The year was 1897. In the town of Chicago, in a small rundown house in one of the seedier sections of the city, a woman was sobbing quietly to herself. Not quietly enough, however. A boy slowly came out of a tiny room off of the living room and shuffled over to where the woman sat huddled on the floor.
"Mama?"
"Anthony!"
The woman tried in vain to hide her tears from her only son.
"Mama......what happened? Did Papa........."
His voice trailed off as he saw the mark just beginning to take shape on her cheek.
"He hit you again, didn't he, Mama?"
Anthony jumped to his feet, tears of outrage stinging his eyes.
"No! Anthony, no, stay here, it's okay!"
She pulled him back down, and though he hesitated, his love for his mother made him obey her.
"Your father lost his job, Anthony. He was......just a little upset, that's all."
She patted his knee gently as she spoke, trying to reassure him.
But he would not be put off so easily.
"It ain't right, Mama! He can't keep doing dis to ya. I won't let him! It's his own fault he lost his job, he don't have ta take it out on you!"
As it always did when he was agitated, Anthony's New York accent became even more pronounced than usual. He and his family had lived in good ol' New york City until Anthony was 14--barely more than two years ago. When his father ended up losing yet another job due to his drunkenness, he had decided to move his family to Chicago to try his luck there. And, try as he might, Anthony had never quite gotten used to being away from the city of his birth.
Catarina Higgins reached out and gently brushed her hand against Anthony's face.
"It's late, sweetheart. Go back to bed. Everything will be okay, I promise."
Anthony's dark, angry eyes remained locked on her face for a moment more, but then his gaze softened.
"Sure, Mama."
"Anthony......"
Catarina's soft voice stopped him as he began to get up.
"Don't be too angry with him. I know things are hard right now, but it won't last forever. I want you to remember the good times too."
Unsure how to respond, Anthony simply nodded and went to his room, quietly shutting the door behind him. It seemed to him that he had never felt anything but hatred and disgust for his father. His mother's words reverberated in his mind. Remember the good times?
As Anthony lay in his bed, his face turned towards the tiny window, he tried to think of one good memory of his father. An image sprang into his mind, and began to slowly unwind. That was the day that Patrick Higgins had taken his son with him to the races. Anthony had precious few recollections of his father taking him anywhere.
He did remember, however, that his father had been uncharacteristically amiable that day.
While at the races, Patrick had given the boy a small amount of money and allowed him to choose which horse to bet on. What was the name of that horse again? oh, yeah. Gleaming Ebony. He had chosen that one because the name made him think of his mother's hair. The horse was clearly not a favorite, but to the amazement of both Anthony and Patrick, Gleaming Ebony had won easily.
The boy shifted slightly in his bed as he recalled the expression in his father's eyes that day. He had been used to receiving nothing but disgust and ridicule from his father, but suddenly, something very much like approval had shone from the man's eyes.
Patrick collected Anthony's winnings, handing them to the boy before taking his arm and steering him away from the noisy crowd. He leaned against the wall with a gusty sigh, pulled out a cigar from his pocket and fiddled with aimlessly. Suddenly it occurred to Anthony that he hadn't seen his father this sober in a long time.
The older man stared out at the crowd, not seeing a single person. He refused to meet his son's gaze as he spoke.
"Son......I know I haven't always made things easy for you or your mother. I've messed up......I know I can't change that. I guess.....I just want to apologize. I'm sorry, son."
Anthony just stood there, almost in shock and not sure how to respond. His father had never apologized for anything in his life!
"Anthony....son, I'm sorry if I've ever made it seem like you were anything but the best son a man could have."
He stopped just short of saying 'I love you' but Anthony could read it in his eyes as he finally dragged his eyes away and glanced at his son. Anthony didn't speak, but Patrick must have read some sort of acceptance in the young, intense eyes because he stood up straight, took a deep breath and mumbled something about getting home in time for supper. They walked slowly back to the house, neither speaking once the entire trip.
With memories of that day still floating through his mind, Anthony closed his eyes and drifted slowly off to sleep. The next morning, when he awoke, the house was completely quiet. He got up and wandered to the door of his room, wondering if the events of last night had been a dream or if they had really happened. Looking out at the living room, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, and yet the house was much too quiet. Usually, by this time of morning, his mother was up and bustling about, finding things to keep herself busy until his father came home from yet another night of drinking. Anthony slowly moved towards the kitchen, a small tingle of fear sending chills through him as a glance inside showed that room to also be empty. Finally, Anthony found himself standing in the doorway to his parent's bedroom, staring in utter denial at the still form lying in the bed. He could hardly bring himself to move closer, but he had to know. He took one small step, then another, until he stood next to the bed, his arms close by his side and hands clenched into fists. No breath stirred within Catarina's small body. Her dark hair still held the same luster and shine, but she would never again lovingly brush and braid it. Her beautiful eyes, which had so recently gazed at her son with the same love and affection he felt for her, were closed forever. His mother was gone.
Anthony felt a cry force its way past his tightly clenched throat, as grief and anger swept through him, leaving him dizzy and shaking. He gently reached out and pulled the blankets over his mother's body, then ran to his room, pulling a small bag out from beneath the bed. He began stuffing clothes in it, angry tears flooding his eyes so that he could hardly see. It was his father that had done this. He had finally hit his mother hard enough to kill her. Why, why hadn't Anthony noticed last night that she wasn't okay? The boy fell to his knees beside the bed, struggling to control his sobs. Suddenly, he heard the front door open and his father's drunken singing filled the still air. Rage flooded Anthony's senses and before he knew it he found himself in front of his father, trembling with anger. The older man was stunned when his son began to scream at him.
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya! No, you had to go and hit her again, and then ya jist left her here!! Well, now she's gone, are ya happy? Huh?"
"Whoa, boy, what are ya talkin' about? Your mother left?"
"No, she didn't leave, Papa. She's dead! You killed her when you hit her last night! Satisfied??"
The boy wheeled about and ran back to his room to grab his bag. He didn't see his father's face turn gray and gain about 10 years, or see him sink to the floor in horror and grief.
"I...I didn't mean......I loved her! I loved..........oh God, what have I done?? What have I done!"
The anguished cry pierced Anthony's heart as he stood, clutching his bag. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't forgive his father. Not after this. He strode out of the room and returned one last time to his mother's side. Quietly, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the woman's forehead, then backed away and hurried out the front door, refusing to look again at his father. Unsure of where to go, he wandered the streets till the sun had nearly gone down, and found himself at the trainyards. He stood for a long moment, staring at the cars when a voice to his left made him jump.
"Hey, kid. You look like there's somethin' ya need ta get away from."
He turned, and discovered that the voice belonged to a tall, wiry boy about his own age. The other boy was clothed in worn overalls and a blue shirt that had long since faded to gray.
"I'm Dash. Ya got a name, kid?"
"Anthony," he muttered, squinting because the setting sun was right in his eyes. It didn't seem to bother Dash though, as he moved forward and clapped a friendly hand on Anthony's shoulder.
"Ya ever done this before, Anthony? Trainhopping, I mean?"
Anthony simply shook his head, his dark eyes fixed on Dash's face.
"Well, don't worry none about dat. I'se an expert, I'll make suah you'se is okay. Now, let's see, where to go......how about New Yawk? Dat okay wit ya?"
Anthony nodded again, his heart leaping at the thought of returning to his beloved New York City.
"Good. Foller me, stay low, and if ya sees any cops, run like the devil, okay? Just do what I say and you'll be fine."
The two boys hurried to a train that was just beginning to pull out of the yard. Dash jumped first, then leaned out to grab Anthony's hand as he, too, jumped and landed safely inside.
Both boys scurried further inside the car, huddling deep in the shadows. Dash settled himself quickly, pulling Anthony down beside him before the swaying motion of the car knocked him over.
"So, kid........what's your story? Whatcha runnin from?"
Anthony didn't answer, but simply looked away.
"Dat's okay, lots of us got things we don't wanna talk about. Ya look a bit worn out, why don't ya get some sleep? I'll wake ya up before we get to New Yawk."
The next thing Anthony knew, Dash was shaking him roughly. He sat up, and Dash grinned at his sleepy friend.
"Welcome to New Yawk, kid! D'you know you slept nearly the whole way here? Musta been pretty worn out."
Without waiting for an answer, Dash moved to the door and pulled it open slightly, peering outside before motioning to Anthony with one hand. The two boys crept out and hurried away from the New York trainyards. They ran for a few blocks, until they could be sure no one was following them, and then both sat down on a nearby bench. Anthony was breathing heavily but Dash simply leaned back comfortably, looking at Anthony in amusement. When Anthony had gotten his breath back, Dash began to speak.
"So, kid.........I don't know what it is you'se is runnin' from, and it ain't none of my business. But whatever it is, it's gonna find you eventually if you keep that name. We'se gotta come up wid a new one for ya. Take me, fer example. I likes ta run, and I'se good at it too," he said without a hint of modesty. "So, me friends started callin' me Dash. Now, what about you? Whaddya like ta do?"
Anthony just looked at him. After all that had happened, he was beginning to feel numb. Dash noticed this and wisely decided not to push him.
"Awright, we can figger out somethin' later. For now, let's find us somethin' ta eat and a place ta sleep."
Dash got up and led Anthony through the streets of New York, finally stopping at the back door of a small restaurant. He glanced at Anthony with a smirk, and then pounded on the door. After a few moments a cranky voice began yelling from a window above them.
"Dash, if that isn't you you're gonna be sorry!"
The boy just laughed.
"Course it's me, Johnny, who else? I'se gots a new friend here."
A large, round head popped out of the window and looked down at them, sighing.
"Alright, kid, hang on, I'm comin'."
A few seconds later, heave footsteps sounded behind the door and with a rattle, the door swung open to reveal a huge, jolly-looking man.
"Well, come in then. I'll assume the two of you have been runnin' and are probably hungry."
He led them over to a small table and motioned to them to sit before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with two huge bowls of stew, and a moment later added two glasses of root beer. Then, Johnny stood back, rubbing his hands as he watched them attack the food in front of them.
"Well, Dash, you know the drill. There are some blankets and such over by the fireplace, and don't forget to be out before the first customers get here in the morning. I don't want to have to wake you boys up."
Dash grinned.
"Aww, come on Johnny, you know you just can't wait to be rid o' me again!"
The large man shook his head.
"Right, Dash. Just remember what I said, okay?" The man looked fondly at Dash before slowly lumbering back up the stairs to bed.
After they finished eating, they carried the dishes to the kitchen before settling by the fireplace for the night. Dash, naturally, was asleep immediately. But Anthony lay awake for a long time, thinking about the changes in his life. He wasn't sure what he should do next; all he could think about was getting far away from his father and the awful pain he had felt. But now what? With no answers forthcoming, Anthony reluctantly fell into a fitful sleep.
The next morning found the boys once again roaming the busy city streets. As they walked, Dash kept glancing over at the pale, quiet boy walking beside him.
"You know, you need to relax a liddle, have some fun. Come on, I'se gots an idea!"
As he had been for the last few days, Anthony silently followed after the taller boy. When he saw that they were approaching the racetracks, however, he began to hesitate. Dash didn't notice, however, and Anthony was too weary to object. Dash grabbed hold of his shirt sleeve and pulled him along with him.
"Awright, kid, I'se gots a lil money, but I can never seem to pick a winnin' horse, so how 'bout you take a shot at it. Ever done this before?"
"Once," Anthony murmured, memories crowding his mind.
"Once, good, didja win or lose?"
"I won. Don't ask me how but I did."
"Well, kid, maybe you'se is jist a natural. Go ahead, pick one."
Anthony perused the choices, settling on a young horse called Rio Red Ginger.
"Awright, that sounds good. Now let's see how she does, huh?" Dash kindly decided not to tell Anthony that the horse he had chosen wasn't even expected to finish the race.
A short time later, the boys were walking away from the tracks in silence. Dash looked at Anthony with something akin to awe in his eyes.
"First place.....I've NEVER won so much money at the tracks before. You really are a natural, kid!" He reached out and handed half of the winnings to Anthony, ignoring the boy's protests.
They continued walking in companionable silence, until Dash let out a whoop and grabbed Anthony by the collar, nearly startling the poor boy into next week.
"That's it! That's what we'll call ya, kid, Racetrack! On account o' yu're such a natural. You belong there kid!"
Anthony mulled that over for a bit, then nodded. Racetrack Higgins.....it seemed fitting somehow. As he walked, memories filled his mind, and he couldn't stop thinking about his father.
Dash noticed Racetrack's sudden preoccupation and wisely said nothing for a few minutes. Finally he spoke up.
"Wanna talk about it, kid?"
Not trusting his voice at the moment, Race nodded and they detoured to a nearby alley, settling on some handy barrels to speak. In a hushed voice, he poured out his story to the kindly boy who had befriended him, not stopping until he reached the point where the two had met. For a few moments they both simply sat there in silence. Then Racetrack spoke once more.
"I shouldn'ta left like that, Dash. I shoulda made things right with my Papa before I left." He shook his head and looked at the ground, grief and regret clouding his eyes.
"Well, kid, you're probably right. But......ya gotta have faith. I mean......I don't know that much about God or anything like that. But somehow I get the feeling that you an' yer old man'll get another chance."
Racetrack took a deep breath and blinked away the remnants of his tears before nodding.
Dash continued to speak.
"Anyways, kid, we'se gots ta tawk. Now, I don't plan on stayin' round too much longer. I ain't the type to stay in one place fer too long. But I can tell that you'se is gonna want ta stay here in New Yawk, am I right?"
At Race's nod of agreement, he went on.
"Dat's what I thought. Okays, here's the deal. I know some people here that'll help ya, dey's newsies. They sell papes around the city and I know dey'll take ya in. And afta that I gots ta be goin'. But first.....ya evah played poker?"
About an hour or so later, the boys headed off again. Race had managed to win nearly half of Dash's money before the other laughingly put a stop to the game. Feeling bad, Race had tried to return some of the money, but Dash quickly stopped him, saying that rules were rules. He shook his head, wordlessly vowing never to play against this new kid again.
After a short walk, Racetrack found himself staring up at a building with a sign saying "Newsboys' Lodging House." He wasn't sure what to expect, but before he had much time to think about it, Dash was opening the door and pulling him inside.
"Hey, Kloppman!" was Dash's cheeky greeting to the old man behind the counter. The man looked up and smiled in return.
"Dash, my boy! Gonna stick around this time?"
"Ha! Nice try, old man, but I'm jist here ta get my new friend settled. This is Racetrack Higgins. Race, dis is Kloppman, he runs da place."
Racetrack mumbled a hello, his deep brown eyes wary as he glanced around the place.
"Racetrack, huh? Welcome. You'll have to sign in over here, and pay the fee for lodging. You got any money?" It was Kloppman's standard spiel for newcomers.
Dash laughed.
"Does he have any money! Dis kid jist beat the pants off me in a game o' poker! Better keep yer eye on dis one, Kloppman."
The man just chortled as he led Racetrack over to the counter where the sign-in book sat. After signing with his new name and paying Kloppman his lodging fee, Dash and Race headed upstairs after Kloppman informed them that Jack was already up there.
"Who's Jack?" Race asked curiously on the way up.
"Dat would be Jack Kelly, but everyone calls him Cowboy. He's da leadah of da Manhattan newsies. Don't worry none, he's a nice enough fella. 'Sides, you're wid me, remembah?"
They reached the door to the bunkroom, and Race stopped, looking about him with interest. Here and there boys were gathered about, joking and playing games. Dash didn't hesitate but went straight to a tall boy wearing a bandana, with a cowboy hat hanging down behind him.
"Hey dere, Jack, how's it goin'?" Dash spit in his hand, as did Jack, and they shook hands.
"Heya, Dash. Didn't know you'se was back in da neighborhood."
"Yeah, well, I'se only here for a liddle while. Just felt like it was time to come back heah for a while.I gots a new guy fer ya."
Dash reached back and pulled Race forward, much like a mother would do with a young child.
"Dis here's Racetrack, I picked him up in Chicago. He's me newest pal so don't mess wid him none, got it, Cowboy?"
Kelly laughed.
"Sure ting, Dash. Racetrack, huh?" he said, eyeing him. "Ya got a last name?"
"Racetrack Higgins." Race replied, studying this 'Cowboy' closely.
"Higgins......dat don't seem like an Italian last name. Ya got some Irish in ya, kid?"
"Yeah, my fadda was Irish. What's it to ya?"
"Nuttin, nuttin, jist curious, dat's all." The older boy was amused at Racetrack's fierce answer.
"Racetrack, huh? Sounds like my kinda guy. You play poker?" This came from a boy in the corner holding a worn deck of cards. At this statement, Dash burst out laughing.
"Ya suah ya wanna play dis kid, Mush? I jist taught him how to play this aftahnoon, might get a lil boring fer ya."
Mush grinned widely. "Dat's okay, Dash, I'se can be patient."
Dash shared an amused glance with Jack, who had caught on immediately, before waving Race over to where the boy Mush was waiting.
"Oh, hey, wait a sec, kid. Now that you'se is all settled and everythin, I'se gonna be goin'. Now, membah what we talked about, okay? When ya gets that second chance wid yer old man, take it. I'll try ta head back this way sometime soon, maybe I can check up on yer fadda next time I'se in Chicago, and let ya know."
Race nodded, gratitude for the boy's friendship clearly shining in his eyes. Dash nodded back and went to say goodbye to Jack before leaving. Meanwhile, Race sauntered over to the bunk where Mush sat, eagerly awaiting him. As they settled down to play, a couple of other boys joined in. Mush introduced them as Specs and Skittery.
"So, anyway, Race, ya evah sold papes before?" Skittery asked.
"Nope, but I can learn."
"Fair enough. Well, welcome to the woild o' newsies." the boy said with a smile as Mush began dealing the cards. While they all busied themselves looking at the cards they had been dealt, Mush glanced at the newcomer's powerful eyes. He wondered at the deep currents that seemed to run just beneath the surface of the boy's carefree exterior, but soon realized that nearly all of the boys in the room had secrets that they didn't want to remember. In here, that didn't matter. When you became a newsie, you became part of the family, and there was very little that could change such a strong bond. With that thought in mind, Mush pulled his attention back to his cards, confident that he could teach this new boy a thing or two about the game.
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