“The Small Dark Door Leads down under the Sidewalk and Saloon. San Francisco Free-flop of Whosoever-Will-Mission”
In this incident I saw in imagination the spirit of San Francisco’s beautiful Municipal Lodging House, with its food, shelter, bath, and medical attention, building up of character, good citizenship, and making for good government. I felt that the spirit of kindness shown by that workingman would be the crowning virtue of this new and wonderful Home.
It was getting late. I was very tired, and knew I must find shelter from the storm. I would not ask of anyone on the street the price of a bed. Someone out of pity might give me money he actually needed for himself. I decided to seek first some of the Good Samaritan institutions which make a business of helping the needy. But where they were I could only find out by inquiring of the policeman. I must approach them with all that dread and terror excited by the expectation of evil which all destitute men in our American “cities of liberty” come to look for at the hands of the police.
I approached an officer and asked him, “Can you tell a fellow where he can get a free bed?”
He did not look at me suspiciously; he did not take the law in his own hands by questioning me on the street; he simply placed his hand on my shoulder in a kindly way and said, “Right here is Kerney Street. Keep right down Kerney until you come to Pacific,—you can’t miss Pacific Street,—and you will see the ‘Whosoever Will’ Mission. They have some kind of a ‘free flop’ there, but if they don’t take care of you, go to the city prison.”
It was eleven o’clock when I approached the "Whosoever Will" Mission. The meeting had just closed. I counted twenty men and boys standing on the street outside of the place. I slipped up to one of the boys and asked where the “free flop” was. He said, “About a block down the street.” I asked him, “What is the show for getting a free bed?” “Mighty poor,” he replied, “us fellows all got left. If you want a bed you have got to be here and go to the meeting and if you are lucky enough to get a ticket you can get a bed.”
Just then I glanced through the door and read an inscription, “He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.” In making a closer study of this institution, I found it in appearance a veritable Cleopatra’s Needle literally covered with quotations inside and out. I then asked where the lodging house was, and if he thought a man would stand any show of getting a bed without a ticket. He replied, “You might try,” and directed me to the “free flop” a block down the street on the corner. There I encountered about twenty more men standing idly about. Seeing a light through a door, I entered, believing I was entering the “free flop,” but found myself in a negro saloon frequented entirely by colored men. I went out again into the crowd, and stepped up to a thin, emaciated boy, a boy evidently dying with some lingering malady. I asked him where the “flop” was, and he pointed down to the sidewalk and said, “It is under here, the entrance is there at the corner.” I slipped over to it, and found a very narrow and almost precipitous stairway leading down under the sidewalk and into a basement under the saloon. This stairway was absolutely gorged with human beings seeking shelter. After seeing that the sick boy had entered last and that I might force him back into the night, I entered, and when it was discovered, before I had scarcely gotten into the place, that I had no ticket, a big bully violently thrust me toward the door and in a loud voice shouted, “Get out of here,” and almost threw me up the “golden stairs” and back into the street.
Here I found a number of boys and men who, like myself, lingered about ticketless and shelterless. I said to one of them, “What are we going to do for a bed?” He replied, “I’ll tell you; you can get in if you will drop down that manhole, and once in you’ll be mixed up with the crowd and won’t be noticed. I let three fellows in that way the other night. It’s mighty heavy but I’ll hold it up till you drop down if you want to try it. But, say, I want to tell you if you ain’t got nothing on you, and you don’t want nothing on you, you’d better try the lumber yard. It isn’t so warm as down there, but it’s a great deal cleaner. That’s where I’m going.”
I was determined, however, to see this one free lodging house of San Francisco, but I hesitated for just a moment. I wasn’t quite sure where I might land, and if I was discovered neither was I quite sure that I might not be murdered. But my fear quickly passed and I said, “All right, lift her up,” and down I went. I did not have far to drop, and found myself in that portion of the “heavenly flop” under the negro saloon where hell overhead was already making the night hideous. Between the cracks in the old board floor I could see the light of the saloon shining through. I made no attempt at trying to get a bed. All I wanted was to make a few notes and get out.
The room where I found myself was filled with double board bunks, the upper bunks coming so near the ceiling, or floor of the saloon above, that a man could just crawl into them. Some of these poor objects were making an attempt to get a bath from a shower in a corner, but even if they succeeded in getting this excuse for a bath, they were obliged to crawl back into their filthy clothes or onto the still more filthy bunks. Some men, under the sidewalk, I saw spread out old newspapers on the boards, and lie down unwashed and unfed in their wretchedness.