“What’s de matter wid Cleveland? Cleveland all gone to—?”
“It was for me, at least during part of the time I was there.”
“And has yo’ honest nowhah er to sleep?”
She put her hand in her purse and offered me a quarter. “Take that. It will buy yo’ a bed.”
Glancing up, I saw or fancied I saw the light of dawn. “No, girl. See, the day is breaking,” and as I went on to the Square, I knew that I had seen in that poor, black slave girl an expression of human kindness that could not be found in the vocabulary of the Christian, intelligent, cultured city of Cincinnati. She had offered me, the homeless, penniless, out-of-work man, a shelter.
Girl, for you and your kind, and your race, in the great South, the day is dawning.
Fountain Square is a strip of concrete about fifty feet wide, extending for a block. In the center is a large, magnificent fountain. This Square was acquired by the city as a gift, with a perpetual proviso that it should always be a market-place. Otherwise the city would forfeit the grant. Consequently, on one side, as a retainer, is built a six by ten foot iron, pagoda-roofed structure, under which are several tiers of shelves on which, for a short time each year, flowers are placed and sold. On either side benches were placed, but when I reached the Square every available place seemed filled. The shelves in the flower stand were crowded with homeless, drooping, broken human beings. The roof was a shelter from the frost. There were one hundred men in this Cincinnati “Free Municipal Emergency Home” that night. Nor was this even free, for frequently the police of this humane city raid the Square and drive all, to the last man, to prison. Exhaustion was beating me down, and there seemed no other alternative, so with palpitating heart lest I be singled out as a hopeless inebriate, thrown into jail and then onto the stone pile, I lay down on the frost-covered stone at the feet of my homeless companions and fell into a sleep. It was only for a short time, however, for the rousing up of the men on the bench awakened me and one said to me in a hoarse whisper, “For God’s sake, Jack, get up! Here comes a bull.” I quickly sprang to my feet.
As the men were leaving the Square I saw a number of them enter a dark alley, and asked where they were going. I was told the Enquirer posted the “want-ad” sheets of the paper at its back door an hour before daylight. A group of fifteen men and two young women were already there, striking matches and struggling to read the columns of “Help Wanted.” I finally succeeded in getting close enough to read them. There were a number of things I could do. I took the list and started out only to realize the absolute necessity of a breakfast. I tried several places to work for this essential reinforcement to health and strength, but failed. I thought over my effects again. No, I had nothing except my eyeglasses. After all they were only for fine print while reading. I thought of the watchmaker in New York who was resting from going blind and of the boy I had met, who, without his glasses, was almost blind but who had pawned them for food; of another, a boy without vice and industrious, selling the gold filling from his teeth to help him over a rough place; of men I had seen, through want, pawn their underclothing. It was a simple thing for me to part with my glasses. I got twenty-five cents on them.
After breakfast I began a strenuous search for work and at last, after explaining that I could handle horses, and was sober and industrious, I was hired at twelve dollars a week to drive a milk wagon at F—--, a big milk depot. But they did not want me for three days and there was the rub. The manager of a large restaurant told me that if I would come at two o’clock the next morning and work from two until four he would give me my breakfast and a quarter of a dollar. I was exceedingly happy, for I, at least, was rich in prospects.
I went to the public bath and was absolutely refused a bath because I had not a nickel. The Salvation Army refused me assistance in any way, shape or manner. The Associated Charities had nothing to give away. They did not even have a bed in exchange for work. However they had meals in exchange for labor. By sawing wood for one or more hours they would give me a meal. I knew what that meal would be, a decoction of stuff made mostly of water, and I said, “You must give a pretty good meal for one and a half hours’ labor at the hard work of sawing wood.” This seemed to touch the head of this Charity institution, for in an offended way he said: