From The Journals of Katherine Plumber

July 20th, 1899

(Posting a day late cause I may or may not have forgotten since I was super busy doing things for my party yesterday! Anyways, HAPPY HALLOWEEN AND ENJOY!!!!)

Today went by in a blur, a very terrible blur. It started when I walked past the newsboys square on my way to work. I saw Jack and I wanted to thank him for the drawing, but he looked concerned. I looked up to see the headline, "New Newsie Price: Sixty Cents Per Hundred." No doubt my father was behind this. It was just another scheme to get more money, as if he doesn't have enough already. I sighed and continued my walk to work.

I walked into The Sun building, holding my review close to my heart and my head up high. I was on my way to my desk, when I heard Mr. Johnston, my supervisor, yell, "Pulitzer!" He exclaimed. I nearly jumped out of my skin and looked over. He waved me into his office and I very slowly and nervously went. As I walked in, he closed the door behind me and sat in his chair, "How the New York Laws of Child Labor Affect Everyone. What is this chicken scratch?" He asked, throwing it on his desk.

"It was my idea for an article, sir." I said.

"The people don't want to hear this. What they want, and what I need from you is a review on the Irving Hall show." He said.

I nodded and handed it to him, "I was just thinking, maybe if I was to come out of the social pages, I could do more on scene things, like interviews and maybe even cover the trolley strike." I said as Mr. Johnston read my review.

"Ms. Pulitzer, headlines are for the men. Leave it to them." He said.

"But, sir, I-"

"Pulitzer! That is enough, go to your desk while you still have your job!" He snapped.

I stiffened up, being too tense and frightened to defend myself, "Yes, sir." I said quietly before walking to my desk. I felt like everyone was looking and knew what happened. I sank into my seat and held back slight tears as I tried to write. My head was too muddled, I stared out the window for most of the day, only looking at my typewriter when I thought I had an idea, only to realize it was nothing for the social pages.

A part of me felt like if I wasn't a Pulitzer, he would've been okay and agreed to me writing a headline. But, I knew it wasn't that. I didn't want to think that it was because I was a woman. I am human, just like any of the headline writers. Just because I have female parts and wear skirts and have long hair doesn't mean I can't do things differently. What? Do all men just assume that having a uterus messes with your mind!? It's not fair.

It was soon the end of the day, and I had nothing. I packed up my things and left out the doors and down the stairs, and into the busy, evening streets. But, it was quieter than usual. There were people talking and footsteps to be heard, but something was missing. Almost like calm before the storm.

I walked past Jacobi's Delicatessen to smell freshly smoked meats. It did smell quite good, and for someone who hasn't had a decent meal for over a month, it was heaven. I walked in to hear a familiar voice, "You heard da man. Let's split up, spread the word." It was none other than Jack Kelly.

"I'll take Harlem."

"Ise got Midtown!"

"I got da Bronx."

"And, Ise got da Bowery!"

"Specs, you take Queens. Sniper, you take da Eastside. And who wants Brooklyn?.... C'mon. Brooklyn. Spot Conlon's turf. Finch, youse tellin' me ya scared of Brooklyn." Jack asked.

"I ain't scared of no turf!" A boy said, sounding defensive as he stood,"Dat Spot Conlon's though get me a little jittery."

"Fine. Me and Davey will take Brooklyn." Jack said.