If Newsies Fans Got Their Wish
By: Breeze Kelly
Kit sat in her room sulking with frustration. Her face was
as bright of a red as her hair because she was burning with anger. One
couldn’t even see her many freckles that now blended into her crimson face.
Her parent’s refused to buy her, her favorite movie on DVD because she
already had it on VHS. This special movie was Newsies. She had explained to
them what seemed like a million times as to way she had to have this DVD. It
had backstage footage! Why couldn’t her parents understand how important this
was to her? All of her friend’s loved Newsies and if she had gotten the DVD today,
January 15th, 2002, she would have been the first to get it and the
envy of all her friend’s.
Kit cried herself to sleep that night thinking of how
desperately she wanted that movie.
———
Kit awoke the next morning freezing. She must have kicked
off her blanket in her sleep. Her bed felt unusually moist this morning and as
she opened her eyes, light gushed in. She closed her eyes again. Why were her
blinds open and her light on? Her eyes fluttered open and she realized she
wasn’t even in her room. Could she have possible sleepwalked out into her
backyard? No, there were no fences. Where was she?
She sat up and looked around. She had been laying on the
dewy grass of what seemed like a park. That would explain the moisture,
Kit thought to herself. People dressed in Victorian period clothes who must
have gone for a morning stroll were looking at this girl who sat in blue jeans
and a T-shirt, what she had fallen asleep in, like she truly didn’t fit. One
of the people stood out to Kit. He was about her age, fifteen, and carrying a
stack of papers. He was wearing a backwards brown newsboys cap and his blue
slacks were a little too short.
As soon as this boy saw Kit staring at him, he walked over
to her and held out his hand to help her up. She grasped his hand and he pulled
her up to her feet.
“Come wit me,” he whispered in Kit’s ear. She
obediently followed as the boy led her into a dirty ally way. “I’m
Skittery.” He lifted his hand to his mouth as if he were about to spit into
his palm, but he must have thought twice about the idea for he simply shrugged
and held his hand out to shake Kit’s. Spitting into one’s hand to shake
with someone else didn’t bother Kit. Her favorite movie was Newsies ,
after all. She smiled, spit into her own hand, and shook with Skittery. He
looked at her completely surprised. “You a newsies?”
“I wish,” Kit laughed.
“So ya ran away ta become a newsie,” Skittery guessed.
“No,” Kit slowly said. “I fell asleep in my bed last
night and I woke up on the grass…”
“In Central Park,” Skittery continued for her.
“Central Park,” Kit repeated. “In New York City?” Skittery
nodded. “But I live in San Francisco, California. In fact I don’t even
think newsies still exist.”
“Of coise we still exist,” Skittery said sounding
offended. “Dis is 1899. Da people still need us. Where else would dey get
dare news?”
“Eighteen ninety~nine,” Kit cocked on her words.
“What’s today’s date?”
“July 18th, why?” Skittery asked.
“July 18th, 1899. That’s just two days
before the union forms,” Kit said to herself under her breath.
“’Xcuse me? Wha’ union?”
“The newsb…” Kit started to say. “You wouldn’t
know about that yet would you?” Skittery just shrugged and looked at her as
though she were crazy. “’Kay, do you live in the Newsboy’s Lodging
House?”
“Yeah, it’s dat way,” Skittery answered pointing down
the alley way.
“Look, I’ve got fifty dollars in my pocket,” Kit said
while formulating a plan in her head. “I need to stop in a dress shop and get
out of these jeans while I still have some dignity here. Then we could go to
the Lodging House and see if they’ll let me stay there.” She was pacing
now. “But I don’t know my way around the city, so will you show me
around?”
“Yeah, no problem,” he told her. “Follow me. Hey, do
ya really got a fifty?”
———
After Skittery took Kit to buy new clothes and get settled
in at what he called the ‘Lodge’, he took her to his favorite restaurant, Tibby’s,
to meet all of his newsie friends.
“Skittery, who’s yer friend?” an Italian guy asked
with a sly smile. He had long black hair and big brown eyes. His arm was around
a girl with beautiful long strawberry blond hair and blue eyes.
“Jist a friend, Bumlets,” Skittery answered.
“’Er name’s Kit. Kit, dat’s Bumlet’s an’ ‘is goil, Angel.”
“Hi,” Kit smiled.
“Hey, ya jist get ta New Yoik?” Angel asked.
“Yeah,” Kit answered. “I’m a hard worker and I
think I will do well as a newsie.”
“We’ll find out dis aftah~noon,” Skittery said
pulling out a chair for Kit. She grinned at him as he grabbed a seat for
himself.
“I’m really psyched about being here,” Kit went on to
say. “I mean, this is my dream.”
“Bein’ a newsie ain’t dat exciting’,” Angel said.
“It will be,” Kit beamed.
———
Kit walked out of the washroom still drying her face with a
towel. She throw the towel back into the washroom and turned to see every eye
in the girl’s bunkroom in the basement of the Newsboy’s Lodging House
watching her every move.
“What?” she shrugged.
“Yer lips,” a little eight year old girl said in
complete shock. “Dare paler den before.” Lullaby was the youngest newsie in
all of Manhattan. She was also the cutest. Her long, dark Native Indian hair
fell past her bottom. She was tall for her age but often wear clothes that were
two sizes too big. Kit concluded that they must have been hand~me~downs and if
so, that meant everything in this seemingly dream world was shared by each of
these unimaginable characters.
“An’ yer eye’s,” Half~Pint continued. “Da outta
part ain’t da same color at all.”
“It was make~up, Kid,” Kit laughed. “Where I come
from, all girls wear a lot of make~up.”
“Ya come strait from Vaudeville den?” a girl called
Ramble asked.
“No,” Kit answered, sitting down on the bunk below
Ramble. “San Francisco.”
“Same difference,” Ramble said with a shrug.
“You sound so happy ta be heah, why? Ya runaway?” Dolly
asked. Dolly looked like a porcelain doll, that’s how she acquired her
nickname.
“No,” Kit responded again. “Well, yeah, I guess so,
but that’s not why I’m so happy. I’m happy because this is like history
in the making.”
“History?” Scarlet inquired. Scarlet always wore a long
scarlet, red scarf around her waist. “Who cares ‘bout history, let alone
makin’ it?”
“Every second you sit here talking with me you’re
making history,” Kit told her. “And this is an amazing age.”
Kit and the other girls fell asleep with talk of the
future. What they wished for and what they wanted to aspire to. Kit found it
tough not to revile too much about the next one hundred and two years.
Skittery waited patently for Kit the next morning at the
top of the stairs.
“Ya willin’ ta start yer new life as a newsie?” he
asked when he saw her.
“As ready as ever,” Kit smiled.
“Great, ya gotta met somebody, foist,” Skittery said.
“E’s always there for any of us. Ready ta defend us against the da
Dalancys, our spot us two bits. Jack, com’eah.”
A slick looking guy dressed as a cowboy turned to Skittery
with eyebrows raised. He strolled over to where Skittery and Kit where
standing.
“Jack, this is Kit, the goil I was tellin’ ya
‘bout,” Skittery introduced with a grin. “An’ Kit, dis is Jack
Kelly.”
“Pleased ta met ya,” Jack said taking Kit’s hand and
lightly kissing it with graceful bow. “Well, Skittery, we bettah go get our
papes b’fore dare all gone. I heah da headline in the Woild sucks
ta~day.”
“Well if I hate da headline, I’ll make one up, ‘cause
I’ll say anything I ‘ave ta, ‘cause it’s two fer a penny, an’ if I
take too many, Weasel will jist make me eat ‘em aftah,” Skittery said while
starting to walk toward the World Building.
“I wouldn’t even call dis headline a headline,” a boy
wearing an eye patch joined in on the conversation.
“Heya, Kid Blink,” Skittery greeted.
“Heya, ya know, I get bettah stories on the coppah of da
beat den in dis lousy shit they call a papah” Kid Blink continued.
“I was ganna start wit twenty ta~day, but now a dozen
will be plenty. Tell me, how’m I ganna make end’s meet?” a boy leaning on
a crutch wobbled over to the quickly growing crowd of newsboys.
“I know Crutchy,” Jack sighed. “An’ it ain’t
gettin’ any easier.”
“Wha’ we need is a good assignation, maybe an
eoithquake or a war,” Bumlets said joining the group as well.
“Or even a crooked politician,” a short boy with a root
beer bottle in hand said.
“No, Snipeshooter, dat ain’t news no more,” Kid Blink
eagerly protested as the ragged group of teenagers arrived in front of
Pulitzer’s World Building.
Two brute looking young men, maybe just twenty, pushed
their way through the multitude of teenagers and young children. “Dear me,
what is that unpleasant aroma, I fear da sewer may ‘ave backed up in da
middle of da night,” a guy that Kit latter learned was called Racetrack
Higgins said.
“Naw, it’s too roitten ta be da sewer,” somebody else
retorted.
“Yeah, yeah, it must be da Dalancy bruddahs,” Crutchy
continued.
“Hello boys,” Racetrack smiled good heartedly.
The youngest Dalancy responded to this criticism by
grabbing the back of Snipeshooter’s neck. “In da back ya lousy little
shrimp,” he said as he pushed the boy to the ground.
Jack’s face fell from that of laughter to that of anger
toward the cruel young man. He pushed his way passed the Dalancy and helped
Snipeshooter to his feet as Racetrack said, “It‘s not good ta do dat, not
healthy if ya know wha‘ I mean.”
Jack then walked back to the one who had pushed his friend
down and said casually, “Ya shouldn’t be callin’ people ‘lousy little
shrimps’ Oscar, unless yer referin’ ta da family resemblance in yer bruddah
heah.”
“Hey, five ta one dat da cowboy skunks ‘em, huh,
who’s betin’?” Racetrack cried.
“Naw, bum odds,” some boys called back to him.
“Dat’s roight,” Jack continued talking the Dalancys.
“Dat’s an insult, an’ so’s dis.” With that Jack pulled the hat off of
the older Dalancy’s head. Jack took off running with the stolen hat leading
the brothers on a fox hunt to try and beat up the slick, sweet talking, street
wise teenager. Jack suddenly run head on into a tall unfamiliar adolescent who
had a younger boy skipping joyfully around him. The boy was poorly dressed but
he defiantly was not homeless.
“What do you think your doing?” the elder boy asked
Kit’s friend.
Jack looked back at the brothers who were chasing after
him, flashed a mischievous smile, and shouted, “Runnin’!” Jack pushed his
way passed the book smart looking boys. The Dalancy’s ran into the two boys
as well. By now the boys were bruised and puzzled.
Jack finished the chase by climbing, monkey like, onto the now
opening World Building gates. The group of newsboys cheered wildly at
the triumphant Cowboy.
“Brilliant performance, Jackie, brilliant,” Racetrack
congratulated. “Beddah den yestahday’s.”
“Dare too kind ta me race,”
“We’ll play wit ya ‘gain tamorrow, Cowboy,” Oscar
taunted.
“Dat’d be nice,” Jack replied.
“Yer late boys,” Kit heard someone say to the Dalancy
brothers from behind the door they had slipped into.
“Yer as good as dead, Cowboy,” Oscar shouted one more
jeer into the crowd.
Jack ignored the threat and knocked on the closed pickup
desk. “Oh Mr. Weasel,” he called. When no one answered his knock, he
reached up and rang the circulation bell to catch the attention of the
distributor.
“All right, all right, hold yer horses!” a man shouted
from behind the desk. Kit presumed that this man must have been ‘Mr.
Weasel.’ “I’m comin’.”
“So did ya miss me Weasel, huh, did ya miss me?” Jack
asked, teasing the gray haired man.
“I’ve told ya a million times,” Weasel responded.
“The name is Weisel, Mr. Weisel to you. So, how many?”
“Don’t rush me, I’m perusin’ da merchandise, Mr.
Weasel,” Jack said with an exaggeration on the word ‘Weasel.’ This caused
the crowd to erupt in laughter. Mr. Weisel just shock his head in obvious
disapproval. Jack turned back to the over-weight distributor and through fifty
cents onto the table saying, “Da usual.”
“’Hundred papes for the wise guy,” Mr. Weisel said to
his assistants, the Dalancys. “Next!”
Racetrack sauntered up to the barred booth and lit one of
his cheep cigars by lighting a match on the table and holding the flame up to
the cigar hanging out of his mouth. “Morning, Your Honor. Listen, do me a
favor, spot me fifty papes, huh? I gotta hot tip on the fourth, won’t waist
yer money.”
“See why we call ‘im Racetrack?” Skittery asked
leaning over toward Kit. Kit simply nodded her answer.
“Is it a sure thing?” Kit heard Mr. Weisel asked Race
as turned back the conversation that was unfolding before her.
“Oh yeah,” Race reassured the man. “Not like last
time.”
“Fifty papes,” Mr. Weisel nodded as he shouted behind
her shoulder. “Next!”
“Just watch dis ‘hot tip’ be just like the last
one,” Skittery snickered. “Race’ll be sleepin’ on da streets fer a few
nights.”
Crutchy hopped up to the booth as Race took a seat beside
jack. The two were dangling their feet off of the edge of the platform.
“Anyt’in’ good dis morning’?” Race asked.
The younger out of the two boys Jack had run into during
the fox and hound chase was standing above Jack with a show of admiration for
the smooth young man hinted on his face.
“Ya wanna sit down?” Jack asked the boy pointed toward
an empty space beside him. The boy slowly took a seat and looked over Jack’s
shoulder at the paper he was looking through.
Kit turned her attention back toward what was happing at
the distribution booth and noted Crutchy hopping off the platform as the
tormented Mr. Weisel called out “Next!”
The boy who was now seated next to Jack didn’t seem to
notice as his older brother stepped up to buy his morning papers. “Twenty
papers, please,” the older brother asked politely.
“Twenty papes!” Mr. Weisel Repeated.
“Thanks,” the older brother said as he began to count
the stack of papers that had been laid before him.
“Look at dis,” Kit heard Racetrack say. “ ‘Baby
born with two heads’. Must be from Brooklyn.” Jack huffed a small laugh
at Race’s joke.
“Hey, hey, you got your papes, now beat it!” Mr. Weisel
shouted at the little boy’s older brother how had yet to move from his place
at the booth.
“But I paid for twenty,” the brother protested. Mr.
Weisel shrugged. “I only got nineteen.”
“Are you accusing me of lying, Kid?!” Mr. Weisel cried
as everyone turned their full attention onto the building argument.
“No, I… I just want my paper,” the brother stated
obviously becoming a little uneasy.
The elder of the Dalancys leaned toward the brother and
declared, “He said beat it.”
By now Jack had stood up and flipped through the papers
himself. “No, it’s nineteen, Weasel, but don’t worry about it. It’s an
honest mistake. Morris, he can’t count to twenty with his shoes on.”
Morris flew at Jack, hitting his face against the bars.
Jack effortlessly jumped back from Morris. The group of gather newsboys were
sent up in a roar of laughter.
“Alright, get out of here,” Mr. Weisel demanded as he
through another paper onto the small stack of papers.
“Hold it,” Jack said. “Bumlets, will ya spot me two
bits?”
“heah,” Bumlets replied tossing Jack the coins.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “Another fifty fer my friend
heah.”
“I don’t want another fifty,” the brother told Mr.
Weisel.
“Sure ya do,” Jack said placing a reassuring hand on
the brother’s shoulder. “Every newsie wants more papes.”
“But…but I don’t,” the brother objected as he
followed Jack off of the platform. “I don’t want your ‘papes’. I
don’t take charity from anybody. I don’t even know you, I don’t care to.
So here are your ‘papes’.” He held out the stack of fifty papers that
Jack had just bought for him.
“Cowboy, they called him Cowboy,” interrupted the younger
brother completely intrigued.
“Yeah, well that and a lot of oddah t’in’s
includin’ Jack Kelly, which is wha’ me mudduah called me,” Jack
explained. “So, whadda dey call you, Kid?”
“Les,” the little boy answered. “And this is my brother,
David. He’s older.”
“Oh, no kiddin’,” Jack stated. “How old are ya,
Les?”
“Ah, near ten,” Les said as he stopped slouching to
make himself appear taller then he really was.
“Near ten?” Jack repeated lowering himself to Les‘s pint
sized level. “Well, ya see, dat’s no good. If anyone asks you should say
yer seven. Younger sells more papes, Les. If we’re goin’ ta be partnahs,
Les, we wanna be da best…”
“Wait, wait,” David interrupted. “Who said anything
about partners?”
“Well, ya owe me two bits, right?” Jack asked. David
shrugged as if to say that that didn’t matter. “So, I considah dat an
investment. We sell tageddah, we split… 70/30, plus you get da benefit of
observin’ me wit no charge.”
“Ah-ha!” David laughed.
“Ah-ha!” Jack mimicked.
“You’ll be gettin’ da chance of a lifetime heah,
David,” Crutchy added. “Ya loirn from Jack, ya loirn from da best.”
“Yeah, da best,” a few chimed in.
“If he’s the best, then why does he need me?” David
smiled. This comment sent the newsboys around Kit up in a series of taunting
“Ooes,” and “Oohs.” Jack’s egotistical smirk was immediately wiped
off of his face.
“Listen, I don’t need you pal,” Jack defended
himself. “But I ain’t got a cute liddle bruddah like Les heah ta front fer
me. Wit dis kid’s puss an’ my God-given talent, we could move a t’ousand
papes a week. So wha‘d ya say, Les, ya wanna papes fer me.”
“Yeah!” Les eagerly nodded.
“So it’s a deal?” Jack asked holding his hand out for
Les to shake on. Les reached up ready to shake on his new role models deal when
David quickly interfered.
“Wait, hold it!” David demanded. “It’s got to be at
least 50/50.”
“Sixty forty or I forget the whole thing,” Jack
compromised.
“Dat’s fair,” a few newsies said. “A golden
opportunity. Dat’s fair, David.” David looked down at his little brother
for his input in the deal. Les was enthusiastically nodding.
“So wha’do say?” Jack asked.
“It’s very fair,” the newsboys continued to encourage
David to take up their friend on his offer.
David finally consented and held out his hand to shake on
the agreement with Jack. Jack spit into his hand and moved to shake with his
new partner but David quickly pulled away.
“Wha’s da maddah?” Jack demanded.
“That’s disgusting,” David answered. Kit and the rest
of the newsies all began laughing at David’s ignorance of the newsboy’s
show of friendship.
The group of newsies moved out into the street as Jack
began David and Les’s first lesson at being newsboys. “The name of the game
is volume, Davy,” Jack said. “You only took twenty papes, why?”
“Bad headline,” David casually answered as though it
should have been obvious to his tutor as well as the rest of the newsies.
“Headlines don’t sell papes,” Jack said. “Newsies
sell papes.” All of his friends instantly agreed with his statement.
“We’re what holds this town together, without newsies nobody knows
not’in’.” A pretty brunet girl walked in front of the gathering of
newsboys on her way to school.
“Look at dat angel,” one of the boys said. All the
girls rolled their eyes as the boy’s eyed the girl. Then the silence was
broken by a curly haired boy wearing glasses named Specs calling out a
headline.
“Stick wit me,” Skittery whispered to Kit.
“Alright,” Kit answered him and followed him out into
the street.
“It’s easier if ya improve da truth,” Snipeshooter
advised as he began to yell out an embellished headline and swiftly sold three
papers. “Now you try it.” Kit repeated the phony headline Snipeshooter had
used and sold some of her own papers.
Around noon, all of the morning papers had been sold and
Snipeshooter lead her to his favored restaurant, Tibby’s.
“This is so weird,” Kit commented as she took a seat
across from Snipeshooter at a booth next the window.
“Wha’?” Snipeshooter asked.
“Being here,” she answered. “This might sound
incredibly odd, but I’m from the future. One hundred and one years from the
future to be exact. I know what’s going to happen because a famous company
will make a moving picture film about this event,” Snipeshooter looked at her
skeptically. “If you don’t believe me, watch. Today, Jack won’t come home
for diner at the Lodge. Tomorrow, there will be a price hike to the
distribution apparatus or rather us the newsies. Tomorrow, we will have to pay
60 cents per hundred papes.”
“Dat’ll be da day,” Snipeshooter snickered.
“Just wait and watch, my friend, wait and watch.”
———
Kit and Snipeshooter sat at the extended meal table long
after the dinner had been eaten and everyone headed up to their bunks. The two
had started taking bets on just how long it would take for Jack to arrive back
at the Lodge. At ten minutes until nine, Jack strolled into the Lodge rubbing
his belly.
“Pay up,” Kit demanded.
“Jist luck,” Snipeshooter said fishing ten dollars out
of his pocket.
“Wha’ are you two doin’?” Jack asked.
“Waiting for you,” Kit answered. “I told him you
would be eating dinner at David’s tonight and he didn’t believe me, so we
had a bet going. I won. How was the cake?”
“How do ya know dis stuff?” Jacked inquired.
“According to Snipeshooter, ‘jist luck’,” Kit
smiled as she headed for the basement.
———
“Kit!” Shamrock, a girl from Ireland, called to Kit in
her thick Irish accent. “Time to get up and start a new day.”
Kit arose with a stretch and a yawn. Suddenly a thought
came to her mind. This was the most important day in all of history to her and
the rest of her friends. This was the day the Newsies’ union would form and
she would be apart of it. But wait, what if she told Jack how to handle things,
would the group win the strike this time around. Would she be able to convince
the newsies that the leaders truly weren’t betraying them? If she was able to
control things out of her knowledge, she could change history, but if that
happened, how would the future change? Would Disney ever make the movie about
this event? Would she then know what to do? Would she even be able to get home?
She had to do her best to keep behind the scenes and not change what would
happen over the next week or so.
“Kit,” Shamrock repeated. “Are you going to get up
today?”
“Yeah,” Kit answered. “I would not miss this for the
world.”
“Miss what?” the Irish girl asked.
“I have a feeling that today is going to be a lot of fun.”
———
“Let see just how lucky you are,” Snipshooter whispered
into Kit’s ear when she met him in the street near the World distribution
office. “Sixty cents, yeah roight.”
Suddenly the two of them heard Kid Blink’s complaints
from the inside of the gates. “They jacked up the price! Didja heah dat,
Jack?! By ten cents a hundred! It’s bad enough dat we gotta eat what we
don’t sell. Now they jacked up the price! Can ya believe dat?!”
“Dis will bust me,” Snoddy joined in the complaining.
“I’m barly makin’ a livin’ roight now.”
“I’ll be back sleepin’ on da streets,” Boots
shrugged, his eyes full of anger.
“Ya were roight,” Snipshooter whispered to Kit. “Ya
really do know wha’s ganna happen, don’t ya?” Kit simply nodded her
silent answer.
“It don’t make no sense,” Bumlets said. “Wit all da
money Pulitzer’s makin’.”
“Yeah, why would he gouge us?” Angel continued.
“’Cause ‘e’s a tightwad, dat’s why,” Race
answered as Kit mouthed his line.
“Pipe down,” Jack interrupted the string of complaints.
“It’s jist a gag.”
“No, it’s not Jack,” Kit whispered to herself.
“So why the jack up Weasel?” Jack asked the old man
behind the distribution desk.
“Why not?” was the reply. Weisel stuck his finger in
his mouth and, pulling it out, pointed to the sky. “It’s a nice day. Why
don’t you ask Mr. Pulitzer?!” By now Jack had already rejoined the
disgruntled group of newsies.
“They can’t do this to me, Jack,” Kid Blink sang in
his friend’s ear.
“They can do whatever dey want,” Racetrack sighed.
“It’s dare stinkin’ papah.”
Jack sat down next to Boots and turned to him as though he
were waiting for advice from the short, black former bootblack.
“It ain’t fair,” Boots said. “We got no roights at
all.”
“It’s a rigged deck,” Race complained. “Dey got all
da marbles, okay?”
“Jack, we got no choice,” Mush said. “So, let’s get
our lousy papes while dey still got some, huh?”
“No! Nobody’s goin’ anywhere!” Jack cried.
“But we gotta eat, Jack!” Mush cried back in protest.
“But dey can’t get away wit dis,” Jack explained.
“Clear out, give ‘im some room, give ‘im some
room,” Les said with a false accent. “Let ‘im t’ink.”
The group of newsies hushed and Kid Blink handed a
cigarette to Jack who willingly accepted and put it in his mouth as thought the
thing helped the thoughts circulate through his brain with much more ease.
After a minute, or maybe les, Racetrack cut into Jack’s ‘t’inkin’ and
said, “So Jack, ya done t’ink yet?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Weisel shouted from behind the
distribution desk. “World employees only on this side of that gate.
Either buy yer papes or get out!”
“Aw, shuddup!” “Put a lid on it!”
“Listen, one t’in’s fer sure,” Jack started. “If
we don’t sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Nobody comes threw dose gates
till dey put da price back where it was.”
“What do you mean? Like a strike?” David laughed.
“Yeah, like a strike,” Jack said not catching onto
David’s sarcasm. The group began laughing a Jack’s seriousness of the
matter.
“Jack, are you out of yer mind?!” Racetrack cried.
“It’s a good idea!” Jack defended himself.
“Your right, it is a good idea,” David whispered to his
friend. “But I was just joking, we can’t strike. We don’t have a
union.”
“Yeah but if we go on strike, den we are a union,
right?” Jack whispered back.
“No we’re just a bunch of angry kids with no money,”
David answered. “Maybe if we got every newsy in New York, but…”
“Yeah, well we organize,” Jack brought David’s
protest to an abrupt stop in mid-sentence. “Crutchy, will you take a
collection?”
“Swell, Jack,” Crutchy answered.
“We’ll get all the newsies in New York together,”
Jack continued on with his plans.
“Jack, this isn’t a joke,” David said. “You saw
what happened those trolley workers yesterday.”
“Yeah, well dats a good idea,” Jack told him. “Any
newsies don’t join with us, we bust dare heads just like the trolley
workahs.”
“Stop and think about this, Jack,” David continued his
attempts to convince Jack that this was a very bad idea. “You can’t just
rush everybody into this.”
“Alright let me t’ink ‘bout dis,” Jack thought out
loud. “Listen, Dave’s right. I mean Pulitzer and Hearst and all dem rich
fellas, dey own dis city. Do we really t’ink a bunch of street rats like us
could make any difference? Da choice ‘as gotta be yers! Are we just goin’
to take wha’ dey give us or are we ganna strike?!”
There was an odd moment of silence while everyone
contemplated the situation. Skittery nudged Kit in the ribs as if he where
asking her what the group should do. She leaned over to him and whispered her
answer. “There will be a strike, but I can only contribute with behind the
scenes things. Ya know, like donating money and stuff?”
“I’m sure any help will be great,” Skittery told her.
“Strike!” a smile voice cried out from the crowd moving
toward the middle of “Newsboy’s Court.”
“Les,” Kit whispered to Skittery as the pair watched
David clasp his hand over his little brother’s mouth.
“Yeah!” “Let’s do it!” and other such shouts
arose from the crowd. Skittery turned at smiled at Kit as he realized that she
had been telling the truth all along about how she had somehow come from the
future.
“Keep talkin’ Jack, tell us wha’ ta do!” Boots
suggested, unknowingly electing Jack the ragged group’s leader.
For an instant Jack seemed worried and uncertain about the
responsibility, but the fear was quickly wiped off of his face as he turned to
David for help and advice.
“Well, you tell us wha’ ta do,” Jack whispered to
David.
David looked as though he didn’t want this responsibility
passed on to him. After all, he didn’t even want to strike. He had a family
to think about. His brother and him were the ones bringing in the most money
for his family. David looked out into the crowd of boys and girls ranging in
ethnic groups and ages. They needed the money that selling the papers brought
in as much as he did, only if they didn’t get that income, they would be
unable to eat, and they were already much scrawnier then he or his brother.
They were now his family also. He had to put them into consideration as much as
he did Les, his father, or his mother. He could hear some of the newsies
cheering him on to help them.
With a sigh David said, “Pulitzer and Hearst have to
respect our rights.”
“Alright,” Jack nodded. “Hey listen! Pulitzer and
Hearst ‘ave ta respect da rights of da woikin’ boy’s of New Yoik!” The
group shouted louder then Kit had ever heard them. “Dat’s right!” Jack
leaned back down to David’s level and continued, “Well, dat went pretty
good, so wha’ else?”
“Tell them, they can’t treat us like we don’t
exist,” David answered.
Jack nodded as he looked back at the crowd of his friends.
He jumped up on top of the statue of Horace Greeley that was placed in the
center of “Newsboy’s Court.” From there the motley group could hear Jack
with much more ease. “Pulitzer and Hearst t’ink we’re not’in’! Are we
not’in’?!”
“No!” the group shouted back at him.
“If we stick together like the trolley workers, they
can’t brake us up,” David called to Jack.
“Pulitzer and Hearst t’ink dey gottus,” Jack
translated. “Do dey got us?”
“No!”
“We’re a union now, the newsboys union,” David continued
to directed Jack’s speech. “We got to start acting like a union!”
“Even though we ain’t got ‘ats or badges, we’re a
union just by sayin’ so,” Jack shouted, putting David’s words in words
that the poor, street-wise newsies would easily understand. “And the
‘Woild’ will know!”
“Wha’s ta stop someone else from sellin’ our
papes?” Boots asked.
“Well, we’ll tawk wit dem,” Jack suggested.
“Some of dem don’t hear so good,” Race said.
“Den we’ll soak ‘em!” Jack answered.
“No!” David protested. “We can’t beat up kids in
the streets, it will give us a bad name.”
“So, it can’t get any worse,” Race told David.
“Wha’s it ganna take ta stop the wagons? Are we
ready?” Jack continued to pump up the angered crowd.
“Yeah!” the newsboy’s cheered.
“No!” David objected.
“We’ll do wha’ we gatta do ta break da will of da
mighty Bill an’ Joe!” Jack cried. “Da ‘Woild’ an’ da ‘Journal’
will heah wha’ we’ve gatta say! We‘ve been hawkin’ headlines but
we‘re makin’ dem taday! An’ our ranks will grow!”
“An’ we’ll kick dare rare!” Crutchy added. Jack
Laughed at his input.
“Who does Pulitzer t’ink ‘e is anyway!” Boots cried
out.
“When da circulation bell starts ringin’ will we heah
it?!” Jack cried out.
“No!” the newsies joined in.
“An’ wha’ if da Dalancys come out swingin’ will we
heah it?!” Jack yelled over the crowd.
“No!”
“When you’ve gotta thousand voices screamin’ who can
heah a lousy whistle blow!” Kit heard a boy wearing a bowler hat and named
Jake call out.
“Dis ain’t no game!” Racetrack screamed.
“Yeah, we’ve gotta ton of rotten froit an’ poifect
aim!” Kid Blink joined in.
“An’ da day ‘as come, an’ da time is now, an’ da
feah is gone, an’ da strike is on” Snippshooter’s voice rang out.
“An’ dare name is mud!” Boots shouted. “An’
it’s kissed in blood!”
“Pulitzer may own da ‘Woild’ but ‘e don’t own
us!” Jack cried out, mainly talking to David as he grabbed David’s
shoulders. The group repeated Jack’s words. “Pulitzer may crack da whip but
‘e won’t whip us!” The newsies repeated Jack once again as they watched
him clime the ladder stretching up to the huge chalk board that proclaimed the
day’s headlines for the ‘New York World’ paper. He grabbed a piece of
chalk which instantly dwarfed his hand and began to write the word ‘STRIKE’
in big letters across the board.
“Da t’in’s we do taday will be tamorrow’s news!”
Kit heard a boy named Snoddy shout.
“An’ da old men will fall!” Bumlets cried out.
“An’ da young stand tall!” Angel contributed.
“So the ‘World’ will fell the fire and finally
know,” David finally joined in with his fellow newsies. The boys around him
laughed at his reluctance and then for him to give in like he did. It all
seemed funny to the newsies.
“Strike!” “Strike!” “Strike!” the boys began
shouting. Kit was caught up in all of the excitement and let out a laugh of
pure joy.
People had gathered all around the newsies to watch what
was going on in the court yard. Many women had bewildered looks on their faces.
They couldn’t understand why these poor street kids where starting a small
but very controlled riot.
Jack climbed off of the giant chalk board to join his
friends below. He ran over to David, who stood before the huge wooden doors of
the “World Building”.
“We ‘ave ta get da woid out ta all da newsies in New
York!” he said to David. “I need some of dose, wha’ do ya call ‘em?”
Jack started making gestures with his hands to try to make David understand
just what he was trying to say.
David shook his as if to say that he didn’t quite
comprehend when it suddenly clicked in his brain. “Ambassadors?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You guys gatta be ambassaders and
go tell da oddah’s dat we’re on strike!”
“Say, Jack, I’ll take Harlem,” Kid Blink volunteered.
“I got Midtown,” Racetrack said.
“I got da Bowery,” Mush said.
“I’ll take the Bronx,” Crutchy said as he grabbed
Snippshooter. “Com’on.”
“Bumlets, Angel, Specs, Skittery, an’ Kit, you take
Queens,” Jack designated.
“All right,” Specs said as the other four followed him
out of the crowd.
“Pie Eater, Snoddy, take the East Side,” Kit could hear
Jack electing. “Snippshooter, you go wit dem”
———
Skittery and Kit hung back from the others on the way
there.
“If ya know wha’s ganna happen ya can help us out
roight, ya can be our leadah,” Skittery told Kit.
“No, Jack’s the leader, that’s what he’s suppose to
be,” Kit answered. “If I do anything, I’ll be tampering with history.
Then if what’s suppose to happen, doesn’t, then the movie will never be
made and I might not be able to find a way to go home. I’ll forget about my
life there.”
“So can you do anything for the strike?” Skittery
asked.
Kit thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “Money,
I’ve got plenty of money to use. With you guys on strike, you won’t have an
income so you’ll need money so you won’t starve.”
“That’s a great idea,” Skittery smiled.
The five soon arrived in Queens and found the leader of the
Queens newsies, Zeus. Zeus a four foot six inch descendant of Greek immigrants.
He had bright green eyes and dark, bowl cut hair. Kit determined that Zeus was
very nicely built and really rather cute.
“Zeus!” Specs cried.
“Specs, wha’ you foir doin’ heah in Queens, an’ who
is dis?” Zeus exclaimed.
“Well, dis is Kit,” Bumlets answered as Skittery took a
step or two closer to Kit. Zeus caught on the Skittery must like this strange
new girl and let out a laugh of delight. “But wha’ we’re doin’ heah is
a little hardah ta answer.”
“Yeah, ‘ave ya seen da new prices fer da papes?!”
Angel cut in.
“Yeah, an’ my boys is all upset ‘bout it, but
dare’s not’in’ us street kids can do ‘bout it,” Zeus answered
matter-of-factly.
“Wrong,” Specs said. “Wha’ if we go on strike? All
newsies all ovah New York join forces an’ we go on strike against the
prices?”
“’As anyone else joined yet?” Zeus asked skeptically.
“Well, um… no, just us from Manhattan,” Specs
answered.
“Yeah, dat’s wha’ I t’ought,” Zeus said. “No
t’ank-you. We’ll just accept da changes.”
“An’ roll ovah like Pulitzer’s obedient dog?!”
Skittery cried. Zeus folded his arms and glared at Skittery for his comment,
waiting for more. Skittery sighed and calmed down a little more. “Wha’ if
we got someone else ta join?”
“Depends on da someone,” Zeus answered.
“I donno, maybe, like Brooklyn?” Skittery said.
“Yeah, Brooklyn!”
“Brooklyn would be convincin’,” Zeus told him.
Skittery spit into his hand and held it out toward Zeus.
Zeus nodded and mimicked Skittery’s sign of friendship.
———
The group of newsies arrived back at the statue of Hoarse
Greeley to join Racetrack, Kid Blink, and others who where all playing a game
of marbles.
“Double down boys, double down!” Race yelled as he
gathered his winnings.
Jack, Boots, and David all walked up to the statue just as
Kit rested herself on the statue.
“How ya doin’ Jack?” Mush asked.
“Jack, so where’s Spot?” Race questioned.
“Oh, well, ‘e was coincered ‘bout us bein’
serious,” Jack said.
“Maybe we oughtta ease off a liddle bit den,” Race
suggested.
“Yeah, witout Stop and da oddahs, dares just no ‘nough
of us Jack,” Kid Blink said.
“Maybe we’re movin’ too soon,” Mush put in.
“Maybe we ain’t ready.”
“I defiantly t’ink we should forget ‘bout it fer a
liddle while,” Skittery said. Kit glared at him and elbowed him in the ribs.
“Oh, do ya?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, we’re not Brooklyn,” Race answered.
Jack licked his lips and looked around the group of
discouraged newsies. “Who we kiddin’ heah, Spot was right. Is dis just a
game to ya?” Jack demanded. Jack sighed in sudden defeat, “Hey ya
Crutchy.”
“Hey ya Jack.”
David slapped Jack on the back and moved out to the edge of
the crowd. He saw his little brother sword playing with another newsboy Less’
age and remembered an old saying his father often said around the house. “Open
the gates and seize the day, don’t be afraid and don’t delay. You know,
nothing can brake us, no one can make us give our rights away, arise and seize
the day.” Now the group was getting their hopes pushed back up by David’s
words as he continued to speak to the crowd. “Now is the time to seize the
day! Send out the call and join the fray! Wrongs will be righted if we’re
united! Let us seize the day! Raise up the torch and light the way! Proud and
definite, we’ll slay the giant, Let us seize the day! Neighbor to neighbor,
father to son…”
“One for all and all for one!” Less cried out cutting
into his brother’s speech. Just as Less was silent the circulation bell
sounded in the distance.
“Anybody heah dat?!” Jack shouted.
“No!” everybody called back.
“So wha’ are we ganna da ‘bout it?!” Jack yelled
“Soak ‘em!” was his answer. All of the newsies took
off toward the “World Building” where ‘scabahs’ where collecting their
papers to sell to the public. As the gates opened the disgruntled group ran
though and surrounded the scabers.
“Com’on, it’s a beautiful,” Kit heard Weasel
shouting to the boys who stood in line to get their papers. “Let’s go,
let’s go! Com’on! Buy yer papes. Hey, wha’s goin’ on heah? Move it,
move it!”
Jack stopped one scab by stepping up in front him. The scab
looked back at Weasel then throw his papers down at his feet. Jack smiled and
shook hands with the converted scab.
“All right,” the scab said.
“Atta boy,” Jack smiled.
“You did good,” Kid Blink congratulated. A line of
other would be scabers dropped their papers and, with hands raised, followed
the example of the first scab.
“It’s ‘bout time South, where ya been?” Race said.
TOO BE FINISHED