Covenanter Witness Vol. 53 - Rparchives.org

price?"cheap."again,"you,"comin'."sure."mister?"cent."remarried."away."mission."waitin,'openings,"mister?"smoke."wearing."set."wanted,"anything!"you,"identification still intact for a dime. "Shoes, mister? Real I turned around. It was the oldman with the grizzly beard, holding the drunk man'sshoes. "Oh, it's he said. "Good place to buystuff here. This is the trading post. Lush divers,mostly. They roll drunks, strip 'em naked sometimes,and get the price of a bottle when they sell theBut,"clothes. he glanced over his shoulder, "let'smove along now. Cop'sI followed him across a side street, and then Isaw that all the others were crossing, too. "Thatso he can't botherstreet's the end of the cop's beat,us over here. When the cop on this beat comes, we'llcross back the old man explained. Then heshuffled away, stopping each man he passed, offeringhis shoes.Gradually I began to feel I was beginning tosuffocate. We were outside, but the air seemed deadand stale. And there was a stench. Alcohol, garbage,human filth. It was closing in on me. I began to feeltrapped. "Goof ball, friend?" A grinning man withdrool dripping down his wiskered chin was staringup at me. "Goof ball? Only a nickel, friend. Just alittle pill, see, but knock you higher'n a kite. Give youa real kick. Only a nickel."I hurriedly moved away. Then I noticed thateveryone had grown quiet. Trading had stopped. Thestaggering men stood still and stared. It was theBlack Maria, the patrol wagon, coming silently downthe street like a messenger of death. It stopped before a doorway. A patrolman got out, dragged acouple of sleeping drunks from the hallway, dumpedthem into the wagon, and locked the gate. Slowly theblack spector moved away, stopping at doorways,adding to its cargo, stopping again, and again, untilat last it was out of sight."Comes around five or six times a day." Theold man was at my side again. "Every time it goesback full. Don't ever get picked up, mister. Theylock you up ten days. You go crazy. Nothin to drink.Don't bed down in railway stations or subway depots. They'll pick you up for He scratched athis beard. "You got a jug on you, He saw Ididn't comprehend. "A jug's a bottle. Some fellerscall it a 'crock.' Costs thirty-five cents for a pint ofSneaky Pete. Dago wine, 20 per cent pure vitamins.Better'n smoke. That's denatured alcohol. Got theI shook my head. "Too bad," he repliedstoically. "I sold the shoes. Hoped we might havea bender together." He sauntered off, and I saw himenter the One Mile Saloon.Once more I began to wander down the streetnow teeming with these human derelicts. Three menstood on the corner, passing a bottle back and forth,each in turn tilting his head and taking a long swig.Another stood on the curb befouling the street. Thesaloons were lined with men. They sat at the bar,or in rows along the walls. Some had a glass of beerbefore them, others had nothing but the emptytables, covered with soiled oilcloth. They sat silently,sipping without sound, staring with apparent preoccupation, seeing nothing, thinking nothing, juststaring at the blankness confronting them.It was growing late along Misery Lane. A flophouse good place to spend the night. The clerkgave me a hanger and relieved me of thirty-fivecents. I went on upstairs, put myclothes on thehanger, as was the custom, and returned it to theOctober 20, 1954clerk, who guarded all the clothes during the night.I kept my shoes, as the others did, and slept withthem under my pillow so they wouldn't be stolen.There were no electric lights. The large room waspitch-black, filled with the coughings and cursings ofdrunken, broken men. No sheets, just a filthy blanketthat I put over the bare springs to keep them fromcutting my flesh. Men snored, deep, resonant snores,and in the corner one man whimpered throughout thenight. I felt a nipping along my legs and lit a matchto investigate. Bedbugs. They were crawling on theceiling, dropping onto the beds. I pulled the blanketover me and tried to sleep. Toward morning Idozed off.I was numb when I awoke. My body ached, andI itched all over. My eyes were bleary and a horribletaste was in my mouth. Off at the end of the roomwas a spigot that served as a shower. Water ice cold,and no towels. I rinsed my hands and face and wipedthem on my undershirt. I ran my hand through myhair and tried to smooth it down. I felt my beard,and wished desperately that I might shave.Downstairs I rummaged through a trash barreland found a morning paper. "Men the classified ad read. When I reached the agency, the girlat the desk looked up from her filing and glancing atme appraisingly. "Noshe curtly said."But, Miss, I just have to have work. I haven't aShe continued filing as though she hadn't"Miss,"heard. I pleaded, "I'll doSheturned toward me sternly. "I told you there are noopenings. We recommend only steady, reliable men.If you want to work, try over on Chambers Street, orgo to the BoweryIt was futile to try other agencies, I realized. OnChambers Street a group of men were standingaround in front of a building. A man came out andbellowed, "Dishwasher, one day." There was a surgetoward the door. The men pushed and mauled, fighting to get there first. A taut, thin man won. "That'stomorrow,"all tillthe man in the doorway announced. The men began to drift away. A scrawnylookingyoung man of about twenty stopped in frontof me."You got a smoke,"Sorry,"I shook my head."Just gotta have a His hands weretrembling. A man up front flicked away a butt, andthe boy hurried out into the street to retrieve it. Hecame back. "This it begins to eat at heexplained.We walked, automatically heading back towardthe Bowery, "I'm from Buffalo," he confided. "Camedown four months ago. Sixty-three bucks in mypocket; thought I'd be all He took anotherpuff and threw the snipe away. "All I want's a job.Been knocking around dishwashing, dock walloping,messenger boy for a week. Now look at me flat.Everything I own I'mHe was a nice boy. Clothes were dirty, naturally,but he was trying to keep neat. He even wore a tie."Back in Buffalo, I was a plumber's theassistant,"boy continued. "Couldn't stand the place though. Myfamily. Mom died when I was seven months old. DadHe nervously wiped his mouth with thepalm of his hand. "Lousy, rotten woman. I had toget247