Old Clinkers: A Story of the New York Fire Department

by Harvey Jerrold O'Higgins

It is the tradition of the department that a captain shall enforce discipline in his company without sending his men to Headquarters on every trifling charge that he has against them. Keighley watched “Shine” out, snorted contemptously through his nose, reached for the newspaper again, and returned to the column that reported the Fire Commissioner’s resignation. He had “Shine” where he “wanted” him, as he would have said. And he had his whole company in the hollow of his hand.

“Shine” knew it. The “Jiggers” knew it. “It’ll be off to the goose-pastures fer ours all right,” Cripps said, discussing the situation with “Shine.” “The chief’ll get back, now, an’ if he don’t find a way to break us, he’ll ship us off to the Bronx. I don’t care a damn anyway,” he added in feeble defiance.

“Ner me!” “Shine” clenched his hand. “I’m lookin’ fer Doherty. If they kick me out o’ the department, I’ll find him all the quicker. An’ I want youse fullahs to keep yer eyes skinned fer him. Jus’ tell me where he’s workin’. That’s all! I’ll do the rest.”

Cripps swore plaintively. “After us fightin’ ol’ Clinkers fer him, too.”

“An’ fer the rest o’ them,” “Shine” cried. “They’ve played us fer suckers—Moran an’ the whole dirty gang. They’ve used us. An now when they’re afraid o’ fallin’ down, they’ll chuck us. That’s all we’ll get out o’ the ‘Jigger’ bus’ness. Yuh’ll see.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; he was almost “drooling” with disgust and bitterness. “Never mind. If I ever get ahold o’ Doherty!” he promised himself.

There is nothing persists among these men as an enmity does. A man who has been wronged sees the scar of the injury as a mark of inferiority on him, and his pride in himself is never satisfied until he has been able to “get even,” until he has proved himself the equal of his enemy by returning the hurt in kind. “Shine” could not even consider his case in solitude without suffering. When he was among companions, he could not think of Doherty without breaking out in new threats of vengeance, as if he would give a sort of promissory note against his debt of hatred. He asked everywhere for news of Doherty. His first day off he spent in searching Coney, with his hands clenched ready in his pockets. When he heard that Doherty had been seen about the docks, he spent hours at the pierhouse windows watching the river traffic, and took his weekly holiday lounging about the water-front with the instinctive patience of a beast of prey. By the time a month had passed, the desire of revenge had become a sort of subconscious habit that affected his actions without disturbing his thought. He went about his work as of old, but silently, as self-contained as a man with a great ambition. He knew that if he could wait long enough he could get his man. He was prepared to wait a lifetime.

Then, one day, two things happened: Chief Borden came back to his place in the department and “Shine” heard that Doherty had been seen working as a freight-handler again on the Baltic-American wharves. At meal hour “Shine” did not go to his dinner; he hurried home to change his uniform, and posted off to the Baltic-American sheds—and he was denied an entrance by the wharf watchman. Since the fire on the Sachsen the rule had been strictly enforced that no stranger should be admitted to the company’s piers without a card from the office. “Shine” did not care to show the metal fire-badge on his suspender; it was not a case for an official appearance. He returned to the Hudson hungry but full of hope. He could wait for his day off, waylay Doherty as the longshoremen left their work in the evening, and mark him for all time.

As it turned out, he did not have to wait for his day off. He waited only two days. On the third day the impossible happened.

An alarm of fire was rung in from the Baltic-American piers.

It found Chief Borden closeted with Captain Keighley when the call came. Under the eye of the head of the department, the crew took their places with an easy alertness and no confusion. The chief followed them aboard; the lines were cast off; Keighley nodded an order to the pilot; and the boat drew out into the stream with as little show of haste as a fast express pulling out from a railway platform on the tick of the appointed second.