"Broke," The Man Without the Dime

by Edwin A. Brown

Scarcely were we seated that night in the “senate” before the old “senator” told of the square meal he had that day and of a fine place he had found in a stable where we could sleep with the comfort befitting our distinguished station. He had not seen it, but knew where it was and how to find it. So after the session adjourned, we started for our newly-found shelter. It was now late in October. The nights were unusually cold in Cleveland for that time of year. After walking what seemed an interminable distance, the warm, bright street cars passing us frequently (the fare only three cents), we finally reached our shelter. It was not as we fancied it would be,—a large, fine barn, half filled with new-mown hay. It was an old, closed-in, empty shed, with two stalls and two mangers. We entered. By striking a few matches, we could see to gather up enough of the refuse in the stalls to lie on, by placing it in the narrow mangers. The “senator” took one and I the other. He suggested that I take off my coat and place it over my head and shoulders, saying that by so doing I would be much warmer than if I kept it on. I found this to be true. So exhausted and weary had we become that we were soon lost in profound sleep, from which I awoke at three o’clock, perishing with the cold. I crept over and felt of the old man. He was alive and sleeping soundly. I slipped out and walked the streets for an hour. By the time I was thoroughly warmed the day had begun to break. Very soon I found myself again in “wide-awake” Square. I wasn’t in the most amiable mood in the world. Far from it. I began to feel that I would like to stand on their city hall steps and tell the people of Cleveland what I thought of them. I slipped into that ideal little lavatory, and with the warm water, soap and clean towel, cleansed my hands and face until I felt refreshed. Then I thought of Tom Johnson, and the bitterness left my heart. I actually forgot for the moment that I was starving and fell to wondering whither God had taken him and what great work he was doing in that land to which he had gone.

I then left for the Labor Bureau of the Associated Charities. Perhaps I could get work with enough pay in advance for a breakfast. On reaching there I found twenty men and boys standing outside, and after waiting an hour there seemed to be very little work to be had. Only a few were supplied. During my stay in Cleveland, as a test, I went every day to this place but never succeeded in getting work. This was the only place I had been able to find in Cleveland which even offered work to a man without money. I then tried for an hour to do something for a meal, but was unsuccessful. Going back to the Square I sat down and considered my contract and my feelings. I had agreed with myself to do nothing that would make me lose my self-respect, yet I must eat or forfeit my contract. I glanced down at my hand. There was the golden circle of love,—my wedding ring. Other starving men had been forced to pawn this priceless emblem of sweet memories. I remembered a penniless man whom I met in San Francisco, weak from the suffering caused by extreme want. He was an engraver by trade. Hoping against fate that each day would bring him an opportunity, he walked and searched for the place which he knew he could so ably fill. As we talked he told me a story from the book of his life; of a girl wife and a baby boy whom the Angel had taken. While he talked he glanced down and turned upon his finger a slender thread of gold. I saw that to this man, there lay in that circle of love, a sacred memory,—the blossoming of an honest workingman’s home, attributes of which were truth, love, honor and eternal fidelity. The workingman’s home,—without the intrusion of poverty—is the stronghold of a great and good citizen, the steadfast guiding star of a great government.

Speaking to me with that freedom born of the sympathy which binds one homeless man to another (and he was a man, ambitious, free from the bondage of any bad habit), he said, “I will have to pawn my ring to-day, but,” with determined emphasis, “I will never lose it. Yet I am a little afraid of the pawnshop. Their rate of interest is theft, and the time for redemption limited to one month.”

We then talked of New York City’s Provident Loan Association, which is simply the poor man’s depository, the interest only one per cent, a month, and the time one year. The city that is without this social good is the city that does not belong to the present day progress, and must savor of betrayal, of artifice, of ill-gotten gains. As I left him, I said, “Should you have to pawn your ring, look the matter up. Of course, San Francisco must have so worthy an organization.”

Leaving the Square I found a pawnshop. Unlike the man in actual poverty, I had not the dread fear of losing the cherished momento. The pawnshop man scratched it, weighed it, raised his hand, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I giff you vun dollar.”

“But it cost ten,” I said.

“Vell, all right, I giff you vun dollar.”

There was no other way, I was helpless. So I replied, “All right, take it.” He gave me the dollar and a pawn certificate demanding for the redemption of my ring a dollar and twenty-five cents if redeemed inside of thirty days. If redeemed within an hour, it made no difference.

I had already tested the institutions, religious and otherwise, which existed in Cleveland supposedly to shelter the destitute, and had been either locked out or turned back into the street. How big that dollar felt in my hand! I fancied it was a twenty-dollar gold piece. I did not dare let go of it. With my old “senator” friend in mind, I saw a sign which read, “Dinner twenty-five cents.” I could not get into the place quickly enough. I left greatly refreshed, but only half satisfied. I found the old “senator,” with whom I shared my fortune. He had been unsuccessful in finding a job. He did as I did, spent twenty-five cents for a meal and saved the other quarter for a bed. We were fixed for that night, at least.

The next morning I saw a prosperous looking young man, standing on a street corner. I don’t know what prompted me to do so, but I stepped up to him and inquired, “Do you know where a fellow can get a job?”