"Broke," The Man Without the Dime

by Edwin A. Brown

“Say, can’t you ask the blessing?”

Before I could, with resentment, ask what for, a man opposite looked at the fellow and said:

“Gwan, I’ll put a lump on your thinker in a minute. Can’t you see this feller ain’t no mission stiff?”

It was now six o’clock. I had just one hour before going to work. I realized that the annoyances I had contracted at this Rescue Hope Mission, which each moment seemed to increase with startling force and demand immediate action, must be gotten rid of. There was but one way open and that was the river. While hurriedly going there, I searched for some sort of vessel adequate to “boil up” with. Luckily I found a five gallon Standard Oil can, and reaching a secluded spot with available waste at hand for a fire, I hastily “boiled up.” I also took a bath in the icy waters of the Ohio. Using my jeans for underclothing, and rolling in a bundle my now-purified wet garments, which in the rear of the business house where I had been engaged I hung on some boxes to dry, I entered, serene and smiling and started to work just as the clock struck seven.

After working twelve long hours, which included time to eat two meals, I asked the manager if he would kindly advance me the seventy-one cents due for my day’s work.

“No, it is impossible,” he said. “It is not our custom. We pay only when the week’s work is done. If you have no place to sleep that is your affair, not ours.”

The reason the employer will not pay by the day is the same here as elsewhere,—because all working men are regarded as drinkers and they are fearful of losing the worker. I realized that I could not work without rest. Louisville offered such a privilege to no one without money, although I had become one of her army of toilers.

I strolled down to the river thinking of my objective point, the government works below Memphis, which would afford me both shelter and food. I decided to reach there as soon as possible. The steamer, Lucille Knowland, running between Louisville and Evansville, was then loading freight and was scheduled to leave the next day at two P. M. Approaching a pompous, uniformed officer I asked if there was an opportunity for a man to work his way to Evansville. “I don’t know,” he replied, “Ask the cook.” I left at once for the kitchen where I found a large, robust colored man,—the man I was looking for. In reply to my inquiry for the privilege of working my passage he kindly answered, “I think so, Jack. Come around at one o’clock to-morrow and see me.”

Going up the street I met another unlucky, a young man twenty-five years of age, a cabinet finisher by trade. We exchanged stories of woe, and unconsciously entered into a partnership of ideas for a resting place that night. While we sat on the stringer of a coal chute, a poor unfortunate victim of alcohol came drifting near. Overhearing our plans, he stopped and told us of a barber who was down and out when he first came to Louisville, and that he never refused an honest, homeless man the privilege of sleeping in a room in the rear of his shop. We followed the dissipated fellow’s advice. After asking the barber for a night’s resting place, he showed us the room. There were only a few old quilts on the floor, to be sure, but the place was very clean and a good shelter. When we awoke the next morning, the first words with which my companion greeted me were, “When I dropped to sleep last night, I almost wished I would never wake up. To-day is as yesterday,—the same uncertain struggle.” Then he whistled a little and hopefully said, “But I may get work to-day.”

We parted, and I never saw him again. I left for my place of work. At one o’clock sharp I was on hand at the kitchen on the Lucille Knowland. The big cook took me and I was soon busily preparing vegetables for my passage.