The Mysterious Disappearance of Clyde Walker

Human Impact of the Great Depression

For the most accomplished PI in New York, Damien had no idea what he was doing. Looking for a pet was easier than looking for a person. Pets were predictable, always ending up in places that were familiar to them, but people were unpredictable. He decided to start his investigation like he did for every other case, collecting information. He went to Mr. Walker's house to ask him some questions about Clyde. It wasn't a house, it was a mansion. Turning down the street he gawked, amazed by the sheer size of the Walker mansion. So this is what the top 1% of the economy lived in. Upon entering the front gate, Damien immediately got overwhelmed by the extravagant garden. It took Damien about 20 minutes before he could find the front door, where a man, who he assumed was a butler, stood stoically.

"What is your name?" asked the butler in a monotone voice.

"Damien Torres, the PI Mr. Walker hired."

The man nodded as he opened the door and beckoned Damien to follow him down a long corridor. Is this mansion bigger on the inside or somethin'!? The butler led him to a room where Mr. Walker was sitting on a plush leather couch, reading the daily newspaper while sipping (what Damien assumed was) foreign tea.

"Ahem, sir. Damien Torres, the private investigator, is here to see you." The butler bowed and exited the room briskly, leaving Damien to stand awkwardly at the door.

"Torres!" Mr. Walker exclaimed, inviting him to sit on the couch. "How are you fella? Find my son yet?"

"Not yet, sir. I came to ask you some questions about your son. What's his occupation?"

That made Mr. Walker laugh. "My son? A job? You have to be kidding Torres. My son doesn't have a job. In this economy, the only jobs you can find are dock worker or a scammer. Besides, why would he need a job when we're doing so well off?"

Damien was stumped. He asked a great deal of questions and bid him farewell as the day became evening. He leisurely walked home, wondering where could Clyde be if he didn't have a job to camp out at.

That night, while laying in his rickety bed, he pondered his next step in the investigation. Being the best PI required him to be smart; he doesn't just walk around hoping to find the missing individual, he always has a plan of attack. He decided that he would check out the nearby clubs tomorrow to see if Clyde has been there recently and drifted off to sleep.  

The next morning, he was rudely awoken by people shouting outside his living space. He begrudgingly got out of bed and walked towards the cracked window to see what the commotion was. A couple of newsies (children who sold newspapers) were smoking and Damien yelled at them to put it out. After they scurried away, he continued to search for the noise that ungraciously woke him up. There were five young men, all wearing overalls and flat caps, shouting at each other and occasionally throwing punches.

Something felt off to Damien. He looked closer and observed that one of the men looked too clean, too well-kept for someone that was supposedly not from the upper-class. Brown hair, black eyes, medium build, punching with his left hand... It's Clyde! He was going to run out and drag that young man back home but his curiosity got the best of him. Damien had to see where Clyde was all these days. He waited for the fight to end and followed Clyde to a nearby Hooverville. Why would a rich boy that didn't work camp out in a Hooverville when he had a mansion?

The Hooverville looked like a city in ruins. There were people who were living in cardboard boxes and some taking a nap on the dirt floor. This, for some people, was the new America. If you weren't part of the top 1% of people who owned over 50% of America's wealth you would most likely end up here, in a Hooverville.

Clyde walked into a makeshift shack and was greeted by a female voice. Damien knocked on the door, careful to not knock too hard because it would fall down. A young, African-American woman opened the door. Damien politely introduced himself and stated that he had some business with Clyde. The woman looked skeptical, but let him in nonetheless. Damien ducked his head and entered the room where Clyde got up from the only stool to see who the visitor was. 

"Clyde Walker?"

"That would be me, sir. Who would you be and how do you know me?"

"He says his name is Damien Torres," the woman said dubiously. 

"Your father sent me, Clyde. He's been looking for you for this past week. He's worried you've been mugged or something."

Clyde scowled. "He's always cared only about the money. I reckon' he didn't bother looking for me himself." After talking for a bit, Damien found out that the woman's name was Verna Lewis, Clyde's girlfriend. Mr. Walker doesn't know about her and Clyde wants to keep it that way. Verna is from the lower-class so Clyde helped her make this shack for her to live in. A couple of men started giving her some trouble, hence the fight this morning, so he decided to stay with her for a little bit. He actually does have a job; he works down at the docks. Clyde and Verna are planning on saving enough money for them to buy a small apartment on the other side of town, away from Clyde's father.

"What am I going to do?" thought Damien.

He was morally obligated to take Clyde back to his father, but after listening to Clyde's side of the story, he was beginning to reconsider.

"What if I turned you in?"

"What!?" Clyde and Verna yelled in unison.

Damien chuckled. "What I mean is, if I turned you in I get $1000 from your father. You've run away before, no doubt you can do it again. I'll give you some of the dough to help the two of you get your apartment."

After some discussion, Clyde and Verna agreed. She hugged him and he promised he would return soon.

Damien and Clyde left the Hooverville and walked to the Walker mansion. During their walk, Clyde explained that he doesn't want anything to do with his father's money or the film industry. He hopes that someday his father will understand his decision. 

The butler at the door immediately recognized Clyde and ushered him and Damien to the room Mr. Walker was currently in.

Mr. Walker was sitting on another plush couch- how many couches could one guy have? He was reading the daily newspaper when they entered the room.

"Ahem, sir. Clyde has returned." The butler bowed and left as quickly as he came.

"Clyde," Mr. Walker said coldly.

"Father," Clyde greeted in return.

Damien sensed that they did not get along at all. There was an awkward silence before Mr. Walker turned to address Damien.

"I reckon' I owe you some money."

He walked to the other side of the wall, where there was a painting. He pushed the painting aside to reveal a safe. He opened it with a key that was around a necklace hidden beneath his ascot tie. There were at least eight bundles of cash in there. Mr. Walker picked up one of the stacks, divided it in half and handed it to Damien.

"Here, $1000 as promised."

Damien took the money, counted it, and was satisfied with the amount. He bid them both farewell, sparing a last glance at Clyde and started towards Verna's shack.

"Here," he said as he handed $600 to Verna.

"That's more than half of your pay! I simply cannot take that much," Verna exclaimed.

"You're not taking, I'm giving. You deserve this money more than I do." And he meant that.