Devastation, continued --DEVASTATION STRIKES CITY--         The newsies tried to smile over the headline, but it was hitting too close to home.  The previous evening, Jack had found Tumbler and carried him back to the lodging house.  The poor boy had a cut under his left eye, and his cheeks were red from the flying sand.  Some of the guys had tried to clean his skin of all the gray dust, but it seemed that it would never come off.          The papes sold easily, and each newsie sold at least twice their normal amount in half the time, but none of them found joy in the surge; they were too aware of what was lost.         The next few days were very much the same.  Some newsies returned to almost normal after 2 days.  Others couldn't seem to think or speak of anything else.                 Some days, they just sat in Tibby's, silent.  They had food before them, but no one ate;  they were starving as usual, but had no appetite.                 The newspapers had been printing nothing but updates on the disaster.  Everywhere, people were seen reading their papers, taking in the solemn news with wet cheeks and heavy heads.  Even the newsies read the whole story, instead of just skimming over it like they normally did.                 Four days after the attack, Tumbler, Bumlets, Racetrack, Skittery, and Jack were sitting in Tibby's doing exactly that: reading.                 Racetrack flipped over his paper to the back page.  "Hey, look at dis: 'At City Hall yesterday, the Chief Building Advisor of New York City declared that the cause of the collapse was poor supports in the lower floors.  The main frame of the building was determined as not being strong enough to hold the weight of the top 8 floors.  The flash seen was due to--' "         "What are they?  Stupid?" Tumbler yelled at the top of his lungs as he jumped to his feet.  The others looked at him in surprise.  Since that Tuesday, Tumbler hadn't uttered a single word.                 Bumlets put a hand on Tumbler's shoulder to sit him down.  "Hey, what are you talkin' about?  They know what they's sayin'."                 Tumbler jerked back.  "No they don't!  But I do, see?  It was dat guy with the bomb, that dirty Italian..."         Bumlets and Racetrack stared at him, looking hurt.  He just glared back.  "Ah yeah, you're Italian, too, aincha?  You're dirty, rotten Italians!! I bet you helped him, huh?  Why did you Italians do it?  Why do ya hate us?"  Tumbler had become frantic and hysterical.  He waved his arms around madly, striking out at anything he could.         Jack grabbed the small boy around the middle and hefted him off the ground.  Tumbler continued to flail, and Jack shook him until he calmed down.  "What on earth are ya talkin' about?  You known dese two for as long as you can remember!! Dey's as much of New Yorkers and Americans as you an' me is.   Dey didn't have no part of dis, an' you know it!  Stop reamin' on 'em!"                 Tumbler sighed and tears crept down his cheeks once more.  He said nothing, just looked at his friends with the saddest eyes they had ever seen.  Words flew between them, silent apologies and nods of acceptance.         They all knew the feeling of hopelessness, and the need for an explanation.  Some, like Tumbler, lashed out at people who were different.  Others called it coincidence or an accident, and thought nothing more of it.  Still others refused to go in or near any other buildings higher than 8 stories.         But everyone was forever changed.  It is impossible to determine how, exactly, but that day, September 11, 1901, was never to be forgotten.        Author's note: This story was NOT written in jest, or to make light of a tragedy.  It was written that day, when the tears burned in my eyes and my heart, and the best way I knew to record what I felt was a story.  But it couldn't be directly related, an exact account, because I didn't and still don't know the entire story.  I never will.  I took the basics, changed a lot of things, and moved back in time to another setting that still connects to my heart.  I used only actual characters, both to distance us and draw us closer to the heart of the story.  The Zenger-Pollack building is entirely fictional, as is the attack.  At this point in time, the Ellis Island Immigration Building had been closed.  The use of an Italian man WAS NOT an insult to the Italian people.  It simply was the best way to represent some Americans' reactions through Tumbler. I sincerely hope that this story didn't offend anyone.  Please, please, please, tell me if it has.  Yours truly, Rachel Austin aka Natalie Elizabeth Hart Back...