ALBANY--IN THE MIDST OF THE FIGHT
"_As long as any man exists there is some need of him. Let him fight
for his own._"--EMERSON.
Between the hours of ten P. M. and midnight the next evening,
I found myself (with another down-and-out worker) sitting in the
smoking-room of the Albany depot. My momentary acquaintance was
an Irishman. Presently another young fellow, whose appearance was
indicative of having recently put off a good many meals, came in and
sat down near us. The Irishman looked squarely and inquisitively at
the new-comer (who was an Irish-American), and recognizing by some
mutual instinct that he belonged to the army who must work and wander,
abruptly said: "Who are you?"
"I am a tramp," the young fellow replied.
"Then, I suppose," continued the Irishman, "you have been in every
State in the Union."
"Yes, every State," answered the young fellow. "Well," said the
Irishman, "I'll bet you have never been in the state of matrimony."
"Yes," quickly answered the man, "_I have been in Utah, too_."
"How about the state of intoxication?"
"Do you mean the State of New York, or a personal experience with John
Barleycorn? If you mean the latter, I can honestly say, I have never
been drunk."
Thus we laughed and joked and then talked seriously for an extended
time. These two men were on their way to the hop fields of New York
for work. The younger of the two, when he had reached the age to
fully comprehend, found himself in an Orphan Asylum. At fourteen he
had been given to a farmer for whom he did the work of a man. When he
was sixteen the family was broken up and the farm sold. He had been
taught no trade and had received very little book knowledge. With the
non-existence of this farm home, he became (to use the soubriquet of
disrespect which is often put upon the forced migratory wage-slave) a
floater.
There were only a few men in the smoking-room. Weary, almost beyond
endurance, we lay down on the empty seats and fell asleep. Suddenly
we were awakened by a depot official saying, "This is no lodging
house." We were roughly asked many questions,--who we were, where we
were going, whether we had a ticket or the price of a ticket. When our
answers proved unsatisfactory we were violently thrust into the street.
I wondered at the time why we were not jailed, but I soon learned that
their local prisons were full, and that the fact that they knew we had
no money was a good reason,--in fact our protection from arrest.
Undaunted, I stepped up to a policeman who was standing a little way
off talking to a man, and asked him for Albany's Municipal Emergency
Home. This officer, surprised at my question, hesitated to answer. The
man to whom he was talking, said, "Go to the Baptist Home. Tell them
you are penniless and they will take care of you. Here is my card. The
address is on it."
We went to the home but found it closed and dark. To our ringing and
knocking there was no response. I learned afterwards that even if the
institution had been open, we would have found no welcome as it was
house-cleaning time. We next sought out the Salvation Army. It was not
house-cleaning time with them but the place was much darker, more
securely sealed against the homeless, hopeless wayfarer, than the
Baptist Home.
A man on the street gave the two hop pickers the price of a supper, a
breakfast and a place to rest, and very soon I was curled down on the
cushions of an early morning train, riding the velvet into Rochester.
When, on this early Fall morning, I reached Rochester it was again
God's day of rest. A number of workingmen were grouped a little way
down the street, and with assumed indifference I joined them. Their
conversation was on the possibility of getting work. All of them seemed
to be idle. There was no prospect in sight in the city, and they had
decided to go into the apple orchards of the surrounding country. In
response to my inquiry as to whether there was any public place where a
fellow who was broke could get a meal with or without working for it,
one of them replied, "I, too, am up against it, pal, or I would help
you. The only place I have heard of is the Sunshine Rescue Mission on
Front Street."
I walked toward the Mission and as I went I caught sounds of a drunken
brawl in a saloon. A little farther on a "scarlet girl" with a sad face
tapped on the window and smiled. Just as I reached Front Street the
police wagon came hurriedly dashing down the street. Three stalwart
members of the police force, on the pay roll of the city of Rochester,
got out of the wagon when it stopped at the Mission. I thought I must
be mistaken in the place and that it was a police station. But no,
there was the sign: "Sunshine Rescue Mission." The officers entered.
Brutally and roughly they brought out two men, thrust them into the
wagon and took them off to the prison. They were scarcely out of sight
before another policeman came down the street with another man whom he
hurried into the Mission.
From the time I entered Rochester until I left, I saw evidences of a
"vice trust," the depravity of which could only be conjectured. I did
not dare remain there for I trembled at the thought of a homeless man
asking for aid in that institution of a "humane" Christian city. I
hurriedly left Rochester for here more than any place that I had been
in there seemed to be something "rotten in Denmark."