Do you believe a boy that is good at home, one who is cared for and
loved as we often see an only child, could possibly do anything bad on
the streets, away from home influence?
A neatly dressed boy, a carrier, whose parents “wanted him to learn the
trade of the street, to give him self-reliance and business tact, and
all that the street teaches without much effort,” when through with his
little route of carrying papers insisted upon going, “to the heart of
the city and selling papers on special occasions, extras.”
Before Boyville was fully organized the president’s attention was
called to this little fellow—as being “a perfect nuisance. He was
impudent, frequently used profane language and was one of the worst
boys on the street.” At that time the association had but one (boy)
officer. He was told to watch this boy. See that he was corrected.
“And, above everything not to lose him because he was bad.” Within a
month the officer reported “the boy’s parents were among the best in
the city, good Christian people, attending church every Sunday, and
the boy a regular prize-winner for perfect attendance at Sunday-school.
When this boy was away from home, out of sight of his parents—he was a
little terror.”
“Well, what did you do with him?” was asked the officer.
“I takes his papers, an’ shows him as how to sell ’em. How to say thank
you when he sells to a gemmen or a ladies. And how’s not to be the
whole thing when on the street working. He cut out swearing de furst
thing. He was easy doing, all he wanted wus guidin.”
“What did he say to your work?”
“When I puts twenty cents in his hand, an’ says this is yourn, he gets
wise, he gets next to a good thing and is now working on de square. He
is de boss seller on de street an’ no boy kin sell on de corners and
swear, or steal. He fights ’em. He does.”
That same little boy, who was given a warning by a fellow companion
with a little authority, today receives a salary of eight hundred
dollars a year in an important commercial position.
In every city of our land there are hundreds of boys like this “good
boy at home,” who on the street surprises their most intimate friends
by their wickedness.
[Illustration: “TROW DE CIGARETTE AWAY.”
_See Page 74_
]
The newsboy cannot gain admission to many of the boys clubs, debating
clubs, athletic clubs, and is often debarred from many of our greatest
christian associations, because he is a being within himself, he stands
alone in his class, a creation of his own acts and deeds, and goes upon
the street at that age when environment molds his future, and generally
molds it bad.
A question is often asked, what would become of a boy if he were left
to himself, with no training, no guidance, no education. A boy of the
street, who is dead to home influences, or worse, who is driven out
to make a living for himself by heartless parents or guardians, or
unfortunate conditions of life, and there are hundreds of them in every
city, becomes a power in himself. For evil, first. “For the heart of
the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil.” If left alone the
evil will get the upper hand. The street teaches irregular habits and
restlessness.
The following incident will show how diligent were the boys, not
officers, in watching their companions.
Two little boys, ages nine and twelve, saw a fellow member standing
in an alley, behind a pile of store boxes and enjoying a cigarette to
his great delight. He was afraid to appear on the street as the boys
were watching for such cases. He was a boy about fifteen years of age,
rather stout and independent, but a staunch member of the association.
He might have used his strength to great advantage in arguing with the
two boys who attacked him as soon as discovered.
“Say, Mike, youse knows it’s agin the rule to smoke dem cig’rettes.”
“Dat’s all right. If I wants to smoke, I smoke, see? No one sees me in
the alley. I don’t smoke when I sells me papers.”
“Aw! comes off, youse knows de rules. Cut it out. Trow it away. Youse
knows our president don’t wants youse ter smoke ’em. Cut it out. Trow
it away.”
This persuasive talk or “bluff” as the smoker declared, had but little
effect until the two boys began to take off their coats. When donned
for the prize ring, the boys walked to the violator, presenting a bold
front and again demanded that the cigarette be thrown away, and promise
made that he would never smoke again.
“What youse goin’ to do?” he said, backing up closer to the building.
“We will trow you down, take your badge frum youse an’ take it to the
president.”
The big boy stood quiet for some moments, in the mean time about thirty
newsies had gathered around him, each yelling—“trow it away.”
“I haint lookin’ fur no trouble,” he finally said, and threw the
cigarette in the alley.
“We’s only doin’ you a good turn,” said the nine-year-old newsy.
“It’s all right. I was only tryin’ to see if you would stop me. I’ll
cut it all out. I will never smoke again.”
That boy did not have to be watched. He was good and kind to his little
friends, and proved to be one of the best boys on the street. Two years
later, when he graduated from the junior grade, in one of the ward
schools, he came to the president, saying that his mother was poor and
sickly and he had to go to work. He was sent to a wholesale house where
was wanted a good honest boy.
The first question asked Mike was:
“Do you smoke cigarettes?” The president will never forget the manly,
prompt reply. He was given a good position, and that boy today is
traveling for a firm in Cleveland, Ohio, at a big salary. The increased
interest in the detail work taken by the boys themselves encouraged
the president to believe that he was still on the right road to build
these little street-boys up for good, not only for themselves but for
doing good for others. Another case of interest in an unusual way of
“doin’ a good turn.” A bright-eyed, red-faced boy, ten years old,
came running into the president’s office, one evening, almost out of
breath, and after clearing the way through a long room, he stood before
the officer, eyes sparkling with interest. He had something important
to say. His elbows were bare, his pants torn, his cap merely a piece
of cloth, with a rim strong enough to hold it in place. His name was
Bluster, receiving it from the boys on account of his blustering manner
of doing things.
“Say, pres.,” yelled Bluster. “I want authority to lick a kid.”
That was a strange request. While the president was thinking what to
say he added.
“I must have permission fur de gang’s after me. Dey’re on me track.”
Not desiring the gang to enter the office and create a scene, consent
was given for Bluster to use force, if necessary to defend himself. A
smile of satisfaction came over Bluster’s face. A smile that indicated
that he had taken advantage of the president, and was now about to
glory in it. After a moments thought he said.
“Say, pres., I already licked him.”
“Who and what for?” was asked with considerable surprise.
“Fur swearin.”
Before he could explain the details of the case, in rushed eight or ten
boys, all talking at once. Bluster never smiled when the boys declared
he wasn’t an officer and had no business to “take the law into his own
hands.”
“That’s all right,” put in Bluster, “ain’t we supposed to work fur
each others good? Well, an’ wasn’t I ’tendin’ to my own business on de
corner. I wus standin’ there crying all about de big fire, when a man
frum de other side of the street calls fur me to come over. I starts
an’ so does Swipsey, I beats Swipsey, an’ sells de man a paper, an’
what does Swipsey do? Does he go about his business? No, he told the
man to go to hell and used other swear words an’ I saw our association
wus receiving a black eye. It’s no use to preach to Swipsey, de only
way to bring him to his thinking is to lick him. He knows as well as
youses that its agin de rules to swear. So I punched him. I turned him
an’ rolled him over until he cried enuf, an’ promised he would not
swear again. Then de gang came after me an’ I runned to you.”
The boys still declared he had no right to punish Swipsey without
permission from the president. Quick as flash Bluster said:
“Say, pres., didn’t I have permission?”
The president could do nothing but back Bluster up. He had given him
full authority. At this juncture, Swipsey made his appearance. His hair
disheveled, face and hands dirty, and clothes in a terrible condition.
Swipsey listened to Bluster’s story with a great deal of patience. He
looked guilty.
“All we want to know,” said the leader of the gang, “is whether we can
punish a boy for violating the rules, even if we are not officers.”
That was a leading question, and experience had taught the president
that it was a very wise thing to have any boy punish a member, and in
his own way. The only provision made was that no badge must be taken
away from a boy by a non-officer. Where a boy cannot be corrected by a
fellow member, he must submit the case to an officer. This was agreed
to and the boys were satisfied with the method used by Bluster. The two
boys were made a little present, and they all left in their usual happy
mood.