Part Two of A Newsie's Tale
Part Two
It was the silence that woke me, the sudden silence after a thunder storm that sounds as loud as the thunder itself. The rumbles that echoed down from the sky, through the empty streets and rattled the buildings had hushed its menacing voice. It wasn’t over, I knew. The quiet that had settled over everything was tense. It was as if the sky was holding its breath, waiting.
Even though I could no longer hear the thunder, I could hear the rain. Splattering down from the rooftops it poured through the gutters, rushed over the pavement and finally drained down the rain gutter I was sleeping on. Opening my eyes a crack, I looked around.
It was still night, the alley was dark and misty. Dimly, I could see a couple figures huddled sleeping amid the crates that had been piled against the brick wall. Water dripped from the eaves nearly five stories above me to form tiny rivers that flowed over the glistening pavement. These rivers cascaded over the edge of the gutter, miniature waterfalls that tumbled down into the sewer all around me. The vibrations they created thrummed lightly through my bones.
I shifted my slight body on the iron grate, trying to find a more comfortable position. It was no use. No matter how I twisted and turned, the grate still ground unyieldingly into me. Sighing, I curled up on my side and stared into the darkness, fully awake. The gutter may not have been very comfortable, but my companions lying on the crates were probably quite damp by now, while I was nice and dry.
A large, cold drop of water landed directly on my bare ankle.
Well, almost dry.
I squirmed a bit more, then finally, half dozing, settled down and watched the steamy mist rise from the cobblestones. My breath rose in faint puffs, a flowing fog that blocked my sight for a brief moment before drifting upwards to join into the mist that hung damply over everything. It was relaxing, like counting sheep, and I drifted off to sleep as the thunder started up again.
* * *
"Hey, Squeak."
"Just a few more minutes," I mumbled, still half asleep. "I’ll be up in a sec..."
"Squeaker!"
My eyes flew open. It had been about a year since I had run away, but I still had dreams that I was back home in Brooklyn. I wasn’t homesick, I told myself firmly, as I always did after I had that dream.
Squinting against the morning sunlight streaming down, I managed to make out a pair of feet clad in ill-fitting cracked black shoes standing in front of me. I rolled over onto my back to see who it was, ignoring how stiff my body felt.
"Are youse comin’?" Jake asked as he stared down at me, "or do ya just wanna let everyone else carry da banner?"
"I’m comin’, I’m comin’," I assured him as I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. "I’ll catch up wid ya in a minute."
I pulled on my shoes as Jake left the alley. They were too big for me and this morning they were clammy and damp as well. I shivered and pulled the knotted and frayed laces tight and tied them. Standing up, I yawned and stretched until I felt my joints crack and pop back into place.
The rain must have only just stopped. The street was still slick and water poured down from the roof gutters. I walked over to where it splattered against the cobble-stones. Cupping my hands under its chill flow I splashed it over my face and neck. It may not have been very clean, but it was cleaner than I was. I ran my fingers through my hair and tucked back the locks that always seemed to fall in front of my eyes before I headed down to Newspaper Alley.
"Hey, Squeaker!" Bumlets yelled out. "I didn’t see youse at the Lodging house last night!"
"I was out late tryin’ t’sell my last few papes," I explained as everyone crowded around the gate, "an’ I wasn’t able to get back in time b’fore Kloppman locked up."
"Well," Bumlets added, "I don’t know ‘bout you, but between da thunder an’ Mush snorin’ almost as loudly, I didn’t get much sleep."
"I wasn’t snorin’!" Mush protested loudly behind me. "That was Skittery youse was hearin’!"
"I was on the other side of the room!" Skittery broke in.
"Hey, youse guys," Jack interrupted us, "save it fer da headlines!"
The gates opened then and we poured into the courtyard. A little ways away I saw the new kid, David, and his younger brother, Les. The pair had just joined us yesterday and already I could see that Les idolized Jack. He followed him around and hung on his every word.
Right then I heard Blink’s disgruntled voice.
"Dey jacked up da prices! D’ya hear dat, Jack? Ten cents a hundred!" A price jack-up? That was the last thing we needed. The only big headline the World had had for the past couple weeks was on the Trolley Strike, and everyone was sick of hearing about that.
"Y’know," Blink continued, "it’s bad enough dat we gotta eat what we don’t sell, now dey jacked up the price! Can you believe dat?"
Blink was right, and we all knew it. There was only so much money one could make selling papes. After you saved part of it to buy your papers the next day, there wasn’t a lot left over, and that was needed to buy something to eat and pay for a place to sleep in the Lodging House.
"This’ll bust me," "I’ll be back sleepin’ on de streets," and other similar phrases were muttered around me as everyone complained.
If the headlines were better... but they weren’t, and now the World was going to squeeze every penny out of our pockets that they could. Without money I only really had two choices: steal or starve. I couldn’t go to another paper, not only were all of my friends here, but the other papers were faring no better with headlines, and not many places would hire a scruffy looking, homeless boy.
I certainly didn’t want to starve, but stealing could, and did, get you in trouble. It was only so long before the cops caught you, no matter how good you were, and then you were put in The Refuge. Jack was the only person I had heard of that had ever escaped from The Refuge, and even now the bulls were still after him.
Jack, thinking it must be some joke the deliveryman, Weasel, had played on us, went over to the window.
"What’s with the jack-up, Weasel?"
Weasel licked his finger and held it up to test the wind.
"It’s a nice day." Was all he said with a grin. "Why don’tcha ask Mr. Pulitzer?" He hollered after Jack’s retreating form.
"They can’t do dis to me, Jack," Blink started.
"They can do whatever dey want; it’s their stinkin’ paper," Racetrack cut in.
"It ain’t fair!" Boots added. "We got no rights at all!"
"C’mon, it’s a rigged deck. Dey got all da marbles, ok?" Race retorted.
"Jack, we got no choice," Mush told the Cowboy, "so let’s get our lousy papes while they still got some, eh?"
"No! Nobody’s goin’ anywhere!" Jack hollered at us. "They can’t do dis!"
All I could here was the babble of everyone talking at once. There was no uniformity or togetherness until Les broke his way through the crowd to Jack.
"Clear out, clear out. Give him some room. Give him some room! Let’m think!" He took a seat next to Jack and watched him expectantly. The rest of us were watching him just as closely. After a moment, Blink held out a lit cigarette to Jack, who took it and puffed on it absentmindedly as he thought. Race sighed and glanced back at Dutchy before he blurted out,
"Jack, y’done thinkin’ yet?"
"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Weasel shouted at us. "World employees only on dis side of the gates!"
"Aw, shut yer mouth!" I yelled back with the others.
"Well, listen," Jack broke in, "one thing’s fer sure. If we don’t sell papes, den nobody sells papes! Nobody comes t’rough dose gates till dey put da price back where it was!"
"Whadda you mean, like a strike?" David intervened.
"Yeah, like a strike!" Jack agreed.
A strike? Was he crazy? Pulitzer had to be the most powerful man in New York City! And we were nothing but a bunch of street rats who made a measly living selling papes. There was no way we could win a strike! We didn’t even have a union!
"We can’t strike," I heard David quietly tell Jack, echoing my thoughts. "We don’t have a union!"
"Yeah, but, if we go on strike, then we are a union, right?" Jack persisted.
"No, we’re just a bunch of angry kids with no money! Maybe if we got every newsie in New York, but..."
"Yeah, well, we organize!" Jack jumped up. Ignoring David’s protests, Jack was heading out when David broke in again.
"Jack, this isn’t a joke! You saw what happened to those trolley workers!"
"Dat’s anudder good idea," Jack said. "Any newsie don’t join wid us, and we bust their heads like the trolley workers!"
After David’s protests were completely over-ridden, he began supporting Jack, somewhat, and he began giving the latter ideas.
Jack’s silver tongue, coupled with David’s brain, swept aside all our hesitations like so many leaves in the wind. David put the words in Jack’s mouth, but Jack put them in our hearts and made us believe. We were soon marching down the streets singing loudly. We ended up on Newspaper Row, where Jack deftly climbed up to the World’s headline board and wrote STRIKE over everything that was already there. Flushed with success, and grinning from ear to ear, he climbed down and headed straight over to David.
"We gotta get da woid out t’all da newsies in New York! I need some of those... uh, whatcha call em... ?" he gestured with his hands, momentarily at a loss for words.
"Whatever you want!" some wit yelled out as David tried to decide what Jack was talking about.
"Uh... ambassadors?" David guessed.
"...Yeah!" Jack agreed after a moment. "Right, you guys, you gotta be ambastards, and go tell the other newsies dat we’re on strike!"
Blink, Race, Mush, and Crutchy quickly laid claim to parts of New York before Jack started assigning newsies to different areas.
"Hey, Squeaker, I’ll need some help!" Blink grabbed onto my arm and started hauling me after him.
"What about Brooklyn? Who wants Brooklyn?" Jack’s voice drifted after us. Blink chucked.
"No one’s gonna want to go t’ Brooklyn! Spot an’ his gang have everyone scared!"
"Spot? Spot Conlon?" The same kid that I had known for years before I left Brooklyn? Spot, who looked about two years younger than he was, and was shorter than most of the newsies by half a head? That was the person everyone was afraid of? "I know him!"
"Uh huh," Blink replied sarcastically, "and I’m William Randolf Hearst. Hurry up!"
* * *
I should have gone with whoever Jack sent to Brooklyn. I should have helped them convince Spot, because, after talking to the others once Blink and I got back, we were going to need him.
All the newsies got similar responses, ‘What does Spot say?’ Of course, we had no answer for them. Jack, David, and Boots had gone to Brooklyn, and they weren’t back yet. All we could do was wait.
We were all lounging around the Horace Greeley statue when they came back. Everyone began crowding around the trio, although no one mentioned anything about the trip to Brooklyn.
"So, ah, where’s Spot?" Racetrack asked the question.
I knew what Jack’s response would be before he even said it. I could tell by the look in his eyes, and I felt my disappointment weigh down cold and hard in my stomach. Spot wasn’t going to join us, and without Brooklyn, none of the other newsies would join the strike either. Oh, well, we’d still keep up the strike, and we would win too! Wouldn’t we?
Mush, Blink, Skittery, Racetrack, and the others didn’t seem to think so.
"Well, y’know, Jack, maybe we outta ease off a little, y’know?" Race said haltingly after Jack announced that Spot had refused because he was ‘concerned about us bein’ serious.’
"Widout Spot an’ de udders... der’s not enough of us, Jack!" Blink added. Mush continued,
"Jack, maybe we’re movin’ in too soon! Maybe dey’re right."
"I definitely think that we should forget about it for a little while." Skittery tugged at his cap and refused to meet Jack’s gaze.
"Oh, do ya?" Jack’s voice was cold, as was his gaze as he glared at us for giving up so quickly.
"Yeah," Race affirmed, "I mean, without Brooklyn..."
"Hey, who we kiddin’ here?" He looked around at us. "Spot was right. Is it just a game to you guys?"
We all denied it, of course, but did we really mean it? Now that I looked more closely, I realized that I was only thinking of it as a game. I would just parade up and down the streets with my friends, carry signs, soak any scab I saw, and go back to work when Pulitzer gave in. I could see by the expressions on my friends’ faces that they felt much the same way as I did. It seemed like only Jack and David were taking the strike seriously.
That’s when David broke in. The new kid who seemed content to let Jack do most of the talking was now jumping in where Jack left off. He lifted our failing spirits and revived our interest in the strike. I no longer cared if Spot and the rest of the world decided not to join us. We would show them that, with or without their help, we were going to seize the day and win this strike!
In the distance, I heard the clear ringing of the Circulation Bell.
"Anybody hear dat?" Jack yelled.
"NO!"
"So what’re we gonna do about it?"
"SOAK ‘EM!"
So we took off running down the streets, ready too show the world that this was no longer a game.
* * *
"Davey and I are gonna go bust Crutchy out now" Jack announced that evening as he slung a length of rope over one shoulder. There were numerous volunteers to assist them, but Jack waved them off. "Youse guys stay here. Two can sneak into da Refuge more easily then ten." He settled his cowboy hat on his head, and took off, David in step beside him.
Our sudden appearance at Newspaper Alley got us a few more strikers, and left the World with a wagon-load of shredded papes and a bunch of thrown tomatoes, but it also landed Crutchy in Jail.
Everyone was having a grand time, except Weasel and the Delancies, when Jack’s voice broke through the din. "Cheese it, da bulls!" We all went tearing out of the courtyard faster than we had ever run in to get our papes and swarmed past Denton, the Sun reporter who seemed interested in our strike. Everyone that is, except Crutchy. His crippled leg delayed him just long enough for the bulls to grab him and toss him into the Refuge.
If anyone could get Crutchy out of the Refuge, it was Jack, I figured as I undid my vest and hauled my shirt over my head. Hanging them unceremoniously on the bed post, I pulled myself onto my usual bunk, the one above Mush. I rearranged my pillow and wiggled underneath the covers. The thin mattress was hard and damp, as usual, and full of lumps. It wasn’t too bad, though, once you got used to it.
One by one, the lamps were extinguished and darkness flooded the room. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling through the shadows. Through the open window, I could hear the sounds of the city at night, and around me, the other boys muttering to each other.
My eyelids were just beginning to droop, and drowsiness overtaking my brain, when I felt a muffled kick through the mattress.
"Hey, Squeaker," Mush whispered, "youse awake?"
"I am now," I responded and rolled over onto my stomach to peer down at him. "What’s da matter, can’t sleep?"
"Yeah, somethin’ like dat." I heard the sheets rustling as he shifted position below me. "Squeak, do youse think dat we can pull dis off? The strike dat is. I mean, it’s just our group of newsies, and Crutchy’s already in jail..."
I leaned over the edge of my bunk, so my head dangled half way between the two mattresses. "Sure we can pull t’rough dis. We just gotta woik t’gether, like we’ve done when times’ve been rough before. I’m sure of it." The blood was beginning to rush to my head. "Besides, we got Jack, and--"
Jack came in at that moment, and light spilt through the door from the hallway. I jumped slightly as it startled me, and I felt myself beginning to slide off the bunk. Desperately, I gripped the edge of the bed in an effort to stop my descent. It didn’t work. I fell to the floor with a crash that woke every newsie in the Lodging House that wasn’t still awake.
I lay sprawled on the floor with my eyes screwed shut and my ears ringing from the impact. My friends were quick to light the lamps; I could see the light through my eyelids.
"Hey, Squeaker, youse okay?" Mush’s voice sounded close by. I groaned.
"I feel like such a scabber!"
"Dat’s probably ‘cause youse are one," Dutchy muttered sleepily. I heard Kloppman come in.
"Whadda you kids doin’ up here?"
"Squeaker just fell outta bed," Jack laughed. "I musta startled him when I came in. Sorry if I scared ya, Squeak!"
"It’s okay," I mumbled and opened my eyes.
"Hey, Squeak, why don’tcha get yer ass off da floor an’ into bed, so we can all get some shuteye," Blink asked with a grin, "or didja break somethin’ on da way down?"
"Naw, nothin’ broken." I told him as I got stiffly to my feet and climbed up to my bunk for the second time that night.
"Where’s Crutchy?" Snipeshooter suddenly broke in. "I thought dat youse an’ Dave were gonna get him out."
Silence enveloped the room as everyone turned to regard Jack. He was silent at first, stripping down to his long underwear before he answered us.
"Davey and I got into da Refuge no problem," He told us. "but dem stinkin’ Delancies soaked Crutchy pretty good, an’ he wasn’t able ta leave." I could see the anger smoldering in his eyes about that. "We’ll get dem fer dat. We’ll soak ‘em real good tomorrow." He blew out the lamp and got into bed. "G’night everyone. Hope yer not too sore tomorrow, Squeak."
In the solitude that followed, I clearly heard Blink’s snickering remark to me. "If ya have trouble gettin’ t’sleep, just lie on da edge of yer bed. You’ll drop off pretty soon."
I hauled my pillow out from under my head and threw it square in his face.
* * *
We all stood in a line before the distribution courtyard, every eye focused on the gates, every muscle tensed, and we waited. I felt the sweat beading on my forehead and upper lip as the morning sunlight beat down on us. No one spoke, and the tension grew.
It snapped like a slingshot when the World’s delivery wagon came tearing out of the gates, the driver whipping the horse to a faster pace so we couldn’t get ahold of the papes inside like we did the day before.
The tension broken, I dove to my left so not to be trampled by the horse. The strikers shook their fists and yelled at the driver before turning to face the scabs. They stood silently inside the gate, regarding us warily.
"Alright," David told us, "everyone, remain calm!" Which we did, for about three seconds.
"Let’s soak ‘em for Crutchy!" Jack hollered and charged the scabs. Yelling, we followed close on his heels.
The scabs didn’t even put up a fight. They just turned and ran like the chickens they were. That’s when I saw some of them pounding on the back doors, which quickly opened to reveal an army of hired thugs, the Delancies among them.
"Whoa! Jack, Jack! It’s a trick! Jaaaaack!" Race yelled as he turned to run, but there was nowhere to go. Too late, we realized our mistake. The scabs had gotten behind us and had cut off our only escape route. Now they pushed us back to clear out room in the center of the courtyard. Struggling against the thug that held me back, I could see Oscar Delancey swinging a chain at Jack, who was armed with only his fists. I saw Jack go down.
Suddenly, newsies popped up from behind the parapets on the rooftops around the courtyard. Each had a stern face and a slingshot. From the surprise on the faces around me, I guessed that this wasn’t part of the thugs’ plan. That’s when I saw one newsie jump down onto a platform above us.
"Never fear, Brooklyn is here!" It was Spot and the Brooklyn newsies who had come to our rescue.
"Hey, it’s Brooklyn!" Blink yelled out jubilantly.
"Brooklyn! Brooklyn!" we took up the cry as the Brooklyn newsies loaded up their slingshots and fired.
The well aimed marbles went whistling through the air to find their marks. Chaos broke loose everywhere. I rammed my elbow into the goon nearest me and gave him a good box to his ears. Whirling around, I saw a scab trying to sneak out with an armload of papes, and gave him a punch to the back. He dropped his papes, but swung around with a backhand jab that caught me in the ribs. Grimacing in pain, I threw an uppercut at him before he could block and caught him under the jaw. He went down as another thug shoved me against the wall and pinned me there. Grinning evilly, he swung his fist back for the punch, when he was struck from behind and toppled off his feet.
"Heya, Pete," Spot said as he gave my adversary one last kick for good measure, "it’s good t’see ya again." Before I could respond, though, Spot was already gone, weaving his way towards the gates. He threw them open and walked out a few steps. A group of scabs started to charge him from behind, but stopped when they saw even more of the Brooklyn newsies coming around the corner. Spot whirled around and whipped out his walking stick in one quick motion before he once again darted into the fray.
"Boys! Freeze!" a voice suddenly hollered out. I looked up to see Denton in front of the other newsies and I with his camera. "Freeze!" he yelled again. I held as still as I could with everyone jostling around me and was almost blinded by the flashpot. "Okay," Denton told us, "I got it!" He gave us a wide grin. "This is going to go right into tomorrow’s paper!"
* * *
"Spot!" I yelled as I ran after my old friend. I dodged around Boots, Jake, and several Brooklyn newsies while trying to catch up with him. I caught up with him as he was talking to Jack.
"I thought dat youse was gonna stay outta da strike, Spot." Jack mentioned.
"Yeah, well, youse guys proved t’me dat youse wasn’t just playin’ around," Spot told him. "Now dat I know y’ain’t gonna take off at da foist sign of trouble, I’m here to lend da suppoit of two t’ousand Brooklyn newsies." He and Jack spit in their palms and shook hands. As they turned to go their separate ways, Spot caught sight of me. "Hey, Peter! Long time, no see!"
Peter. It had been so long since anyone had called me by my real name. I almost didn’t recognize it. Peter seemed to be a completely different person, and, in a way, he was. People had called me Peter, or Pete, in a different life, or so it seemed. Just the mere mention of that name brought back a flood of memories.
"It’s Squeaker now, Spot." I told him as we began following the majority of the newsies to the Horace Greeley statue. I laughed, "I hardly recognized my own name when you called me Pete!" Spot grinned.
"Don’t worry, it happens. There are times when I forget what my real name is."
That seemed disturbing somehow. I may not have responded that quickly to my real name, but at least I still remembered it. To forget your own name was like forgetting your past, who you really were. Of course, some people wanted to do just that.
There was a question that I desperately wanted to ask Spot, about my family, but I hesitated. I was on my own now, and I should be concentrating on my life and the strike, but I couldn’t help wondering about them.
"Youse wouldn’t’ve happened to have seen my family, would ya?" I finally blurted out. Spot gave me a startled sideways glance.
"Not much. I see yer Pop on his delivery route once in a while, and yer sister... Lizzy?"
"Izzy," I corrected him.
"Yeah, Izzy. She gots a job down at some factory."
I felt a cold lump in the pit of my stomach. Izzy? In a factory? That was the main reason that I had run away, to get away from the factory, and now Izzy was working in one. I felt remorse at running away. If I had known that my parents would make Izzy work in a factory because I ran away, I might not have done it. Meanwhile, Spot was still talking.
"... I see her walkin’ home sometimes. About a week or so after you left, yer parents went lookin’ fer ya. Dey never did think t’check across da bridge, though."
"A week?" I snorted. "I’m surprised dat dey noticed dat quickly!"
"Da foist thing yer Pop did was to ask us newsies," Spot grinned, "but, of course, none of us had seen ya, or knew where youse went!"
We had reached the statue now, and Spot gave me a friendly whack on the back before he headed towards Jack, pausing a moment by some of the Brooklyn newsies to tell them something. They nodded their heads and quickly took off in different directions.
"Jacky-boy!" he called out. "I needs to get goin’, but I sent off some delegates to spread da woid dat Brooklyn’s in da strike! You’ll have most of New Yawk on yer side by dis evening." Everyone cheered.
"So how ‘bout we meet at Tibby’s tomorrow fer lunch?" Jack inquired. He grinned, "Denton’s treat!" Spot agreed, and the two spit and shook on it.
* * *
"Where’s me picture? Where’s me picture?" Spot demanded as he shoved his way past me towards Jack, and the copy of the New York Sun that had our picture on the front page. Upon arriving, Denton had immediately waved the pape at us. The article he had written, and the photo he got of us, about yesterday’s event was right there in black and white under the headline: "Newsies stop the World! and the Journal too." Denton seemed just as pleased about it as we were. Now everyone was eagerly shoving past everyone else to see their picture.
"Where does it say my name? Where’s my name?" Spot inquired as he glanced through the article while practically breathing down Jack’s neck.
"Would ya quit thinkin’ about yerself?" Jack asked him.
"Aw, shut up!" was Spot’s reply as David turned to talk to Denton. "Whoa! Wouldja look at dat!" I craned my head over Racetrack’s shoulder, trying to see the pape. I studied the photo closely, trying to find my face. There was Jack, Les, Race, David, who looked like someone had stepped on his foot, Dutchy, Spot, Blink, Boots, Bumlets, Snitch, Mush, and me. At least I think it was me. It had to be; I was standing just beyond Snitch. It was strange to see my own picture in the papes.
"So what? You get yer picture in da pape, and what’s dat get ya, huh?" Skittery broke in grouchily.
"Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, huh?" Mush demanded.
"You’ve been in a bad mood all day!" Jack told him as everyone pounced on Skittery for that remark.
"I am not in a bad mood!" he retorted.
"Hey, glum-and-dumb, what’sa matter wid you?" Racetrack slapped Skittery. "Yer in da papes; yer famous. Yer famous; you get anything you want!"
Everyone started babbling about what they would get with their new found fame. Mush wanted new shoes, Race wanted a permanent box at the Sheepshead races, Spot opted for a hot bath, while Blink, always the ladies’ man, wished for a date with the mayor’s daughter. I guess if I could have anything, I would want to be taller. No one ever noticed the short people, and I was getting tired of it, but, obviously, fame and fortune would never buy me extra inches.
"Look at me; I’m the king of New Yawk!" Race warbled as he jumped to the table top, narrowly missing Dutchy’s meal, and holding the paper triumphantly above his head. I started to relax then, as everyone began goofing around. Maybe we could win this strike after all.
* * *
Once we were out of Tibby’s, I took off walking. I didn’t know where I was going, or what I was going to do once I got there; I just let my feet take me wherever they felt like going. On this particular evening, my feet took me down in the general direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. I just stood there in the middle of the street, looking at it, and I remembered another time when I had stood just like this and gazed at it, only from the other side. It seemed like such a long time ago that I had run away. I thought about my old family: Papa, Mama, Benjamin and Thomas, Maria and Tiffy, and Izzy.
I stared out at the bridge, shining under the afternoon sun, but I didn’t really see it. I looked past it, past the buildings that lined the shore, past the dirty streets, and back to my apartment. No, not my apartment, their apartment. I no longer lived there. I lived on the streets, and in the Lodging House. I was a newsie; I didn’t have a family.
* * *
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