon of our arrival. Our friend, Mrs. B brought me to a little red school on Norfolk Street where they put me in the A's--a big boy among a bunch of kids but I had some consolation when a red-cheeked youth, tucked in a red sweater with high collar I was introduced to the Irish teacher and I must have made such a favorable impression on her that she kissed me on both cheeks. That's a flattering introduction for a foreign lad.

3

DISILLUSIONMENT

Things did not look bright. Our parents were torn asunder and father disappeared from the scene. The Gouverneur flat seemed too burdensome on our meager chest, so mother hired a basement flat on Cherry Street, where light was a visitor and rate steady companions. She got it doubly reasonable, one able reason being that she gave that dark tenement janitorial service.

The light was supplied in that subterranean flat by a "quarter" gas meter. It so happened that when mother put in the first silver coin in that magic box, a guiding providence played a miracle in it and supplied that beneficent poison for the next eight months without interruption or molestation. But all good things have a turn: One day a "Bald man" lowered himself to our cave and began to ask questions. He poked the meter, fingered bills but mother shrugged her shoulders and claimed ignorance. Another bad man called and threatened with confiscation and incarceration if we don't pay up our arrears--this time mother pleaded poverty--"I ain't got"--that’s the best answer. So the Gas Company lost hopes of collecting post mortem bills and shut off our supply. As we couldn't stay in a dark dungeon, so we moved to a two-room apartment on Jackson Street in a back yard where the sun was not a steady frequenter and the ceiling did not allow to raise our heads. But eight dollars rent was rather a tax on our resources so mother took in a couple of "boarders".

YANKEL AND REB YOSSEL

As we had two rooms and mother, sister and myself could well sleep in one room, we rented the other alcove to the two brothers for five dollars a month and that helped us reduce the burden. Yankel was a young bachelor, near the forties, stockily built but mentally backward for his age, toiling in the sweat-shops, day and night saving every penny and accumulating a little fortune which gave him great pleasure in the mere thought of it.

Reb Yossel, his elder brother was a married man who left his family on the other side and jumped down here just to make a few "thousands" and go back to his native town and plan the role of a parvenu. He used to shine his shoes with stove polish as it was cheaper and be liked that special luster.

I kept up with my newspaper traffic gradually working up a route. I made a hundred private customers on all parts of the East Side and fifteen news-stands to supply with Jewish papers, mornings and afternoons. I got up five in the morning, running wild in all directions until school time and after three o'clock I doubled up on one side under the weight of the pulp over the strap hanging on my shoulder. I rushed the life out of me hustling to deliver the fresh-baked news on time, getting hell every day from a different customer for tardiness. I had to climb dingy stairways in dark halls, top flights in moldy shop-lofts all for a half-penny, crediting an account here and there for weeks, losing now and then hard-earned quarters--for there are shirkers and shysters to every honest cent. But all in all I was happy in the thought that I helped mother. It also gave me a sense of independence as I always had money at my command.

My trade was so scattered that I had to get sister Ida to service some of the overflow on one wing of the Ghetto. She used to meet me at four o'clock on some corner to take her batch of papers most reluctantly and canter off sullenly for depriving her of valuable playtime. Quite often I pitied my own neglected youth when other boys enjoyed sports and leisure indulgence I had to tramp the gutters to the tune of duty and want.

After making the rounds and having extra stock on hand I often was stuck with superfluous copies and had to dispose of it on the bargain block. That bourse was on the corner of Hester and Essex Streets. In line with other commodities such as: horse-radish, pickles and neckties a corps of news-boys would cry off their wares at a sacrifice price of two for one cent, naturally one of a kind. As this was our cost price, we were content of coming out even and not be stuck with "dead" stock. One benefit of that mass of printed matter handled was that I swallowed its contents in my spare moments. I doted on the popularized scientific and informative articles which the Yiddish press is always abounding in. I read with gusto and passion all the news-papers and magazines that were published in Jewish though it was preponderously foreign and handicapping my acquisition of English.

MR. SHANO

The three-story front building together with the double two-story shacks in the yard including the six-compartmented lavatory in the centre of the domain was superintended by good old Mr. Shano, a good-humored bachelor somewhere in the fifties but could well pass in the forties. He was part owner of that realm and lived on the premises together with a younger sister who was newly married. Mr. Shano was a frequenter of the three saloons winking attractively from the three corners of the street (the fourth corner belonged to the Jackson Park) but was near drunk and chewed his tobacco with food naturally while fussing with a candle in the path of the lavatory or dabbing a brush against a fence and humming some German tune. He was of German American stock, friendly, amiable as of pre-nazi days. I cannot forget him for a little incident which showed his consideration for his neighbors. It happened that I got some pain in the side. (There is always someone to give it to us) and mother knew that a dead person's hand, encircles around any aching part would take the pain away. Unfortunately, Mr. Shanos's sister dies after a short ailment and he was greatly depressed like all his neighbors and acquaintances. Mother was highly moved and affecting her maternal keenness for her own brood she implored our good landlord to allow the esteemed mortal to give a lending hand for her ailing son. Mr. Shano readily consented. The next morning, while we were in bed yet, he knocked on the door for mother--make ready for her necromantic performance. I hurriedly donned my trousers and half-clad we entered the mortals parlour. The young woman had a bright hue on her face with an inviting mien. A priest was pacing the floor and a mortician looked anxious not to disturb his slumbering prey. Mother cautiously tip-toed to the coffin, kissed the parting hand, and grasping it graciously, she turned it several times around my ailing side, moving her lips in silent supplicative prayer. On our departure, mother's eyes were sparkling with tears of sympathy but also with tars of gratitude for gratifying her maternal wish and hope of restoring the health of her only son.

5

THE CLAN

They had a good "season" and Reb Yossel was getting ready for his perennial leave. But before departing, a younger brother, Michael and a brother-in-law, Otzik arrived to fill the vacancy. Their motto was: Do not cease to mulch Uncle Sam. As there were three to take the place of two they contemplated on moving. But mother could not afford to let go of that bite so we moved to Mott Street in a two-room flat on the top floor but the bed-room was more spacious embracing the trio in semi-comfort and contentment for their $4.00 per month. Michael was a runabout seldom in before bed-time while Itzik, --a red-bearded brick-layer was always on hand after a hard day's work and turned in early for snoring exercises to gain strength for the coming day. On summer nights when the Ghetto was gasping for a breath of air, it was a boon living on the top floor as it was a step nearest the roof where the entire population rolled in ecstatic relapse. The restless youth mandalined, guitared and sang while the elder folk gazed at the stars, inhaled the cooling air and chatted at random. On such a night Itzik would lay outstretched on an old quilt, hold on to his beard with one hand and dream of his "shtetele" in the Ukraine where his wife would roll on all sides and dream of her beloved Itzik.

6

LIFE GOES ON

Whether in luxury or want-the years roll on. Here I was of mature age and still in Public School. Still I roamed the town plying my trade and indifferent to future plans. But outside forces change our course sooner than premeditated designs. The turning pivot at that junction was The Metrop. News Co. Those were the days of trust-forming. Like The Standard Oil squashing all its opponents or The Steel Trust forcing out all independents, this news company planned to control the distribution of all Jewish papers to the news-stands and by hook or crook reached its goal.-- One morning while calling for my Journals I was refused the sale of it except for my retail trade and Mr. I., the president of that Company (now a charitable individual) took me aside and began asking confidential questions as if taking an interest in our welfare. He finally consoled me--I shouldn't worry--he'll take care of me: I should see him in the afternoon. The Tageblatt was the most circulated afternoon paper at that time and the first "Newsies" running out with it were cleared out with little effort. The more ambitious lads with pep in them would sell their batch to older boys fight for a nickel thus making a profit from hand to hand. That little turnover was a pawn in the hands of the rising monopolists. Mr. I. promised to let me in on the first issues thus making up for the lost trade. Other boys of my class were promised jobs with the company and so diplomatically, they took in the distributing trade in their hands. For a time they made good their promises and I could get along. But once they achieved their purpose they didn't have anymore use for us and we were left to the mercy of the Gods. I could not very well get along on my divided trade and was rather disheartened. There I was sixteen years of age and not out of public school yet, (to my luck it fell that just that year two extra grades were added--8A and 8 B). And how I longed to get a diploma but seemed to miss the grade--started a bit too late. That was life so I gave up my vocation and was in market for a job.

7

READY FOR SHOP

I had some job to collect the little debts left behind here and there and to forget about some entirely. But the job of getting a job was left, like other headaches, to Mother. Mrs. W. was a charitable lady and knew of all needy "cases". Her husband was a sub-contractor on pocket books and kept a sweat-shop in a store on Madison Street. It was rather dark and unventilated. A set of "piece" working slaves were stuffing and riveting costly wallets into the deep of night, as it was the height of the season and they were good for 18 to 20 dollars per week. That was good pay. Into that busy bee, Mrs. W.--who knew my mother, offered me employment for 3 dollars a week as a start with a promise of graduation, advancement as a prospective. I stood for ten-hours a day on my feet, pasting bands, leather and the like, closed in the rear of the store, gasping for air. That was my first indoor-job but didn't seem to last long as the season was over and my enthusiasm as a toiler on empty wallets very chilly so I found myself out of the job.

DISTRIBUTION

Once again I leaned on mother's wide acquaintance to place me in some vocation and before long I answered a call to a printing shop where I thought I'd be put to the task of making print--animated words for which I had a certain awe and respect but instead I was turned over in charge of another man whose task was to advertise the plant. They were making silk type-writer ribbons and went after an extensive office trade. We had to carry advertisements and samples while my spokesman had to make the offices for some sales talk. But that business medium seemed to believe more in disposition than distribution when we did our duty by one part the other three parts of the matter were scattered on all sides thereby giving us an hour of leisure and meditation as to our humble rank. That job did not appeal much to my higher aspirations so I quit it and went in quest of another one.

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To be continued