Newsies (Sort of a Short Story)

This story is based on actual events.

In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies. Peddlin’ the newspapers of Joseph Pulitzer and Randolph Hearst, and other giants of the news world. On every corner you saw them carrying the banner, bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and runaways, the newsies were a ragged army, without a leader. Until one day, all that changed.

I woke early that morning, the morning it all started. I dressed hurriedly in the cover of the dusty sheets surrounding me, and then attempted to make my bed before emerging. I lived in the Newsboys Lodging House, though I was a girl. The only girl. I was the first, the one and only, the famous Charlie. Only female newsie in New York City!

Boys in the streets would whisper "There she goes," when I walked by. Charlie--Charlotte Jane McAfee. It was commonplace to me--being whispered about. Almost boring. But I wasn't the only one; not the only one who was famous in this town. There was only one nesie in the entire state of New York as well known as I was, and his name was Jack. Jack Kelly. I'd seen him, but only ever spoken to him once or twice, which was strange in the world of newsies. Especially odd since he's the one I escaped from the Refuge with.

The Refuge is newsie jail. It's absolutely the worst place a child could possibly hope to be, and even worse for the older kids. They didn’t spare me because I was a lady--of course not! I defied them, and so they had to punish me.

I opened the sheets and hopped out; most of the boys were just waking. "Get up, get up!" Crager was shouting. He prodded Jack repeatedly, and I snuck a peek. Though Jack was my competition for best newsie, he was terribly handsome. I swooned inwardly. Crager finally stumbled out, talking to himself. "Sell the papes, sell the papes." The boys began to, of all things--sing. I supposed I may as well join in.

It began with Race, looking around for his cigar. Someone had taken it. "That's my cigar!" he said angrily.

"You'll steal anuther." The cigar was snatched back and the two began to bicker. A boy with an eye patch, whom we called Blink, grabbed both of them around the shoulders.

“Hey bummers, we got work to do!”

Specs opened his mouth and spread his stinking morning breath around. “Since when did you become me mother?”

“Eh, stop your bawling!” a boy we all called Crutchy broke in. I joined the boys as they yelled.

“Who asked you?”

I heard Jack speak as I passed, and I felt his eyes on me as I moved. “So, how’d you sleep Jack?” someone asked. He spoke vaguely, and continued to watch me.

“On me back, Mush.”

I stopped just inside the door to talk to Crutchy. “Hey, Charlie, when I walk, does it look like I’m fakin’ it?” he asked, demonstrating.

“No! Who says you’re faking it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that there’s so many fake cripps’ on the street today, a real cripp’ ain’t got a chance!”

We all moved into the washroom. The elder boys began to shave, and I washed my face. I brushed my thick auburn hair back and braided it, then tucked the braid up into a bun. I flexed my deceptively feminine fingers. They were stronger than they looked. The singing started again.

“Try Bottle Alley or the Ha’bor!”

“Try Central Park, it’s guaranteed!”

Jack flung shaving cream onto a few boys. I giggled and he glanced at me approvingly. “Try any banker, bum or barber!” he sang.

“They almost all know how to read,” I joined in.