_First Day in New York_
It is not my purpose in this little volume to make any boast of myself
as an historian. Bookmaking is not my profession; neither do I propose
to go into extensive details more than it is necessary to harmonize the
coincidents of events as they occurred and the effect they produced in
the development of an unusual Christian career, and God knows that my
only desire is to reconcile the opposing privileges of a meek and lowly
Christian worker, to be equal if not greater to those of a High Priest
who in his fulness of life though one of the most active ecclesiastical
officials in the highest circles of church and society, his firm belief
in success, knowing of no fear, and daringly climbing up in higher ranks
among philosophical societies, holding such an exalted position in the
most ancient Christian church. The church that holds the undisputable
proof as the first authentical apostolic establishment with founder the
apostle of the Gentiles himself. And who is the student of the
Scriptures, be he a Christian or philosopher of the Epicurean or the
Stoic system that could reasonably argue that the oration on the
Areopagus made by Paul to the Athenians being the masterpiece and model
of the most convincing speeches ever made in the Christian era? That
this High Priest, while enjoying all the comforts and privileges
belonging to his high office, together with its honors and gorgeous
trappings, does not attach any over-weening importance to ecclesiastical
dignity, neither does he consider a "comedown" the step he has taken,
but he gives the simple, yet convincing reason that he just follows the
process of evolution in Christianity, doing the will of his Master who
promised to all mankind one Lord--one Faith--one Baptism. And for the
last six years he has proven that it is possible for a man to begin from
the very bottom of life, his nearest and dearest relatives opposing him,
with no friends to understand his desires and his ambitions, to be a
wanderer in a great country like the United States, and travel from the
Atlantic Coast to the Pacific Ocean, proud to always be able to support
himself and also help someone on his way. Exercising the principle of
the Apostle Paul, working hard for his living, stranger not only to the
ethics and customs of the people whose sympathetic hearts he was coming
to win, but unable to even put two sentences together in their own
language, and today here he is to tell you the story, as true as your
beautiful breath that keeps your soul and body alive, and the only favor
he asks from you is that when you severely criticise the grammatical and
syntactical site in the execution of this work, you may in your
kindness, remember that his only resource to derive any philological
assistance, was a twenty-five cent Webster's dictionary, bought from a
second-hand book store.
This is my first day in New York. And looking around to find the number
of the house where I was going to stay, my thoughts were so animated as
to feel that all the arteries and veins of my body through my feet were
kissing the ground upon which my heart would soon appease with its
Maker.
A few people, going to the Low Mass, I should judge by the solemnity of
their walk, men and women, sent curious glances at the stranger dressed
in the robes on the street. By this time approaching the 7th Avenue and
not finding the desired number I was just directing my steps towards a
gentleman dressed in some kind of uniform to inquire about the place,
when a young man tipped his hat in front of me and raised the finger of
his right hand and pointed to the sign of the florist's store just a few
steps backwards. I could then plainly read the name on the board above
the door. It was the name very dear to me, which, with longing heart I
was looking for. Almost immediately a man came out from that same store
with a broad smile on his face and with a gentle bow, as though asking
my permission, he took my valise thus relieving me just in time, and
leading the way into the store I saw another gentleman behind a counter
preparing a large floral design from the rarest flowers of the season,
for the funeral of a most distinguished politician of Harlem.
Although I yield to no man in the appreciation of a good smiling face
and here I had two of them and the most typical faces which are
prominent in the making of this heterogeneous republic, John,
representing the Huguenot and Dutch, and Jack whose father and mother
were Irish, and Jack was Irish too. Both these gentlemen with pantomimic
actions in a few words which now I know were English words but at that
time I could not tell if they were Chinese or Hindoo. They tried to make
me understand that Mr. George N., whom they knew I was looking for, as
they had heard him speaking of me and they saw my photograph, and they
were waiting notification of my coming, and that they were struck by
ecstasy at my sudden appearance, he was at breakfast and that he would
soon be back so I had better step into his office and rest myself while
waiting for him. The expectancy to meet my friend George N., it
lengthened every moment for me waiting in that little office.
Twenty-four years since I saw him last when I was only ten years old,
and even if I had not seen his photograph in all these years I could
distinguish him among ten thousand. He was my first teacher in the
grammar school; neighbor in my home and a very great distant relative.
He always took especial interest in my scholarship. My childhood and
school days were not all that I could desire for me, to be, for I was an
orphan, yet it was that orphan who always carried the first or the
second honors in the annual examinations. It was for this reason,
perhaps, that my teachers were all well pleased with my progress. The
past is only a memory, yet when we look back in the light of our
sincerity we can trace every point and every reason that contributed to
our success or failure in our lives. It is not a vision neither is there
a mere kinetoscope procession. The High Priest is here waiting to
meet his teacher with the same solemnity as in the old school days when
he had to meet his teacher after some of his occasional mischiefs. With
these and other agreeable memories relishing my time in that office, I
heard a loud applause in the store and the words "Father is here,"
aroused my inquisitiveness and before I could leave my chair, there was
at the door of the office standing the man whom I wanted to see. Sturdy
and resolute with two slow steps he now extends a welcome hand to me and
as he called me by my childish nickname in response said, I, my teacher!
Yes, said he, How do you do my Father? Why didn't you let me know when
you were coming so I could meet you at the pier; How long have you been
wandering to find this place? And many other complimentaries, but, you
must, he went on saying, change your appearance at once, for I am not
going to disgrace myself and you too, if we dare to walk on the streets
with you dressed in robes like this. Let us go up stairs in my room, and
I believe you can be fitted with a new suit of clothes made to order for
me which I was ready to try on today, as the tailor just sent them here
a little while ago. Then you must have a very clean shave, my goodness,
there is a whole mask to come off your face and the long black hair you
have, you can make some money by selling it to any fashionable lady.
Now, Father, you have to hurry, because the barber shop closes at 12
o'clock and you only have the necessary time to change your dress.
[Illustration: THE WORLD'S WONDER, ACROPOLIS OF ATHENS, GREECE]
The clothes which George N. offered for my transfiguration with the
exception of being made for a man one inch taller than my own stature
they didn't look very awkward upon me and to escape curiosity he took me
through the alleys of a narrow passage into the 124th Street, where an
elderly German kept a barber shop and when he was through cleaning that
over burdened head of mine, he was almost exhausted, and liable to a
fine, if any policeman happened to see him working on Sunday after 12
o'clock. The barber closed the door of his shop allowing time for us to
just step out and we hastened our way back to the store, now walking on
7th Avenue. Jack, whose name already is mentioned here, is one of the
leading flower decorators in New York City. He could make a cross of
flowers look like a picture, and he could make a bouquet for the most
particular bride, he could decorate a little chapel around the corner
and make it look as artistic as he could decorate a rich mansion in the
most exclusive Riverside Drive. Jack made as much money as any of his
high grade fellow traders in Harlem, and he had no home
responsibilities, his widow mother being what we might call well-to-do,
for she owned considerable real estate in that vicinity, yet, Jack,
every Monday morning had to obtain a loan for his carfare, and more than
half a dozen young ladies all around Manhattan were particularly
interested in Jack's welfare. This is Sunday and one o'clock in the
afternoon, and Jack should be enjoying his holiday, and there were
already two of his female chums waiting for him on the sidewalk. Yet
Jack had always some more time to spare to accommodate his employer
George N., who as now entered the store he gave the synthematical
pass-word "that's all," which in the language of the employer and
employees it means "The boys may now go home."
But Jack, as he took a glimpse on me, in all his Irish calibre he almost
screamed: Help! St. Patrick, what a metamorphosis is this? Is that you,
Father? You look now to me more like a butterfly out of a caterpillar
than anything in Ireland. Say, girls, calling his friends from the
outside, come in you girls, I take the honor to introduce you to the
Father ..., but, my soul, I am ashamed to call you Father, so
fashionable a gentleman as you look now. You shall not call me Father,
said I, as long as you see me dressed like a gentleman. I shall not,
Jack said, and with his girls took his departure, while George N., who
interpreted all this merriment, took a fresh white rose and put it in my
buttonhole. Let us go for lunch, said he and I followed gladly for I
felt it was a timely call.
As George N. is a bachelor he takes his meals in no particular place,
anywhere from Harlem Casino or Palm Garden or Manhattan Club to a ten
cent lunch counter. Today he took me into a dollar a plate restaurant on
125th Street. Before I was through with my dinner, George N. made the
remark to me saying "if you always enjoy the American cooking the way I
observe you doing, you will never starve in America, I assure you." It
was the wisest prophecy that George N. ever made about my future in
America.
After dinner we visited Grant's Tomb on Riverside Drive and on our
return he gave me instructions how to find the Waldorf Astoria hotel
where Aleck, one of his nephews had a position, and that Aleck would
make arrangements for the night for me and that the following morning
George N. would wait for me to discuss my plans for the future. I left
him and when I was in my room which Aleck provided for me, the time was
well nigh midnight.
After the day's excitement I hoped that a good night's rest would
refresh me anew and the next morning would find me prepared for the work
I chose to devote my future life in this New World. With a lightning
quickness my mind examined all my past life and with the same speed I
made my conclusions that there was no more any pleasure for me to look
back, neither was there any attraction in that garb which so often is
the representation of hypocrisy itself. I felt so happy for my decision
and with a grateful heart I bent on my knees in prayer to Him who lay
down His life for my freedom and my salvation, and as an evidence of my
good health, the night passed undisturbed in sound sleep and in the
morning when Aleck called me for breakfast I felt that every fibre of my
body was springing for action, and with the last touch leaping from my
bed the first day of new life went into history.