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http://0-60.reviews/0-60-times/
0-60 Times - 0-60 | 0 to 60 Times & 1/4 Mile Times | Zero to 60 Car Reviews
0-60 Times 0-60 Times
0-60 Times - 0-60 | 0 to 60 Times & 1/4 Mile Times | Zero to 60 Car Reviews 0-60 Times There are many ways to measure the power a vehicle has – top speed, horsepower, foot-pounds of torque. Those are all important, but the most asked question is, “What’s the 0-60 time?” This is nothing more than a measure of how quickly a vehicle can reach the 60 mile per hour mark. It is a measure of acceleration of a vehicle. 0-60 times differ a great deal depending on the amount of power a motor puts out, of course. But anyone who spends any amount of time with car enthusiasts are sure to hear the ubiquitous term bantered around more often than most other metrics by which cars are measured in terms of power. The only other measure that comes close as far as how acceleration is commonly measures in cars in the United States is the quarter mile time. Enthusiasts will often ask about how quickly a car can get through a quarter mile, but that can be seen as less accurate a estimate of acceleration than the amount of time it takes a vehicle to reach the sixty miler per hour mark. The quarter mile time can often have more variable such as driver experience. The 0-60 mph speed is used as the standard in the United States, where the rest of the world prefers the 0-100 km version. But both measure the performance of a car. A lot goes into increasing 0-60 times in performance vehicles. As a normal rule of thumb, performance cars are considered those with 0-60 time of under 6 seconds, while Exotic cars will do 0-60 in 3 to 4 seconds. However, in most cases, a car isn’t simply “stuck with” the acceleration number with which it was born. Engineers and designers work tirelessly to provide better and better numbers with each progressive model of performance and exotic cars. But, even the back yard mechanic or muscle car enthusiast can determine the 0-60 times of their cars and make moves to improve them. The testing of acceleration is usually done on a closed course away from people other than the team that may be working on the specific car. This limits putting anyone in danger who is not part of the test or the ongoing project. Testers can use something as simple as a stop watch and the vehicle’s speedometer. This is probably good enough for the typical muscle car enthusiast who is just looking for an estimate of how much power his latest improvements will give him. For engineers testing a new exotic sports car, though, a simple estimate is not accurate enough. They want hard and fast 0-60 times, and they use much more highly-technical equipment to get their numbers. With the 0-60 figure being so important in automobile sales, they do everything possible to ensure their numbers are incredibly accurate. In professional testing situations, highly technical and accurate measuring devices are hooked to computers as the test is performed. The test is run in two different directions, to eliminate any influence of wind, an unseen downhill grade or any differences in traction. The average of these two times will be the recorded 0-60 time for the car. Doppler radar guns are used to ensure the tester is recording exact 0 -60 times. This leaves the driver to focus solely on running through the gears as precisely as possible and simply driving in a straight line. This allow for a more accurate measure, as does running the test first in one direction and then in the exact opposite direction. Some still feel, however, that listing one 0 – 60 time is not truly indicative of what a new owner can expect from a performance or exotic car, or even a muscle car. Instead, some believe the measure should include a range of times rather than one finite mark to which all cars of any particular model should be held. For instance, they believe a BMW M3 should have a listed time of 3.9 – 4.2 seconds and a Corvette Z06 should have a range from 3.6 to 4.0. These people believe that a range of numbers better represents what an owner can honestly expect to see when he or she takes delivery of a new vehicle. This contingent of car enthusiasts and engineers believes that there is no way for either the time to 60 mph or even a quarter mile time to be completely accurate, as there are simply too many variables that come into play. No matter if you are a 0 – 60 purist, or you believe that it is an inexact science, you can be sure that the measure itself will not be going away any time soon. It is still one of the biggest touted numbers for vehicles, and easier for people to relate to than horsepower and torque.
msmarco_doc_00_0
http://0-www.worldcat.org.novacat.nova.edu/identities/lccn-n79036869/
Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center [WorldCat Identities]
Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Andrus (Ethel Percy) Gerontology Center Andrus Gerontology Center Andrus Gerontology Center Los Angeles, Calif Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Ethel Perey Andrus gerontology center University of Southern California Los Angeles, Calif Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Los Angeles, Calif Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Languages
Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center [WorldCat Identities] Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Overview Works: 233 works in 338 publications in 1 language and 6,766 library holdings Genres: Bibliography Conference papers and proceedings Bibliographies Prescriptions, formulae, receipts, etc Roles: Publisher Classifications: HQ1061, 305.26 Publication Timeline By Posthumously by About 1960… 1963… 1966… 1969… 1972… 1975… 1978… 1981… 1984… 1987… 1990… 1993… 1996… 1999… 2002… 2005… 2008… By Posthumously by About 1960-1961 0 0 0 1961-1962 0 0 0 1962-1963 0 0 0 1963-1964 0 0 0 1964-1965 0 0 0 1965-1966 0 0 0 1966-1967 0 0 0 1967-1968 0 0 0 1968-1969 0 0 0 1969-1970 10 0 5 1970-1971 0 0 0 1971-1972 10 0 0 1972-1973 25 0 0 1973-1974 35 0 5 1974-1975 25 0 0 1975-1976 35 0 5 1976-1977 25 0 5 1977-1978 30 0 0 1978-1979 20 0 5 1979-1980 30 0 0 1980-1981 25 0 0 1981-1982 30 0 0 1982-1983 25 0 0 1983-1984 25 0 0 1984-1985 20 0 0 1985-1986 25 0 5 1986-1987 20 0 0 1987-1988 20 0 0 1988-1989 25 0 0 1989-1990 20 0 0 1990-1991 20 0 0 1991-1992 25 0 0 1992-1993 5 0 0 1993-1994 20 0 0 1994-1995 15 0 0 1995-1996 10 0 0 1996-1997 10 0 0 1997-1998 15 0 0 1998-1999 0 0 0 1999-2000 0 0 0 2000-2001 0 0 0 2001-2002 5 0 0 2002-2003 0 0 0 2003-2004 15 0 0 2004-2005 5 0 0 2005-2006 5 0 0 2006-2007 0 0 0 2007-2008 0 0 0 2008-2009 10 0 0 2009-2010 0 0 0 2010-2011 0 0 0 About Most widely held works about Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Catalogs of the Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center, University of Southern California, Los Angeles by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) Environmental design for the elderly training program : progress report( Book ) Handbook by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) Evaluation of an information and referral program : caller profiles and resource materials by Christine Anne Wolfe ( ) The Work of the Andrus Gerontology Center : what we do and what it means for older people : statements from the faculty and students for the congressional hearings held by Select Subcommittee on Education, U.S. Congress, Hon. John Brademas, Chairman by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) A grant application for the construction of a gerontology center, University of Southern California : submitted to U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, Public Health Service, Health Research Facilities Branch, Division of Research Facilities and Resources, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, Maryland by University of Southern California ( Book ) more fewer Most widely held works by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Aging : scientific perspectives and social issues by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 5 editions published between 1975 and 1983 in English and held by 873 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Cognition, stress, and aging( Book ) 3 editions published in 1985 in English and held by 564 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Dealing with death : discussions of death presented for those concerned with the delivery of care service for the elderly( Book ) 3 editions published between 1973 and 1978 in English and held by 373 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Depression in the elderly : a behavioral treatment manual by Dolores Gallagher-Thompson ( Book ) 4 editions published in 1981 in English and held by 222 WorldCat member libraries worldwide National Eldercare Institute on Housing and Supportive Services : final report by Julie Overton ( Book ) 1 edition published in 1995 in English and held by 215 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Psychosocial needs of the aged: selected papers( Book ) 2 editions published in 1973 in English and held by 205 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Psychosocial needs of the aged : a health care perspective by Eugene Seymour ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1978 in English and held by 202 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Determining the impact of gerontology preparation on personnel in the aging network : a national survey by David A Peterson ( Book ) 4 editions published in 1991 in English and held by 194 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Gerontology instruction in American institutions of higher education : a national survey by David A Peterson ( Book ) 3 editions published in 1987 in English and held by 186 WorldCat member libraries worldwide The publication summarizes a report on gerontology instruction in American institutions based on a 1985-1986 survey of over 3000 campuses. The summary examines previous knowledge of gerontology instruction and explains the purpose for the national survey, its design and goals, the questionnaires used and the data derived from them, and how the data were collected and analyzed. Summary data are presented in the following areas: the extent of current gerontology instruction, the various gerontology programs available and their structure, numbers of students completing gerontology courses, and faculty involvement in gerontology instruction. Additional information is provided on gerontology credentials by level of program (Associate, Bachelors, etc.), the number of alumni completing gerontology programs, the services and resources that are offered to students in these programs, and the support provided by the Administration on Aging for gerontology training. Conclusions are provided that deal with future research in this area of gerontology training, as well as various recommendations on what is believed to be needed in acquiring a greater insight into trends in gerontology instruction including the issue of professionals working with older people. Contains 14 references. (Glr) Drugs and the elderly by Richard H Davis ( Book ) 6 editions published between 1973 and 1978 in English and held by 165 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Safety for the elderly : a selected bibliography by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 148 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Approximately 300 references to monographs (proceedings, theses, books, government documents, and reports) and journal articles published between 1960-1974. Primarily English-language literature. Citations retrieved from Andrus Gerontology Center file, which was compiled from major and specialized sources, e.g., MEDLARS, Psychological abstracts, and Journal of gerontology. Classified arrangement under 8 headings such as General safety, Vehicle accidents, and Statistics. Entry gives bibliographical information. No index Corporate response to an aging workforce : the managers' perspective( Book ) 4 editions published in 1988 in English and held by 147 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Transportation, the diverse aged( Book ) in English and held by 142 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Stress and the organization by Richard H Davis ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1979 in English and held by 141 WorldCat member libraries worldwide The proceedings of a conference on stress and the organization, sponsored by the Business Institute in Gerontology, are presented. The materials address the following areas of concern related to the problem of stress, including: (1) physiology and psychological effects; (2) organization-induced stress and its manifestations; (3) mid-life transitions for men; (4) the dilemma of corporate women; and (5) exercise and physical fitness. The appendices contain transcripts of a panel discussion on corporate stress and a comment on personal stress management. (Author/HLM) Intergenerational relations and aging : a selected bibliography by Vern L Bengtson ( Book ) 5 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 139 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Environmental planning for the elderly : a selected bibliography by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 3 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 130 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Over 500 entries to books, government documents, journal articles, dissertations, and reports published primarily between 1959-1974. Worldwide coverage with emphasis on English-language literature. Citations retrieved from Andrus Gerontology Center file, which was compiled from major and specialized sources such as MEDLARS, Psychological abstracts, and Journal of gerontology. Topical arrangement under Bibliographies, Environment, Housing, Selected services, and Transportation. Entry gives bibliographical information. No index Etiology of mental disorders in aging : a selected bibliography by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 4 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 128 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Over 500 entries to books, dissertations, journal articles, and proceedings published primarily between 1959-1974. Worldwide coverage with emphasis on English-language literature. Citations retrieved from Andrus Gerontology Center file, which was compiled from major and specialized sources, e.g., MEDLARS, Psychological abstracts, and Journal of gerontology. Classified arrangement under such headings as Psychoses, Neuroses, and Mental confusion. Entry gives bibliographical information. No index Assessment and therapy in aging : a selected bibliography by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 3 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 125 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Over 500 entries to books, dissertations, journal articles, and proceedings published primarily between 1959-1974. Worldwide coverage with emphasis on English-language literature. Citations retrieved from Andrus Gerontology Center file, which was compiled from major and specialized sources, e.g., MEDLARS, Psychological abstracts, and Journal of gerontology. Classified arrangement under sections titled Psychological tests of mental status, Therapy (not drug), and Psychopharmacology. Entry gives bibliographical information. No index The silver lobby : a guide to advocacy for older persons by Clinton W Hess ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1978 in English and held by 122 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Sexuality and aging : a selected bibliography by Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center ( Book ) 3 editions published in 1975 in English and held by 121 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Over 250 citations to literature "compiled from commercially-available data bases and published sources relevant to gerontology." Many journal articles; also includes books, government publications, and dissertations. English-language references stressed. Covers period 1959-1974. Alphabetical arrangement by authors under 10 topics, e.g., Sex and health, Climacteric, and Societal aspects. No index more fewer Audience Level 0 1 Kids General Special Audience level: 0.45 (from 0.34 for Dealing wi ... to 0.76 for Evaluation ...) Useful Links Library of Congress Authority File (English) Virtual International Authority File. Associated Subjects Accidents Accidents--Prevention Age and employment Age groups Aging Aging--Psychological aspects Behavior therapy California Cognition Cognition in old age Corporations--Employees Death--Psychological aspects Depression in old age--Treatment Drug abuse Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center.--Library Geriatric nursing Geriatric pharmacology Geriatric psychiatry Geriatrics Geriatrics--Psychological aspects Geriatrics--Psychosomatic aspects Geriatrics--Study and teaching (Higher) Gerontology Gerontology--Study and teaching (Graduate) Gerontology--Study and teaching (Higher) Intergenerational relations Job stress Manpower planning National Eldercare Institute on Housing and Supportive Services (U.S.) Old age Old age--Research Older people Older people--Care Older people--Drug use Older people--Dwellings Older people--Employment Older people--Family relationships Older people--Health and hygiene Older people--Political activity Older people--Sexual behavior Older people--Transportation Personnel management Psychology, Pathological--Etiology Social work with older people Stress (Psychology) Stress in old age Terminal care Training needs United States Alternative Names University of Southern California. Gerontology Center Andrus (Ethel Percy) Gerontology Center Andrus Gerontology Center Andrus Gerontology Center Los Angeles, Calif Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Ethel Perey Andrus gerontology center University of Southern California Los Angeles, Calif Andrus Gerontology Center University of Southern California Los Angeles, Calif Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center Languages English (69)
msmarco_doc_00_4806
http://0-www.worldcat.org.novacat.nova.edu/identities/lccn-n85198091/
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) [WorldCat Identities]
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Palacio de Bellas Artes La Habana Languages
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) [WorldCat Identities] Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Overview Works: 357 works in 541 publications in 7 languages and 3,340 library holdings Genres: Exhibition catalogs History Catalogs Conference papers and proceedings Guidebooks Roles: Editor Classifications: N6603, 709.72910904 Publication Timeline By Posthumously by About 1950… 1953… 1956… 1959… 1962… 1965… 1968… 1971… 1974… 1977… 1980… 1983… 1986… 1989… 1992… 1995… 1998… 2001… 2004… 2007… 2010… 2013… 2016… 2019… By Posthumously by About 1950-1951 0 0 0 1951-1952 0 0 0 1952-1953 0 0 0 1953-1954 0 0 0 1954-1955 0 0 0 1955-1956 0 0 0 1956-1957 20 0 0 1957-1958 15 0 0 1958-1959 15 0 0 1959-1960 0 0 0 1960-1961 5 0 0 1961-1962 0 0 0 1962-1963 0 0 0 1963-1964 0 0 0 1964-1965 10 0 0 1965-1966 0 0 0 1966-1967 0 0 0 1967-1968 5 0 0 1968-1969 10 0 0 1969-1970 0 0 0 1970-1971 0 0 0 1971-1972 0 0 0 1972-1973 0 0 0 1973-1974 0 0 0 1974-1975 5 0 0 1975-1976 10 0 0 1976-1977 10 0 0 1977-1978 0 0 0 1978-1979 20 0 0 1979-1980 10 0 5 1980-1981 10 0 0 1981-1982 25 0 0 1982-1983 10 0 5 1983-1984 25 0 5 1984-1985 25 0 15 1985-1986 25 0 20 1986-1987 25 0 0 1987-1988 20 0 0 1988-1989 25 0 0 1989-1990 25 0 0 1990-1991 20 0 20 1991-1992 15 0 5 1992-1993 20 0 0 1993-1994 15 0 0 1994-1995 0 0 0 1995-1996 25 0 0 1996-1997 15 0 0 1997-1998 25 0 5 1998-1999 25 0 10 1999-2000 15 0 0 2000-2001 30 0 15 2001-2002 25 0 25 2002-2003 35 0 15 2003-2004 35 0 15 2004-2005 30 0 10 2005-2006 30 0 15 2006-2007 25 0 20 2007-2008 25 0 0 2008-2009 30 0 5 2009-2010 30 0 5 2010-2011 20 0 10 2011-2012 20 0 10 2012-2013 20 0 5 2013-2014 15 0 20 2014-2015 25 0 0 2015-2016 20 0 15 2016-2017 10 0 10 2017-2018 15 0 5 2018-2019 0 0 0 2019-2020 0 0 0 2020-2021 0 0 0 About Most widely held works about Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, La Habana, Cuba : colección de arte cubano by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) La Habana : salas del Museo Nacional de Cuba, Palacio de Bellas Artes by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Vasos griegos, collección condes de Lagunillas by Ricardo Olmos Romera ( Book ) Cuba : vanguardias, 1920-1940 by Institut Valencià d'Art Modern ( Book ) Colecciones de arte universal : Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de Cuba by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Guía arte cubano : español by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Grandes obras del Museo de Bellas Artes de La Habana : Colección del Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de La Habana : Sala de Exposiciones Museísticas Cajasur, Córdoba, 12 de abril-22 de mayo de 2005 by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) De Vlaamse en Belgische schilderkunst in het Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de Cuba = La pintura flamenca y belga en el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de Cuba by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Amelia Peláez : una mirada en retrospectiva, 1928-1966 = unha mirada en retrospectiva, 1928-1966 by Amelia Peláez ( Book ) Los pintores de Artal : pintura española del Museo de La Habana( Book ) Havanna : das Nationalmuseum der Schönen Künste by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) René Portocarrero : exposición antológica, Museo Español de Arte Contemporáneo de Madrid, diciembre 1984-enero 1985 by René Portocarrero ( Book ) Guía arte europeo : español by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Cuba : René Portocarrero : vingt peintres contemporains : Galerie de l'esplanade de la Défense, 29 mai-30 juin 1984 by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) Escuela de la Habana : tradición y modernidad : mayo-junio 2004 : colección del Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de la Habana( Book ) Víctor Patricio Landaluze by Lázara Castellanos ( Book ) Pintura española del s. XIX en el Museo Nacional de Cuba : Planetario de Pamplona, 2 de octubre -a 10 de noviembre de 2002 by Manuel Crespo ( Book ) Els Sorolla de l'Havana : Ajuntament de Barcelona, Museu d'Art Modern de Barcelona, març-abril 1985( Book ) Arte de la antigüedad : salas del Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) ( Book ) El Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de La Habana y la colección de retratos de la pintura española del siglo XIX by Martha Elizabeth Laguna Enrique ( ) more fewer Most widely held works by Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Cuba : art and history, from 1868 to today by Nathalie Bondil ( Book ) 5 editions published between 2008 and 2009 in English and held by 644 WorldCat member libraries worldwide "This panorama of Cuban art is illustrated with more than 400 reproduction of all types of works, including painting, drawings, posters, photographs, installations, videos and an exceptional collective painting produced in 1967 by about a hundred artists from all over the world. Comprising essays written by twenty experts of all nationalities, this catalogue accompanies the exhibition presented at by the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts in partnership with the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Fotoeca de Cuba in Havana."--Jacket Los Carpinteros( Book ) 4 editions published in 2003 in Spanish and held by 64 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Catálogo de los vasos griegos del Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de La Habana by Ricardo Olmos Romera ( Book ) 4 editions published in 1993 in Spanish and held by 45 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Wifredo Lam by Wifredo Lam ( Book ) 4 editions published in 1997 in Spanish and English and held by 41 WorldCat member libraries worldwide I tre secoli d'oro della pittura napoletana: da Battistello Caracciolo a Giacinto Gigante : La Habana, Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, 23 novembre 2002-15 febbraio 2003( Book ) 5 editions published in 2002 in Italian and held by 39 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Wifredo Lam, 1902-1982 : obra sobre papel : colección Museo Nacional, Palacio de Bellas Artes, Habana, Cuba : junio-octubre 1992, Fundación Cultural Televisa, AC by Wifredo Lam ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1992 in Spanish and held by 37 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Todos los colores de Mariano by Mariano Rodríguez ( Book ) 3 editions published in 2000 in Spanish and held by 36 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes : historia de un proyecto by José Linares ( Book ) 4 editions published between 2001 and 2003 in Spanish and held by 35 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Cuba art et histoire de 1868 à nos jours by Nathalie Bondil ( Book ) 6 editions published in 2008 in Spanish and French and held by 34 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Mariano : una energía voluptuosa by Mariano Rodríguez ( Book ) 3 editions published in 1998 in Spanish and held by 34 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Novecento cubano : la naturaleza, el hombre, los dioses by Museo Nacional de Cuba ( Book ) 2 editions published in 1995 in Italian and held by 34 WorldCat member libraries worldwide "Catalog of the Cuban exhibition presented in Italy with the sponsorship of the Cuban Embassy. Selections for the exhibition came from the 20th-century holdings of the Museo Nacional de Cuba. Exhibition included modern masters such as Lam and Peláez, in addition to some interesting contemporary artists not very well known internationally"--Handbook of Latin American Studies, v. 58 Mirar a los 60 : antología cultural de una década : Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, 9 de julio-31 de agosto de 2004 by Exposicion Mirar a los 60 ( Book ) 4 editions published in 2004 in Spanish and held by 33 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Fajardo by José Luis Fajardo ( Book ) 2 editions published in 2002 in Spanish and held by 32 WorldCat member libraries worldwide La razón de la poesía : arte concreto : exposición en el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Colección Arte Cubano, La Habana : 6 de diciembre de 2002 - 9 de febrero de 2003( Book ) 3 editions published in 2002 in Spanish and held by 30 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Eugenio Lucas Velázquez en la Habana : Madrid, 20 febrero-21 abril 1996 by Eugenio Lucas ( Book ) 1 edition published in 1996 in Spanish and held by 30 WorldCat member libraries worldwide "Catalog of the 34 paintings from Havana's Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, originally from the collection of Rafael Carvajal, Marques de Pinar del Rio, who inaugurated the museum in 1955. Manuel Crespo Larrazábal wrote the insightful text, which sheds light on the Spanish painter whose work shows strong influence from Goya, and who was active in the third quarter of the 19th century. Excellent reproductions with complete data"--Handbook of Latin American Studies, v. 58 1er Salón de Arte Cubano Contemporáneo by Salón de Arte Cubano Contemporáneo ( Book ) 1 edition published in 1995 in Spanish and held by 29 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Wilfredo Prieto by Wilfredo Prieto ( Book ) 2 editions published in 2014 in English and held by 27 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Marcelo Pogolotti : un pintor cubano con los futuristas italianos : obras de Fillia, Enrico Prampolini, Farfa, Nicolaj Diulgheroff, y Marcelo Pogolotti by Marcelo Pogolotti ( Book ) 5 editions published in 2002 in Spanish and held by 27 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Qué le importa al tigre una raya más : the futility of good intentions by Ricardo Rodríguez Brey ( Book ) 1 edition published in 2014 in English and held by 27 WorldCat member libraries worldwide Evento teórico Forum Arte-Vida : La Habana, del 3 al 5 noviembre del 2003 by Bienal de La Habana ( Book ) 2 editions published in 2003 in Spanish and held by 25 WorldCat member libraries worldwide more fewer Audience Level 0 1 Kids General Special Audience level: 0.62 (from 0.34 for Cuba : art ... to 0.87 for Catálogo ...) Useful Links Library of Congress Authority File (English) Virtual International Authority File. Associated Subjects Art Art, Abstract Art, Cuban Art, European Art, Modern Art and society Art museums--Conservation and restoration Art objects Art--Private collections Arts, Cuban Arts, Modern Avant-garde (Aesthetics) Buildings--Remodeling for other use Carpinteros (Group of artists) Concrete art Cuba Cuba--Havana Fajardo, José Luis, Fillìa, Futurism (Art) Gaze in art Gumá, Joaquín,--Conde de Lagunillas, Italy Italy--Naples Lam, Wifredo Landaluze, Víctor Patricio de, Lucas, Eugenio, Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba).--Museo de Arte Universal Museo Nacional de Cuba Mythology, Greek, in art Painters Painting Painting, Abstract Painting, Belgian Painting, Cuban Painting, Flemish Painting, Italian Painting, Italian--Themes, motives Painting, Spanish Palazzo Bricherasio (Turin, Italy) Peláez, Amelia, Pogolotti, Marcelo, Portocarrero, René, Prieto, Wilfredo, Rodríguez, Mariano, Rodríguez Brey, Ricardo, Vases Vases, Greek Vases--Private collections Alternative Names Museo Nacional de Cuba Arte Ederretako Museo Nazionala La Habana Cuba Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes Habanako Arte Ederretako Museo Nazionala Musée national des beaux-arts (Cuba) Musée national des beaux-arts de La Havane Musée National Havane Musée National La Habana Museo de Bellas Artes de La Habana Museo de La Habana Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Arte Cubano Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Edificio Arte Cubano Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Museo de Arte Cubano Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de Cuba Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de la Habana Museo Nacional de Cuba Museo Nacional de Cuba La Habana Museo Nacional de La Habana Museo Nacional La Habana Museo Nacional Palacio de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Museo Nacional Palacio de Bellas Artes de La Habana Museo Nacional Palacio de Bellas Artes La Habana Museu Nacional de Belles Arts (Cuba) Museu Nacional de Belles Arts La Habana Nacional'nyj Muzej Izjaščnych Iskusstv Gabana Nacional'nyj Muzej Izjaščnych Iskusstv La Habana National Museum La Habana National Museum of Fine Arts (Cuba) Nationalmuseum der Schönen Künste (Cuba) Nationalmuseum der Schönen Künste La Habana Nationalmuseum der Schönen Künste von Havanna Nat︠s︡ionalʹnyĭ muzeĭ izi︠a︡shchnykh iskusstv (Cuba) Nat︠s︡ionalʹnyĭ muzeĭ izi︠a︡shchnykh iskusstv Gavana Palacio de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Palacio de Bellas Artes La Habana Palacio Nacional de Bellas Artes (Cuba) Languages Spanish (98) English (9) Italian (7) French (5) Dutch (3) German (1) Catalan (1) Covers
msmarco_doc_00_18902
http://00000.extensionfile.net/
File extension 00000 is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 00000. Here is some information which will get you started. Open 00000 File Open 00000 File To open 00000 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 00000 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 00000. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 00000 file To see if you have an application which support 00000 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 00000 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 00000 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 00000 files. What is 00000 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 00000 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 00000 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 00000 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 00000 files read other articles on this website. Open 00000 File on Windows Find a 00000 file in question in Windows OS File Explorer and double click on it to launch the correpsonding application. If a 00000 file is not opened in an application and you instead get a "Windows can't open a file" error message you should try looking for an application which can open the file in question. If you know the application which can open 00000 file then run it and see if there is a File->Open main menu option in the application. If you don't know the application which can open 00000 file then try to search for "00000 wiki", "application to open 00000 file" or "open 00000 file" queries in the search engine you like. Install the application you found and check if it can open 00000 file Rate 00000 filepage: 54321 4/5based on 27ratings Populating this website with information and maintaining it is an ongoing process. We always welcome feedback and questions that can be submitted by visiting Contact Us page. However since there are many users visiting this website and because our team is quite small we may not be able to follow up personally on every request. Thank you for your understanding. Open 00000 file article translations For more general information about how to open 00000 files, file extension 00000 and registry you can read one of the following articles: Windows registry- Windows registry is included in modern Windows operating systems to replace the older INI files which also contained system configuration. Let's concentrate on the structure and purpose of Windows System Registry, review some possible attacks to it and ways to avoid them... Folders, files and paths- Files are the entries or information stored on your computer. These are represented by binary coding and written on the tracks on a disk. Files are often represented by distinct icons, a normal practice done by Microsoft with their products including system files for their series of operating systems... What are file extensions? - File extensions are unnoticed yet are very crucial parts of the computer world. But many are still unaware of the basic foundation and principles behind the remarkable wonders of computers... © Copyright 2021 extensionfile.net Privacy Policy. Terms of Service
msmarco_doc_00_32856
http://00001.extensionfile.net/
Open 00001 File
Open 00001 File Open 00001 File How to Open 00001 file What is 00001 File? 00001 File Applications
Open 00001 File Open 00001 File To open 00001 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 00001 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 00001. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 00001 file To see if you have an application which support 00001 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 00001 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 00001 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 00001 files. What is 00001 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 00001 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 00001 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 00001 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 00001 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_37416
http://0006.extensionfile.net/
Open 0006 File
Open 0006 File Open 0006 File How to Open 0006 file What is 0006 File? 0006 File Applications
Open 0006 File Open 0006 File To open 0006 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 0006 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 0006. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 0006 file To see if you have an application which support 0006 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 0006 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 0006 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 0006 files. What is 0006 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 0006 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 0006 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 0006 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 0006 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_39694
http://0010.extensionfile.net/
Open 0010 File
Open 0010 File Open 0010 File How to Open 0010 file What is 0010 File? 0010 File Applications
Open 0010 File Open 0010 File To open 0010 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 0010 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 0010. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 0010 file To see if you have an application which support 0010 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 0010 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 0010 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 0010 files. What is 0010 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 0010 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 0010 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 0010 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 0010 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_41950
http://001yourtranslationservice.com/kenax/Translators/Resources/TimeZones.htm
Time Zones Map, Clock, Alarm and Explanation Timezone map, clock, alarm, and an interesting explanation of time zones, why they were created, and how the very concept of time was invented. (click images to enlarge/use) Share| Work from Home Translation Jobs Time Zones Map, Clock Alarm and Explanation The ancient Sumerians, the first explosion of civilization in then Mesopotamia, held their hand up to the sky and counted: four fingers on one hand, each finger having three segments, means 12 segments altogether. Day and night are divided into 12 segments. A thumb and four fingers on the other hand makes five, times 12 makes 60, the deciding number to divide both hours (those 12 segments per day or night) and minutes. More fascinating facts about time, the creation of time zones and so forth below. Directly below here you can use our free online alarm clock to help deliver your work on time to a deadline on another time zone. Your time spent here: Time Zone Alarm Clocks Help deliver a job to a customer on another time zone: This page was created for our translators to help them deliver their (and subsequently our) work on time. Here's a simple popout alarm clock. TimeZone Table Time zone abbreviation Meaning and/or location(s) Time difference from GMT What 9am to 5pm on GMT time translates into your time zone GMT Greenwich Mean: London, England +0:00 09:00 – 17:00 WAT West Africa: Azores, Cape Verde Islands -1:00 08:00 – 16:00 AT Azores -2:00 07:00 – 15:00 Brasilia, Brazil; Buenos Aires, Argentina; Georgetown, Guyana -3:00 06:00 – 14:00 AST Atlantic Standard: Caracas; La Paz -4:00 05:00 – 13:00 EST Eastern Standard: Bogota; Lima, Peru; New York, NY, USA -5:00 04:00 – 12:00 CST Central Standard: Mexico City, Mexico; Saskatchewan, Canada -6:00 03:00 – 11:00 MST Mountain Standard -7:00 02:00 – 10:00 PST Pacific Standard: Los Angeles, CA, USA -8:00 01:00 – 09:00 YST Yukon Standard -9:00 24:00 – 08:00 AHST, CAT, HST, EAST Alaska-Hawaii Standard; Central Alaska; Hawaii Standard; 09:East Australian Standard -10:00 23:00 – 07:00 NT Nome -11:00 22:00 – 06:00 IDLW International Date Line West -12:00 21:00 – 05:00 CET Central European: Paris, France +1:00 10:00 – 18:00 EET Eastern European, Russia Zone 1: Athens, Greece; Helsinki, Finland; Istanbul, Turkey; Jerusalem, Israel; Harare, Zimbabwe +2:00 11:00 – 19:00 BT Baghdad, Russia Zone 2: Kuwait; Nairobi, Kenya; Riyadh, Saudi Arabia; Moscow, Russia; Tehran, Iran +3:00 12:00 – 20:00 ZP4 Russia Zone 3: Abu Dhabi, UAE; Muscat; Tblisi; Volgograd; Kabul +4:00 13:00 – 21:00 ZP5 Chesapeake Bay +5:00 14:00 – 22:00 ZP6 Chesapeake Bay +6:00 15:00 – 23:00 WAST West Australian Standard +7:00 16:00 – 24:00 CCT China Coast, Russia Zone 7, Hong Kong, Peking +8:00 17:00 – 01:00 JST Japan Standard, Russia Zone 8 +9:00 18:00 – 02:00 GST Guam Standard, Russia Zone 9 +10:00 19:00 – 03:00 +11:00 20:00 – 04:00 IDLE International Date Line East: Wellington, New Zealand +12:00 21:00 – 05:00 NZST New Zealand Standard: Fiji +12:00 21:00 – 05:00 NZT New Zealand: Marshall Islands +12:00 21:00 – 05:00 Therefore, if something is due at 16:00 (4:00pm) GMT time, and you are located in Volgograd Russia on ZP4 time, you would have to deliver your work by 20:00 (8:00pm) your time (add four hours to the due date, according to the third column in the table above). Share| What are Time Zones? Well, we could ask what is time? To explain this, let us go to the beginning of what we can define as time. Let us presume that, before the big bang, there was only energy, and no time. We can say that God was this energy. And "then" he decided to make things, so he converted this energy into massand hence was created the big bang, which was an explosion of the energy force turning into matter. Exploding outwards in all directions, and creating the universe, or many universes, and therefore dimensions, where time is considered the fourth dimension. Everything is relative. A plant grows. We compare the states "after" and "before", and in our minds we think time. An object moves from point A to point B, or relative to what we call points A and B, the universe shifts around, we call it before and after, and label the "time" it took for that object to move between these two points. For us on earth, our reference point for time is the sun, the most obvious object in our sphere of perception, with its movement "around us". But in fact it is not moving around us, but our earth is spinning. When the created particles exploded outward following the big bang, because they were little particles of mass, they were attracted to each other, because mass objects are attracted to each other by gravity. We can stand on the earth because we are a mass object attracted to the great (relative to us) mass object of the earth. A Chinese person is upside down compared to a US person, because they are on the other side of the planet attracted and drawn by gravity to its centre. In the same manner, all the little mass particles jetting outwards from the centre of the big bang explosion are attracted to one anotherby gravity. Some particles are closer to one another, and they start to form clusters and groups. The clusters and groups which are attracted towards each other do so like water going down a drain. The fastest and naturally most efficient way for the water to go down a drain is to start spinning, which also creates a hole in the centre through which air can escape upwards, as the space the air previously consumed is now being replaced by the descending water. Water going down a drain in the southern hemisphere of our planet spins in the opposite directionas water going down the drain in the northern hemisphere. In the same way when these mass particles start to attract to one another during our forming universe, they naturally form a spinning disk, much like with the water going down the drain. This big disk could eventually form a galaxy, universe, or solar system, with the most clusters and mass in the centre of the disk, all of it spinning around. On a solar system level (solar means a sun), the most mass in the centre can form a sun, like ours. There is so much mass that the sheer weight of all these mass particles, attracted to one another under gravity, becomes so great that the pressure eventually ignites and starts a chemical reaction. Under the sheer weight of it all, and pressure, the chemical reaction converts hydrogen and helium back into energy, which we see as light and feel as heat. The mass of our earth is also a lot, and the weight and pressure of this mass is great enough that, if we were to bore a hole 3 km towards the centre of the earth, the pressure and heat would be strongenough to meltall our equipment (which are basically made from the iron ore found in our earth's, cooled crust). We are actually sitting on a very thin crust, the outer layer of the earth, which has cooled downto the point that we can stand on it(although, in the earlier days of the earth's development, the crust was mostly molten lava and exploding volcanoes, and it took a long time to cool down to where it is now). Past 3 km from the surface it is still all molten lava, which occasionally escapes to the surface through volcanoes or largeearthquakes. But our earth is not large enough to ignite the reaction which createsenergy (which is conversion of mass back into energy) to turn it into a star. But Jupiterhas just enough mass to make it a small star. There are other stars in the universe which are such a large collection of mass and produce so much gravity that they do not even let light escape, sucking everything into it. For the same reason that the particles of mass travelling outwards from the initial big bang have drawn together in spinning disks, the hazy mass within the forming and spinning solar systems have also conglomerated into spinning matter, eventually forming spinning planets, now revolving around the sun at the same speed as the forming solar disk was previously spinning. There are two interesting theories regarding the relative distance of the planets from the sun. One was postulated by Galileo < who drew geometric shapes with an increasing number of sides, and found that they perfectly fit into one another <link and add picture> . Another theory < calculates that the relative distances of the planets from the sun correlate exactly with the relative distance between the frequencies of musical notes, whereby F# would be the asteroid belt, and hence deemed an unstable orbit and where a planet could not form properly. This is just one example of the amazing harmony of nature, which one can also consider as proof of the divine existence of God. Therefore, we have our sun in the centre of our own solar system, and our planet spins in an orbit around it, our planet itself spinning around, with the moon spinning in an orbit around us. Prague's Orloj Clock- an interesting history As our planet spins, it appears to us that the sun revolves around us. The Sumerians(the race of people living in Mesopotamia in what is now modern day Iraq and from where Abraham first came and was called by God)were the first great civilisation on earth and which defined for us time, using another very common object for us: our hands and fingers. If we were a Sumerian, how might we divide up a day, which is basically the time it takes for our earth to spin around once, or from our perspective, for our sun to revolve around us until it came back to the same place it started at? Well, we might look at our hands and fingers and use them to divide up things. We would divide up the entire day into two: the dark half and the light half. We have four fingers and a thumb. Looking at the four fingers, each has three segments, making up 12 segments total. Three segments times four fingers makes 12, so let us divide up each half day into 12 hours. Now if we take this number 12 generated by the four fingers of our left hand, and multiply it by the fingers and thumb of our right hand, we get 12 hours times 5, which makes 60. So lets divide each hour into 60 individual minutes, and divide up each minute into 60 individual seconds. And this is precisely how we humans have defined for ourselves time. A year, which works out to 365 days (with some leap years, because our means of creating time is not exact), is the number of times the earth spins around its own axis (creating what we call a day) while the earth revolves in its orbit around the sun to come back to the same place it started at. This is how the Sumerians defined time. But because the world is a round globe, the beginning of night and day is different depending on where you are located in the world. What is high noon for someone in the US would be pitch black midnight for someone in China, on the other side of the world. Therefore, over time, we humans started to draw imaginary lines on the planet, cutting up the planet into 24 parts, one for each hour of the day. In the days of old, people used a sundial to tell the time, which is basically a solar clock. A little stick at a certain angle which would cast a shadow as the sun, from our perspective, would revolve around our planet. But as humans advanced, and with the invention of railroads (the first time zone GMT was in fact created by British Railways), and transportation becoming faster and faster, it got to a point where it was necessary to set some relative times between each place. So the earth was carved into one hour slices, usually along political borders, or what we humans thought would be the best way. This way, if ever taking a train, you would know exactly what time you should arrive at a certain city, which fell in a certain time zone, subtract or add the number of hours on your clock, and everything started to make better sense for our developing societies. During humanity’s development, the period during all this defining was when England was a great power in the world, controlling many colonies. And with such power during this development, and such a strong naval power, in 1675 they labelled the centre of our time in Greenwich, and defined Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) as the zero time zone to help ships navigate the world and define longitudinal lines, such that the remaining parts of the world were either plus or minus so many hours from this zeropoint. The sun rises from our west and sets in our east. So if we move along the planet westwards, we are going back in our little created time, towards the morning of the time zone we are moving towards. Likewise, if we fly east, we are flying towards the setting sun, towards the end of the day, and hence we would add time to our clock. But in the big scheme of things, the time in the universe is steady, whereby we are only adding or subtracting hours on our own clock, simply for the convenience of defining for us what is morning and what is evening(in terms of the angle of the sun with reference to the point on the globe that we are stationed at). And if we go far enough west or east, meaning 12 hours in either direction from the GMT zero time, we will end up on the other side of the world from Greenwich England, where we could add or subtract half a day. So on one side of this other imaginary line it is a day later or earlier than on the other side. But this is just how we have divided up things, based on our fingers and the rotation of the earth and sun. In the big scheme of things, time is constant, and God is eternal. God, in whose eyes "a day is like a thousand years", and who is "the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end". Things continue as they continue, and are as they are, but we humans, for our own convenience, have divided up everything according to the number of segments on our fingers. And we wake up hurriedly every morning to catch the 6:50 bus, to get to work by 9:00. These are all our own inventions. And then we have daylight savings, which is the adding or subtracting of an hour to or from a particular time zone and at a particular time of the year, to help the farmer get up early to begin work in his field. But over time, the farmer did not have such an importor dominant role in society. Some areas use daylight savings while others do not. Recently, the US has shifted the time when it applies daylight savings because it has calculated it can save its economy billions of dollars by not forcing people to use their airconditioners so much at work . So whatever time zone you are located in on this planet, and you are working on a translation assignment for KENAX, let us just agree on a delivery time based on the GMT time zone. Our customer may be in Japan and want the translation delivered by 4pm its time, before the end of its working day. According to the table above, where JST is +9, 4pm would be 7am GMT time. And if you are a translator working in Mexico city, meaning –6 from GMT, you would have to deliver your translation by 1am, or shortly after midnight. As long as everything is delivered on "time" and the customer is happy! And now that you understand how humans perceive time, perhaps you might be interested in how time is perceived in the eyes of God! Share| Some more of my articles which might interest you Stories about my travels- now being promoted to publish as a book! Natural Cancer Cure Remedy Treatment- personal experience how this wonder plant cure-all has successfully treated cancer and all sorts of horrible skin diseases. Can be grown in garden and prepared with a $30 home appliance. History of the English language- Many influences and a bloody history! Contact Needa translation, web design, php programming, database setup or help getting your pages to the top of google? I know it all! Or I have a big crew to help me. Ask for a free quote (to the right) or write me a time zone comment. Or contact me by email. Time Zone Comments More time zone links here: The World Clock World Time Zones - current time and time zone map Official US time- a service provided by the US government Time Zones converter- to help you find the difference in time between various cities and countries Greenwich Meantime- and times in other places around the world TimeTicker- showing times around the world in cool flash presentation Time Zones explanation- detailed explanation by wikipedia Actual times- quickly find the time anywhere in the world Time Zones check- find the time with this interesting flash presentation Some keywords: timezone map, time zones, timezone, timezones, table, time zone table Site put together by KENAX Translating Agencyfor its translators Because we know how to deliver on time! Time Zone comments: Ok, I have a question. So if it\'s 6:15 in America and it takes 5 hours to travel to London, what time would it be in London after those five hours? It depends on which time zone you are in the US, as I believe there are 3 on the continental US (not sure about Alaska). If you are in New York, so EST-5 (5 hours earlier than London, as the sun travels westward), you should get to London10 hours later than when you left, so 16:15 (assuming you were leaving in the morning), which would be 4:15pm in London(you are flying eastwards, AGAINST the sun). Hope I figured this out right and will try to make some script to compute this for people. the way you mix spirituality and science is incredible :) Thanks, but many scientists believe in God and scientists have done some rudimentary scientific research on psychic powers, for example. Science does not automatically mean a lack of spirituality and many things are connected that we do not understand yet. Think of the unified theory of relativity. There is a spiritual element to our existence, even if one were to deny the existence of God and spirits. What times is 12,00hours ( a day) in New Mexiko, USA, MST - in Czech Republic, CET? Thank You, Oldřiška According to the table on this page MST is -7 (7 hours earlier than London, GMT+0). Czech CET is +1 (1 hour later in time than GMT+0), meaning the two are 8 hours apart. The sun sets in the west, meaning that it has already set by the time it rolls around to New Mexico, so it is 8 hours later in CZ, or 12+8 = 8pm at night if 12noon in New Mexico. Some Keywords Used to Find this Page, with Answers timezone, time zones – Started first in Englandto help with train schedules when traveling across different time zones. cet time zone, or cet timezone – That is Central European Time, like in Parisor Prague. If its 7am in Buffalo, what time is it in China? – Amazingly, this supreme, centrally controlled system operates on a single time zone, although before 1949 it operated on 5.. translate the time zones in londonenglandright now –The above time zone converter calculatorwill compute that for you based on the time when you pressed the Calculate button. 7am abu dhabitime to nyc – Abu Dhabiis on GMT+4, NYC is -5, meaning a difference of 9 hours. 7+9 is 16, so 4pm in NY. time difference – it can be relativetoo! time zone table, time zones table– an easy to use table showing the time difference between different time zones. what time is it in china?­–the above time zone alarm clock <presently under construction> will tell you that based on when you look. Did you know that, since 1949, Chinahas only one time zone? Before that it had 5. explanation of time zones– why and how they were created, an interesting story explained above on this page. time clock – clocks started as a stick whose shade moved according to the sun (a sundial). Our time is based on the sun's rotation (from our perspective) around the earth. Eventually mechanical then digital devices replaced this crude but representative technology. time zone mapfor peru– incorporated into the global time zone map above. when Londontime is 1500 hrs then in New York– it is 10am, as they are five hours apart. 18:00 gmt in Kenyatime – 21hrs or 9pm, three hours later. beginning of time– you could say when God created everything, but time can stand still for God, and different universes would have been created at different "times". The above explains it in greater detail. europetimezone – so far covers only three zones, but it is a strange breathing animal and who knows if it will soon lose or gobble up more time zones. from one side to the other side of russiaflying time – According to the top answer of Yahoo Russiais 6666 miles long (are there satanic implications here? Since the average cruising speed of a plane is 500 mph, I figure you're gonna have to squirm in that seat for about13 hours (another coincidence? if i left to isreal right now what time would it be when i get there – are you walking? Would love to help you mate but I also need to know where you're leaving from. if it is 7am in australia than what time is in America – well, considering that the continental US covers 6 times zones, and certainly more if you include Hawaii, and considering Australia itself covers 3 time zones, you've got a spread of 9 hours depending what cities you are talking about. is buenos airesin the same timezone as the u.s.east coast? – according to the time zone mapabove it is 2 hours later in Buenos Aires. time translation – usually one is stressed out for time when trying to provide a translation. As they say in the industry: "It's due yesterday!" time translator londonto Canada– Canadacovers five time zones, starting from 4 hours to 9 hours earlier than London. time zone explanation– A history of why and how time zones were created. time zone translator – the above time zone calculatorcan do this for you. Share| Travel Europeblog Computer Tips List of Translation Agencies Translation Tips Translation Jobs Translation Resources Translation Agency Translation Services Copyright © KENAX, by Karel Kosman- All Rights Reserved Worldwide.
msmarco_doc_00_44206
http://001yourtranslationservice.com/translating/languages/African-languages.html
Languages of Africa
Languages of Africa Afrikaans Similar to Flemish, which is 40% Dutch, 40% German and 20% everything possible. Spoken in South Africa. Afrikaans, Ndebele, Northern Sotho, Sesotho (the Sesotho name for Southern Sotho), Setswana (the Setswana name for Tswana), Swazi (also known as Siswati), Tsonga (also known as Xitsonga), Venda (also isiVenda), Xhosa (also isiXhosa) and Zulu (also isiZulu) are 10 of the official languages of South Africa (the last and eleventh being English). All these languages are therefore predominantly spoken in South Africa. Akkadian Akkadian is one of the great cultural languages of world history. Akkadian (or Babylonian-Assyrian) is the collective name for the spoken languages of the culture in the three millennia BCE in Mesopotamia, the area between the rivers Euphrates and Tigris, approx. covering modern Irak. The name Akkadian --so called in ancient time-- is derived from the city-state of Akkad, founded in the middle of the third millennium BCE and capital of one of the first great empires after the dawn of human history. Amharic The National Language of Ethiopia. Arabic Arabic is spoken by almost 200 million people in more than twenty two countries, from Morrocco to Iraq, and as far south as Somalia and the Sudan. As the language of Quran, the Holy book of Islam, it is thought as a first language in Muslim states throughout the world. Arabic language originated in Saudi Arabia in pre-Islamic times, and spread rapidly across the Middle East. Bambara The language of Bambara or Bamana is spoken in Guinea, Mali and Burkina Faso. This language are also used as "lingua franca" in West Africa. Berber Group of languages, from Morocco to Egypt. Differences between the languages can be considerable, due to geographical distances. There are about 300 local dialects. The largest of the Berber languages is found in Kabylia in Algeria. Berber languages form a branch of the Afro-Asiatic linguistic family. Coptic The Coptic Language is the name used to refer to the last stage of the written Egyptian language. Coptic should more correctly be used to refer to the script rather than the language itself. Even though this script was introduced as far back as the 2nd century BC., it is usually applied to the writing of the Egyptian language from the first century AD. to the present day. Coptic was used from its Christian beginnings in the late second century AD. till the time of the Great persecution of Diocletian in the early 4th century AD. predominantly as a translational tool from Greek to Egyptian. After the persecution, the monastic movement picked up tremendous steam. It was for the Copts the only way they can express their great love for God, that they earlier expressed with the willing sacrifice of their most precious possession, their earthly lives. These monastic communities were large and mostly Egyptian. This generated the need for the abbots of these communities to write their rules in their own language, i.e. Coptic. Also the Fathers of the Coptic Church, who usually wrote in Greek, addressed some of their works to the Egyptian monks in Coptic. Damara/Nama Damara/Nama, a clicking language, is spoken in Namibia. Egyptian The language spoken in Egypt. The New Egyptian language is also known as the "Demotic" language since it is the colloquial Egyptian spoken by the people. The gradual replacement of Hieroglyphic by Demotic is similar to the replacement of Latin by English French, Italian, etc. Coptic is the common colloquial Egyptian. Its roots stem from from the New Egyptian Language and has a large similitude with the version of the the Egyptian Language of the 25th Kingdom (Saees Kingdom named after its Capital: Sa-ElHahgar). Fula FULA (FULBF, FELLATAIT or PEuL5), a numerous and powerful African people, spread over an immense region from Senegal nearly to Darfur. Strictly they have no country of their own, and nowhere form the whole of the population, though nearly always the dominant native race. They are most numerous in Upper Senegal and in the countries under French sway immediately south of Senegambia, notably Futa Jallon. Farther east they rule, subject to the control of the French, Segu and Massena, countries on both banks of the upper Niger, to the south-west of Timhuktu. The districts within the great bend of the Niger have a large Fula population. Gujarati Gujarati is one of the widely spoken languages of India. It is mainly spoken in the western state of Gujarat in India. Gujarati speaking people have immigrated to many countries worldwide. Some of them are: US, UK, Kenya, South Africa, Fiji New Zealand etc. Hausa Hausa is spoken in Nigeria and Niger. This language are also used as "lingua franca" in West Africa. Iraqi The language spoken in Iraq. Lebanese The language spoken in Lebanon. Levantine Arabic is a general designation used for a continuum of dialects spoken in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, and Israel. Another name for the cluster is Northwest Arabian Colloquial Arabic. There are 7 million speakers in Syria, almost 4 million in Lebanon, 3 million in Jordan, and 1 million in Israel and Palestine. Lingala Lingala = Center and north. Primarily in Zadre. Niger-Congo, Atlantic-Congo, Volta-Congo, Benue-Congo, Bantoid, Southern, Narrow Bantu, Northwest, C, Bangi-Ntomba. Lingala belongs to the Ngala Group of Bantu (Guthrie C36) and is spoken along the Lomami, the Ubangi, and the Zaire rivers as far as Kinshasa in Zaire, as well as up the Sangha River through Congo-Brazzaville and the Central African Republic. UBS (1982) notes an exaggerated figure of 8.4 million speakers, the same figure that Grimes (1996) cites as including second language speakers. World Almanac (1998) estimates 8 million total speakers. Heine (1970), citing Roberts (1962), gives 1.2 million. Luganda The language of Uganda. Luganda, the native language of the people of Buganda, developed over the centuries as a spoken language. Its written form is only as recent as the arrival of the Arab and European influence among the Baganda. It is not easy, and of course it is not within the scope of this discussion, to trace its origins, but it is proper to assume that in a dynamic society with such well structured cultural, social, and political institutions like those of the Baganda, the language must have experienced a reciprocal influence during most of the changes the society went through over the course of its history. It was not however, until after the second half of the nineteenth century, that Luganda was first written down and appeared in print in its own right. Malagasy The language of Madagascar. More than anything else, the people of Madagascar love oratory. The colorful language, Malagasy, like the people who use it, is a living synthesis of Indonesian, African, and Arabic elements. No conversation is complete without a liberal sprinkling of clever euphemisms and timeworn proverbs. The British missionaries attempted to codify this lyrical language, using the letters of the English alphabet. The Malagasy alphabet is therefore quite similar to the English alphabet, with the following exceptions: The Malagasy alphabet is missing the letters C, Q, U, W, and X. The letter A is always short (as in watch). The letter E sounds like a long A (as in pace). The letter i is pronounced like a long E (as in bean). The letter J sounds like dz. Finally, the letter O sounds like oo. Mandinka A language of Gambia, Guinea-Bissau and Senegal and spoken widely throughout Western Africa. Moroccan The language of Morocco. One of the first things one notices about Morocco is its linguistic diversity. French, Berber, Modern Standard Arabic, as well as Moroccan Arabic, can all be heard in all the major cities. This is due primarily to the rich historical past of the country. The Berbers, the original inhabitants, make up roughly half of the population, and the three major dialects of their language are widely spoken. When the Arabs came to Morocco in the 8th century they brought their language, which has evolved into the Moroccan Arabic of today. France officially entered the picture in 1912 when it began the Moroccan protectorate and French is still widely used in commerce and the educational system. When one speaks of Arabic in Morocco there are two languages to be considered. On the one hand there is Modern Standard Arabic. This is the direct descendant of the language of the Koran and is understood throughout the contemporary Arab world. In Morocco it is used in newspapers, correspondence, news broadcasts and speeches but rarely in conversation. Moroccan Arabic, on the other hand, is the first language of the majority of Moroccans and really the most useful language to know when traveling in the country. It differs from Modern Standard Arabic to the extent that non-Moroccan speakers of Arabic, with the possible exception of Algerians and Tunisians, find it difficult to understand. Muganda Buganda is located in the south-central region of the country known today as Uganda, as shown in the map below. This is right in the heart of Africa, astride the equator, and at the source of the great river Nile. The people of Buganda are referred to as Baganda (the singular form is Muganda), their language is referred to as Luganda, and they refer to their customs as Kiganda customs. Sometimes the generic term Ganda is used for all the above (especially by foreign scholars). Ndebele The term Ndebele refers to a relatively broad range of ethnic groups dispersed across Zimbabwe and the Transvaal province of South Africa. Although they are not kindred in origin, language, or culture, all of these groups are undoubtedly descendants of a proto-Nguni tribe, as are the Xhosa and Zulu, and were resident in what is now KwaZulu and Natal as long as four centuries ago. Nepali The language of Nepal. In structure, Nepali is considered to lie in the middle between Hindi and the East Indic Bengali language. As well as in the East Indic tongues, its vowels have lost a distinction in length. Consonants of Nepali include four series of stops (principal, aspirated, retroflex, retroflex aspirated), a number of sibilants and affricates. Nepali has totally lost the gender category; its numerous analytical forms, especially those of the verb, are now in process of forming the agglutinative declension system. The Indic ergative construction is not so active as in other languages of the group. Nigerian Several languages are spoken in Nigeria Degema Edo Efik English Esan Hausa Ibibio Idoma Igala Igbo Ikwere Isekiri Isoko Kalabari Nupe Okobo Oron Pidgin Tiv Urhobo Yoruba Nuer The Nuer is one of the best known of all ethnographic studies, and the reason for this is clear: Evans-Pritchard gives a brilliant and insightful picture of an interesting and unusual people. The Nuer were a pastoral people living along the upper Nile, who had no laws or leaders and were strongly individualistic, with social order maintained by community values and a segmentary tribal and lineage system. Numbering approximately one million, the Nuer are the second largest people group (second to the Dinka) in south Sudan. Traditionally, they are cattle herders whose complete way of life revolves around their livestock. Cattle are used for payment of fines and debts and as bride prices in marriage. Children mold clay figures of cows out of clay, ash, wood or any other available material. Young boys have a favorite ox who they give a name and treat as if it was a puppy. Oromo The Oromo language is the third largest language of Africa in the number of native speakers. Afaan Oromo is spoken by over 30 million people in Ethiopa. Afaan Oromo is a language of very beautiful poetry, proverbs of wisdom, and justice. Even though the Oromos are spread over large areas and were prevented from using their language in education, mass media, and public services, the language is still a relatively uniform language with which Oromos from all parts of Ethiopia, and outside Ethiopia, can communicate with relative ease. Colonial Ethiopian governments from Menelik II down to Haile Sellasie, and to some extent the Derg forbade the study, development, and use of the Oromo language in education, public services, and other events including religious teachings, and scholarly studies. Persian As the second language of the Muslim world and the main language of the Iranian cultural and civililzation literary, mystical, countless precious works in different literary, mystical, philosophical, theological, historical, artistic, and religious areas, Persian has always caught the attention of Iranians and other people in different countries of the world. Pidgin English Pidgin English = dialect spoken in Occidental Cameroon. A Pidgin (and also a Creole) is a language variety used for interethnic contact. In many cases where peoples of different linguistic groups come need to communicate, they use a third language (or material of a third language), in which they have some competence. As a result thereof, the language in question may undergo drastic changes and result in an entirely new language. Saudi The language which people speak in the Arab world is far more different than Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) which is the language of the media. It is used on TV and newspapers, but it is not used anywhere else. Saudi Arabic, is the colloquial form of MSA. There aren't much change in the meaning, but the pronunciation differ from that of any other colloquial Arabic, though the saudi Arabic could be classified under (Gulf Arabic). e.g. in MSA, "How are you?" is translated as "Kayfa Haluka", while in Saudi, it would be "keef Halak", while in Bahrini and Kuwaiti, it would be "Eish Loonak", the worst, however, is the egyptian "Izzayyak". Sesotho Sesotho, or Southern Sotho, is spoken in Lesotho, the Free State, the northern part of the Eastern Cape Province and the south of the Gauteng province of South Africa. It is also spoken in the vicinity of Pretoria and Brits. Sesotho is used by 3 104 197 speakers as a home language in South Africa (1996 census). Sesotho was one of the first African languages to be reduced to writing, and it has an extensive literature. According to scholars the written form was originally based on the Tlokwa dialect. Today the written language is mostly based on the Kwena and Fokeng dialects. Although there are variations. Shona The language of Zimbabwe and Mozambique. Shona, or chiShona, is a language spoken by nearly 80 percent of people in Zimbabwe. There are several regional Shona dialects. Written Shona is constantly evolving. Unfortunately the language is deteriorating because of the tendency to assimilate foreign languages. Somali The Somali language, one of the major languages in Africa, is spoken in Somalia /Somaliland, Kenya, Ethiopia and the Republic of Djibouti. In fact, it is one of the few that have 10 million or more native speakers in Africa. There are also communities of Somali speakers in most countries in East Africa, the Middle East, Western Europe, and North America. Sotho (Northern) Amongst the immense diversity of the languages of Africa one finds the Bantu languages which number close to a thousand including dialects. Within the South­eastern zone of the Bantu language family, sub­groups such as the Sotho and Nguni groups, Tsonga and Venda are distinguished, Northern Sotho belongs to the Sotho group together with Tswana and Southern Sotho. Geographically speakers of Northern Sotho are mostly concentrated in the Northern and North­eastern parts of the Transvaal. There are about 3,5 million mother­tongue speakers. Typologically Northern Sotho is an agglutinative language. It is characterised by a system of noun classes and concordial agreement. Concordance is established by means of prefixal elements. Tone plays an important role in distinguishing the lexical meaning of words, but is also used to determine the grammatical character of words. Sotho (Southern) Sesotho, or Southern Sotho, is spoken in Lesotho, the Free State, the northern part of the Eastern Cape Province and the south of the Gauteng province of South Africa. It is also spoken in the vicinity of Pretoria and Brits. Sesotho is used by 3 104 197 speakers as a home language in South Africa (1996 census). Sesotho was one of the first African languages to be reduced to writing, and it has an extensive literature. According to scholars the written form was originally based on the Tlokwa dialect. Today the written language is mostly based on the Kwena and Fokeng dialects. Although there are variations. Swahili The language of Kenya and East Africa. The Swahili language, is basically of Bantu (African) origin. It has borrowed words from other languages such as Arabic probably as a result of the Swahili people using the Quran written in Arabic for spiritual guidance as Muslims. As regards the formation of the Swahili culture and language, some scholars attribute these phenomena to the intercourse of African and Asiatic people on the coast of East Africa. The word "Swahili" was used by early Arab visitors to the coast and it means "the coast". Ultimately it came to be applied to the people and the language. Regarding the history of the Swahili language, the older view linked to the colonial time asserts that the Swahili language originates from Arabs and Persians who moved to the East African coast. Given the fact that only the vocabulary can be associated with these groups but the syntax or grammar of the language is Bantu, this argument has been almost forgotten. It is well known that any language that has to grow and expand its territories ought to absorb some vocabulary from other languages in its way. Swazi Xhosa, Zulu, Swazi, and Ndebele are languages in the Nguni group of Bantu (Guthrie S40). Xhosa is spoken in the Transkei coastal region of South Africa; Zulu, south of Swaziland inland and along the coast; Swazi, in Swaziland; all three are spoken in South Africa. Tsonga Afrikaans, Ndebele, Northern Sotho, Sesotho (the Sesotho name for Southern Sotho), Setswana (the Setswana name for Tswana), Swazi (also known as Siswati), Tsonga (also known as Xitsonga), Venda (also isiVenda), Xhosa (also isiXhosa) and Zulu (also isiZulu) are 10 of the official languages of South Africa (the last and eleventh being English). All these languages are therefore predominantly spoken in South Africa. 1,646,000 in South Africa (1995), 4.2% of the population (1995 The Economist). Population total all countries 3,165,000. Transvaal. Also spoken in Mozambique, Swaziland, Zimbabwe. Partially intelligible with Ronga and Tswa. National language. A language of secondary education. Newspapers, radio programs. Christian, traditional religion. Bible 1907-1989. Tswana Tswana, more correctly called Setswana, is another of the Bantu languages of southern Africa. Its speakers, the Tswana, number about 4 million—3 million of whom live in South Africa, and one million in the neighboring country of Botswana, which is named after them. Tswana is closely related to the Sotho language and, in fact, is often referred to as Western Sotho. A Bantu language. National Language of Botswana, which is named after the language; The majority of Tswana speakers are in South Africa but there are also speakers in Zimbabwe and Namibia. Internationally there are about 4 million speakers. The language is closely related to Sotho and is in the Niger-Congo family of languages. It has also been known as Beetjuans, Chuana, Coana, Cuana, Setswana and Sechuana. Venda Venda is spoken/used in South Africa Wolof Wolof is a language spoken in the west African nations of Senegal and Coastal Gambia. Compared to isiXhosa or isiZulu, this language is fairly easy to learn and to enunciate. Xhosa Xhosa is a "dominant language" (Grobler et al.1990) in about three dozen districts of Eastern Cape Province and adjacent Orange Free State, and in the Transkei and Ciskei (all in South Africa). It is also spoken as a dominant language in several districts away from the main Xhosa region: in Petrusburg near Bloemfontein, and in the mining districts of Oberholzer and Westonaria, southwest of Johannesburg. Speakers of Xhosa total about 6.5 million. It is the most widely distributed African language in South Africa, although not the most spoken: Zulu has more speakers. Other speakers are found in major population centers throughout the Republic of South Africa. Afrikaans and English are official languages of South Africa, but Xhosa is a declared official language in Ciskei, along with English, and the official language in Transkei, although English, Afrikaans, and other African vernaculars are used for judicial, legislative, and administrative purposes (McFerren 1985). Yoruba Yoruba is spoken by about 30 million people in southwestern Nigeria, Benin, and northern Togo. Yoruba joins Hausa and Igbo as the most widely spoken languages in Nigeria. Although this member of the Benue Congo group of languages has about 20 distinct dialects, Standard Yoruba is recognized by speakers of all dialects and is used in education, literature, and the media. Zulu This prominent group of the Nguni people takes its name from the chief who founded the royal line in the 16th century. The warrior king, Shaka, raised the tribe to prominence in the early 19th century. The complicated Zulu etiquette was refined during his reign. The current monarch of the Zulu nation is King Goodwill Zweletini. The language Zulu, or isiZulu, is understood by people from the Cape to Zimbabwe. Zulu is also the written language of the Northern Nguni. It's also a tonal language. Partner links: http://www.amlingua.com AMlingua provides Russian translation and transcription services by professional Russian translators. Starting at just USD 0.04 per word!
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Translator or Translation Rates Charges, Prices and Fees Basic guideline to what other translators are charging and tips to what strategy you might choose when selecting a translation price or rate for your customers. Also links to useful translation tips. Translator or Translation Rates, Charges, Prices and Fees This page was written because many applying translators asked us for advice on what is a good translation rate and price to charge. If you are a customer and would like to know our rates as a translation company, please contactus directly, or check out our translation pricespage. Searching for “translation” on google will yield approximately 140 million results, making the translation industry very competitive indeed. Almost anyone can put a webpage together, and with roughly 85% of the world population speaking at least two languages, you’ve got something to contend with. Once you’ve established a reputation for yourself and picked up a few steady customers you can start increasing your prices, but when beginning your translation career it can be difficult to choose a rate to charge. Below you will find various suggestions how to develop a pricing strategy for your translation services. If youare just starting out you may consider charging on the lower end, to help you get your foot in the door. After managing a translation company for 20 years and receiving lots of tender applications, it wasn’t difficult to find quality translators in the following price ranges: Work at Home Translation Jobs English/Spanish: 0.04 - 0.06+ Euro/word French 0.06+ German 0.06 - 0.08+ Scandinavian 0.08 - 0.12+ Czech, Polish 0.04 - 0.06 Russian, Uzbek etc. 0.03 - 0.05 Hungarian 0.05 - 0.07 Chinese/Asian 0.04 - 0.05+ African can be quite pricey and we do not have enough translators (or work) in these languages yet to offer accurate information on this. A seasoned translator can generally translate at least 2,500 words a day, to give you an idea how much you could earn at these rates. I also received many offers which were lower, but the quality of their translation samples was generally undesirable – quite possibly from non-natives living in less expensive countries and who could afford to charge such rates. Then again, some customers only require an “informative” translation and the lower rates suit them. For a particular language combinationyou may look at what other translators are charging according to how they filled in our translator application form (we have more than 12,000 translators in our database). You are welcome to add your own rate, but your details will not be added to our translator database. Note that rates charged to direct customers are generally higher than fees charged to translation companies. The % is a wild card, so chin% would yield both "chinese mandarin" and "chinese traditional". Here are a few links of other websites posting recommended translator charges: ProZ Translators Cafe Translators Base Share| However, from my experience, these appear to be rates charged by translators who have an existing and well developed client base, or their “hopeful” rates. What one writes on their CV or portfolio may differ from what they are willing to accept when bidding on an actual project. For example, Translator Café’s posted rates for Czech to English translations are as follows: showing an average of 0.08 USD/word charged by translators living in the Czech Republic. On a local level though, I know it is very difficult to get more than 250 Kc per target page, which works out to about 0.06 USD per source word. Local companies rarely pay more than this, and often less. I’ve also applied to many tenders on ProZ and experimented with different prices, and anything over 0.06 is generally ignored. This is what Proz's statistics show for Czech to English rates: What is the best part of translating? Trend in Translation Prices In short, the story goes as follows (as drawn from www.commonsenseadvisory.com): So, with the internet opening up markets, increasing competition in some language combinations while increased trade with other countries is increasing demand for their languages, prices have become dynamic indeed. Possible Strategies When Deciding on What Translation Prices to Charge pretend you are a potential customer, approach several translation companies and ask them what they would charge for a particular document. Companies will generally charge between 0.01 and 0.06 Euro/USD per word, possibly more, in addition to what the translator charges. before filling out many application forms you might want to phone around to a few translation companies and ask them what rate they generally offer their translators. when setting your price make a note somewhere that you can be flexible with your fee, depending on the project particulars. when offering a price to a direct customer, consider what companies charge and offer something slightly less, but more than what the companies generally offer their translators. when bidding on tenders, scatter your prices and experiment. If one customer accepts your higher offer, you are not bound to take work from another offer where you submitted a lower price. With such experimentation you can develop a “feel” for the market. before submitting a price on a particular project, make sure that you understand the conditions (due date etc.) and take a good look at the text. Try to translate some parts, at least in your head. If it is very difficult for you and will take you longer to translate, you should raise your price accordingly. On the other hand, rather than squeeze yourself out of the market, you may consider accepting a more competitive rate and use the opportunity to practice and research the field. Over time you will be able to translate faster, and during which you could have built up useful translation memory and glossary terms. At least this way you will secure for yourself a steadier supply of work, you could eventually be considered an expert and start raising your prices. if the deadline is short for the volume and you will have to work hard and long hours to meet the schedule, you should generally charge more. But keep in mind that you are also earning more by translating the higher volume over a shorter period of time, and your competition might be willing to accept their standard rate. Again, it is good to be vague with your pricing. You can try a higher price, but if you need the work, you can mention words like “flexible” and “I would liketo charge”. if you are receiving repeat and regular work from a satisfied customer, you might consider asking them for a price increase. But always be polite, as an offended customer is easily a lost customer, and winning customers in the first place can be a lengthy and time-consuming process. if you are getting more work than you can handle and from different sources, this is the perfect time to increase your translation fee to new customers. To convince potential new customers of your high quality services, beef up your CV and website with testimonies from your existing customers, and translation samples from your more difficult projects. Follow-up: What to Do After Submitting Your Translation Price, Rate or Fee If it is an important or large project, it is good to send your offer from at least two sources/email addresses, to make sure your potential translation customer receives your application (because of spam filters etc). If you do not hear back from them you can write in a few days to further express your interest. But keep in mind that such large and potentially lucrative projects can receive applications from many translators, and that the project managers could be swamped trying to process them all. But by expressing your keen interest you are revealing your enthusiasm, which is important, as well as your potential to decrease your price, if that is an issue. Once your potential client expresses interest in your application they will often ask you to jump through some hoops, such as to provide a free translation sample, references or other tedious and non-paying work. If you have not done so already now is a good time to check out the company’s payment reputation. If the company has a good reputation. If the company has a good reputation it is quite possible it could lead to lots of future work, in which case it is worthwhile to do the necessary prep work. But make sure to do it properly, because any shortcomings could cast a poor impression. If you did not fill in their application form correctly, or you left mistakes in your translation sample, they will think you will be lenient and that there could be many problems if they did decide to send you some work. For this you might like to read up on our translation project bidding suggestions [.. To make yourself look better in the eyes of enquiring customers, you might also consider obtaining certification from one or more sources. Get tested and prove your abilities. If you provided good quality to other customers in the past, try to get a reference from them. If you accomplished some difficult translations and you are not dishonouring a non-disclosure agreement, consider posting to your online profile some samples of your previous work. You are not only competing in price, so make sure you look good to your potential client. It’s a competitive industry, but there’s also a lot of work to be had, since the industry generally grows by 20% each year (relating to a globalizing world and increased trade between countries). There are also many benefits of working in the comfort of your home. Therefore, think sharp and good luck! Share| If you have any suggestions or commentswe’d love to hear back from you! [Jul 3, 2016] Wow what a through explanation, I was waiting for this article as I was very much confused about my translation rates to be asked from a client. Thanks you cleared much. I am an Indian Translator and got an offer from an Indian English writer to translate his best selling book into Hindi. Gave my rates though, what you think would be the rate for English to Hindi translation of a 225 page book? According to the above database query, 94 translators had submitted their rates for English to Hindi, the average working out to 0.061/w. But for a book I would usually offer a discount, and depends on how difficult the translation is and the deadline. If you have more time for the translation, you can take on other work and use the big project as a filler, in which case you can offer more of a discount. Always turns out a bit of a dance and play with the customer when trying to set a final price. Make sure you get paid in installments as you make partial deliveries, unless you completely trust the customer. KENAX Translation Services- Quality service at a competitive price | Contact The previous text for this page (the updated version is above) This could be a difficult subject for a translation agency to post, as the translator will always want to receive the most for their hard work, and the translation agency always pay the least, so that it could win the most tenders. Basically it is a bidding war. Any agency, or even individual translator, can post their service on the internet, where files and even payments can be effortlessly transferred as if the end client and translator were located in the same city. In fact, we have mediated work where both the translator and the customer were located near to each other, without even knowing, while on the other side of the world from us. This becomes the age old problem of determining what a translator or agency can charge or get away with. Companies have been battling this question since time immemorial and for this reason corporate spying and espionage exist. It is always a great temptation to learn what the other translators on a particular tender are charging, and we try to offer this information to our translators if they ask. Historically, there are several types of bidding processes. The bidding may be open, so that everyone knows what the highest bid is. The bidding may start at some basement price. Other times the bidding is closed, meaning the bidders have to guess, in which case they might end up paying substantially more than the second highest bidder. For translations, the matter is made further complicated because the bidding is not on the same product, meaning that the quality and speed offered by the individual translators often differs. Sometimes a customer may require only an informative translation, not requiring great quality, nor even a translation by a native speaker. Hence the bidding "war" includes non-native speakers in lower cost countries. Other times the customer may demand a very high quality translation, to include a proofread by a quality translator, the subject matter can be very technical and require an expert, and the customer may be willing to pay for this quality. Other times the customer may require something very quickly and is forced to pay whatever it takes to get the job done on time. The way we like to work is to charge a low flat rate on top of whatever the translator charges. With our global system of translation servicesand our project managers located on different time zones, we have managed to reduce our overhead to enable us to charge this low surcharge on top of whatever the translator charges. This enables us to win more tenders, whereby we might end up using the same translator as any other agency, increase our volume, in turn reducing our markup further, to win more tenders and increase our volume further. So no matter how much the translator charges or the customer agrees to pay, our markup will always remain the same (although we may charge more for first time customers to cover the risk of non-payment). It may seem unethical for us to disclose what the other translators are charging, as such opening up the table to a bidding war so to speak, but enough of our translators have asked for this information in the past, which is why we have decided to make this information public (shown below). Keep in mind that these prices are a general guideline of the average charged by quality translators and do not necessarily represent some ceiling for us or what we hope to pay. Sometimes we get very large projects which need to be accomplished in very short periods, and for which we often resort to much more expensive translators, just to get the job done on time. In these cases we would add up the total charge for the entire project, divide it by the number of words translated to calculate a per word price what it cost us, perhaps offer some discount to the customer because of the overall size of the project, and then round the figure to some nice sounding price, issuing an invoice to the customer based on that. Most of our customers trust us and accept our strategy, and most of the time our estimate at the beginning of a project is very accurate. Other times the customer may demand a concrete price in writing, in which case we would be forced to guess on the higher end, to protect ourselves against the unforeseeable. This is just the usual issues of running any business. For each project we always ask the translator what they would like to charge, and move forward from there. Perhaps a lot needs to be done over a holiday, or the subject matter is very technical. We never force our translator to agree on a permanently defined price and they are always entitled to change their price at any moment. Based on a preliminary response from our translators, we can then issue a price estimate to the customer, and if we win the tender based on that, then we can proceed from there. From the perspective of the translator, perhaps they might be free at the moment and be glad to work full time on a project for a month, offering us a discount, which we could then pass onto the client to help us all win the tender. Other times the translator can be busy with other work, charge something more because of the headache of having to go into overtime, and we might accept the higher price because the situation demands it and the customer's budget can afford it. Or other times the translator may have developed a good name for themselves, with steady clients sending them subject matters they are comfortable with. Such a translator is in an excellent position, and can afford to charge a higher price to new clients. Heck, such a translator can even begin to farm out projects to other quality translators, control their work, charge their own markup rate, increase their volume, and eventually begin to operate like an agency. This is the wonderful power afforded by the internet. I myself translated for 8 years and during which time I slowly migrated to operating only an agency. In fact, I still translate from time to time, although I much more enjoy project management and company development. My suggestion is to always seek new customers when you do not have paying work. If you want to develop an agency while most of your earnings comes from your own translation work, you can work on that on your own free time. When looking for new customers, you can spend your time approaching a list of translation agencieslike ours (or for a small fee have us do this for you), or filling in their translator applicationforms, or provide them with free translation samples. All this takes an investment of time. In the beginning you might offer a more attractive rate just to secure yourself with enough work, but over time, as you build up a reputation for yourself and steady clients with a steady stream of work, you can start to charge more to new clients, or approach your existing customers and ask if they might offer you more, considering how reliable you have been for them all these years. You might consider a premium rate for express work or on translations which need to be accomplished over the weekend or holidays. You may devise different rates for different subjects or volumes. Everything is possible, and every business does this. Just think about the airline industry, which charges premium rates for the business class who need a flight on short notice, while offering much cheaper rates for tickets bought well in advance, or even lower rates for student or standby tickets. Which are tickets sold only when some seats remain available and just before takeoff. In economics and business language this is called price discrimination, which in some ways can be considered illegal or unethical, but practiced nevertheless. For this purpose very complicated software programs have been developed for the airline industry, estimating which seasons will be busier, and formulating a complex price grid, all designed to maximize profits for the airline company by charging different prices to different people. So you can certainly try your own price discrimination, although I do not think there is any software developed like this for the translation industry. You might approach a few translation agencies (by pretending you are a potential customer) and see what they charge for your language combination and expertise, in turn charging them an appropriate price. When charging a direct customer as opposed to a translation agency, you might try charging something in between what an agency charges and what you would normally charge an agency. If you establish a good name with direct clients, there is no reason why you couldn't charge as much or more than the agency if you are really good or are knowledged in a special area, which your customer needs. When submitting your price to a new client, you can also be vague and try something on the higher end. You can say "Some of my existing customers pay me", or "If possible", and include "price negotiable", for example. You obviously want as much as possible, but you do not want to scare away your new potential client either, so if you are quoting high, do not make it seem like your price is firm and set in stone - unless of course you are so well established you do not need to look for other customers. In such a case you are ideally established, and you might consider screening your own translators and quality control their work, so that you can offer a higher capacity. Prices often vary among language combinations precisely because of the costs of living in those countries. Typically, translations in Scandinavian languages will cost a lot more than, for example, Hindu or Russian translations. This has nothing to do with the quality of the respective translators but everything to do with the costs of living of the countries where these languages are mostly spoken. Of course, it may happen that a Swedish translator has decided to move to Beijing China, has chosen to charge three times the local Beijing rate for his translations from German and English into Swedish, is quite well off at those rates considering the cost of living in China, while offering a rate which is less than half what the average Swedish translator is forced to charge because they live in Stockholm. So such a China based Swedish translator can benefit from lots of work and live quite well. This again is the strength (or for some, the annoyance) that the internet offers, but such is the fact of life in this increasingly global marketplace. This is why you should consider the prices we have posted below as a very rough guideline. They are based on the prices of quality translators we have found. This is not to say that we have not found less expensive translators, like the quality Swedish translator living in China, but we have chosen not to post these "extremes" but rather just the average. There are also many translators who charge more than this, but at the below prices we have not found it difficult to find quality translators. Possible Guideline to Help You Set your Prices After a debate on ProZ, I modified the below data and aspire to achieve some "wiki consensus". I will break up the prices according to the following. For those who are only just considering to start a career in translations, an average seasoned translator can translate between 2500 and 5000 words a day. 1) Your Local Rates Ask your local translation agencies what they offer. 2) According to Projects I have Managed in the Past (table above) These generally reflect the lowest price levels offered by my quality native translators. It should also reflect the local prices for those countries, quite possibly on the higher end. It could be a good price suggestion for someone who would like to work on the global web translation market. 3) ProZ's and Translator Café's Posted Rates ProZ's rate data is only available for full paid members, but TC's is open to free members. Taking Czech to English translationsas an example (because I have many years and active experience in this language combination), TC's rates show the following: From my experience these definitely do not reflect local prices in the Czech Republic (TC's are significantly higher), so perhaps consider these as aspired prices. Or what would apply if you live in Western Europe. The translation market is a very competitive place so it's good to do some research and see what options are best for you. Or combine approaches and see where that leads to. 4) According to Applicants in our Database This tableis drawn from our own database of applicants, while removing the extremes (above 30 and below 1 cent a word). It is raw data only and the quality of the translators has not been verified. We get about 4 applicants a day, from all over the world. You may add your own rate and I will continue to develop this as interest in it increases. The averages script timed out before it could make the complex calculations, so unfortunately it did not include all the language combinations (stopped at Portuguese to Turkish). I will try to resolve this later to include all the language combinations. Other Websites to Help you Choose your Translation Rates ProZ Translators Cafe Translators Base Share| Important Translator or Translation Rates, Charges, Prices and Fee Links Translation Payments Reputation- before you take on a translation project from a new client you should check out what other translators have said about their payment practices and if they are a reliable payer. Getting Paid for Translation Work- once you have translated for them but are finding difficulties getting paid, read what a couple of international lawyers have said about extracting payment. Translation Tips- to help you do a good job translating, which will bring you repeated translation work and increase your chances of getting paid. Translation Resources- links to various translator resources to help you with your work. Translation Jobs- many forums and resources to help you find translation work. Translation Agencies- or approach the agencies directly by email without hunting down their addresses on the net. Translator Application- come join our growing team!
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Home - Morrow High School
Morrow High Morrow High
Home - Morrow High School More Options Select a School DISTRICT CCPS Elementary Anderson Elementary Arnold Elementary Brown Elementary Callaway Elementary Church Street Elementary East Clayton Elementary Edmonds Elementary Fountain Elementary Harper Elementary Hawthorne Elementary Haynie Elementary Huie Elementary James A. Jackson Elementary School Kay R. Pace Elementary School of the Arts Kemp Elementary Kemp Primary Kilpatrick Elementary King Elementary Lake City Elementary Lake Ridge Elementary Lee Street Elementary Marshall Elementary McGarrah Elementary Michelle Obama STEM Elementary Academy Morrow Elementary Mt. Zion Elementary Mt. 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Drew High Elite Scholars Academy (6-12) Forest Park High Jonesboro High Lovejoy High Martha Ellen Stilwell School of the Arts Morrow High Mount Zion High Mundy's Mill High North Clayton High Riverdale High Alternative Ash Street Center Perry Career Academy Language View Original Spanish Cantonese French German Italian Tagalog Vietnamese Korean Russian Hindi Morrow High 2299 Old Rex Morrow Road, Morrow, GA 30260 | Phone 770-473-3241 | Fax 770-473-3244 {1} ##LOC [OK]## MENU MENU Home About Us About Us Administration Team Administration Team Administration Team Responsibilities Mission & Vision Statement Staff Directory School Improvement Plan Contact School Calendar News News Teacher of the Year What's New What's New 5 FAFSA Tips for Parents ToMORROW TIMES Departments Departments Academics Counselors Department of Exceptional Students School Social Worker School Social Worker Crisis Resources Grab-N-Go Food Pantry Finder FREE Xfinity WiFi Hotspot Parent to Parent of Georgia Media Center Media Center Introduction Media Center Policies and Procedures Programs Programs Athletics Athletics MHS 2019-2020 Athletic Calendar Clubs Partners in Education Senior Class of 2021 Senior Class of 2021 2021 Senior Package Students Students Extending Learning Beyond the Classroom Resources (ELBC) How to Log On For Your Class How to Claim Your Rapid Identity Account Scholarship Opportunities Career Opportunities College & University Fairs and Tours Parents Parents Upcoming Events Parent Academy Parent Toolkit How to Log On For Your Class Parent Information Parent Information Infinite Campus for Parents Parent Engagement Policy Parents Right To Know Letter Morrow High School Compact Parent Resources Parent Resources COVID - 19 Resources SUICIDE PREVENTION RESOURCES Surveys Monthly Parent Engagement Workshop Calendar School Council School Council Meeting Dates Meeting Agendas Meeting Minutes Advanced Learning for All Annual Title I Annual Title I Annual Title I - PowerPoint 1% Title I Budget 1% Title I Budget Summary of Title I Budget Invitation Flyer for 1% Budget Title I School-Wide Plan Monthly Parent and Family Engagement Workshops Parent Resource Center Online Resources Teacher Sites Teacher Sites AFJROTC AFJROTC TSgt. 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LA's Totally Awesome Products - FAQs
LA's Totally Awesome Products - FAQs Were can I buy LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ®? You can buy the product at any 99 Cents only Store (in California, Nevada, Arizona, and Texas ) Dollar Tree Store Dollar General Store Family Dollar Store or other discount stores in the US. In what sizes is LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® available? 16 oz LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® 20 oz LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® 22 oz LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® 32 oz LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® Can I buy the products online or directly from the company? At this time, Awesome Products does not offer our merchandise for sale over the internet or over the phone. Shipping and handling of the product in small quantity is very expensive and would cost a customer more than the price at the local stores. So please continue to shop for our products at your local 99 Cents only Store, Dollar Tree Store, Family Dollar store or other discount stores in the US. On what surfaces can I use LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® products? For Directions and applications please refer to the instructions on the bottle. In case of doubt be sure to test a small, hidden area before cleaning the entire surface in question and wipe it down with wet cloth / mop to check for any adverse effects. Please follow the Dilution scale on the bottle. Are LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ®, safe on all kitchen surfaces? Yes LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® can be used on most kitchen surfaces. Please be sure to follow the directions on the bottle. Do I need to wipe off / clean / rinse the surface with water after using LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® Yes. Clean the surface with a clean wet mop / cloth after using LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ®. Is LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® safe to use around pets? There is no information to suggest that pets are sensitive to this product. However, as with all sprays and mists, it is recommended to remove your pet until the area has been cleaned and ventilated. LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® can be safely used around pets if certain "common sense" precautions are taken. Pets are keenly sensitive to foreign agents in their environment, so it is important to follow these precautions. 1. Remove the pet from the area to be cleaned If possible, place them in a different room. 2. Mix a solution of water and LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® as per the directions on the bottle for the surface to be cleaned. 3. Using a sponge, scrubbing pad, or non-metallic bristle brush, wash down the surface. If the area to be cleaned is really large, start at the top and work downward, stopping after sections to "rinse" the surface so that the LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® doesn't dry on the surface. 4. Rinse each section, or the surface by either hosing down (if outside) or using a bucket of clean water and a cloth or sponge to rinse down 5. Let surface dry and then set it back up for the pet. Return the pet to the room. Are LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® containers recyclable? Please refer to the logo on the container. With a little bit of care much plastic can be recycled, and collection of plastics for recycling is increasing rapidly. The plastic industry has responded to this problem by developing a series of cryptic markers, commonly seen on the bottom of plastic containers. These markers do not mean the plastic can be recycled, these makers do not mean the container uses recycled plastic. You should place in your bin only those types of plastic listed by your local recycling agency! What is the shelf life of your products? All of our products are tested for a shelf life of a minimum of two years from the date of manufacture. However, we do recommend using the product within one year of opening it to guarantee freshness and efficacy. What is LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® made from? LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® is a blend of water, surfactant (surface-active) agents, color and scent. Surfactant agents lift grease and oil up off of the surface. LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® is a safe, naturally gentle soap, specially formulated for cleaning a variety of surfaces like floors, furniture, and other household surfaces. And it leaves your home smelling fresh and clean. LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® contains no harsh detergents, ammonia, or bleach. Why aren't the ingredients listed on the label? LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® is non-toxic. Therefore, the listing of ingredients on the label is not required by law. LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® unique formula is protected under the US Trade Secrecy Act and has been extensively tested to verify the product's credentials. LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® complies with all current labeling requirements for ingredient disclosure on cleaning products. If you have an allergy, medical reason, or technical reason for wanting to know if LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® contains a particular item, please contact us at 800-482-2875 and we will help you as best we can. I have a LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® and I can't seem to get the product to squirt out. Am I doing something wrong? Product may settle during shipment and develop an air pocket so it may take multiple clicks to get the product started. My home is on a septic system. Is it safe to use LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® for cleaning tubs and showers? Yes. Under normal household use, LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® won't harm the helpful bacterial and enzymes that are used to keep septic systems free-flowing. Is LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® a disinfectant? No LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® is not a disinfectant. How do I avoid the LA’s Totally Awesome All Purpose Cleaner ® container leaking? We use the best possible plastic for our products, so leaking is very unusual. The container may have been dropped either at the store or at the home. Also make sure spray end is not damaged and spray/cap is securely tightened. Is LA’s Totally Awesome Oil Soap ® safe for cleaning wood floors? Yes, LA’s Totally Awesome Oil Soap ® is safe to use on all finished wood surfaces, such as wood floors. Be sure to use according to label directions.
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Home - Riverdale High School
Riverdale High Riverdale High Times for the High School Schedule Report to your teacher’s Google Classroom ready and on time to be amazing. #GoRaiders #DaleBuilt COVID 19 Vaccination Flyers Please be sure to check out the information that CCPS is making available to students, families, and the community. Flyers are available in English | Spanish | Vietnamese Seniors >>> Class of 2021 HERFF JONES WILL BE HERE!!! Cap and Gown Delivery March 10 - 3 to 5 pm April 28 - 2 to 5 pm Please aim to pick up your regalia on these dates. Otherwise, you'd need to pick them up from the Herff Jones office. Your Input Matters Monthly and Weekly Calendar of Activities and Events Below are links to the monthly and weekly calendar of events and activities. Title I Calendar April 26-30 Senior Newsletter Student Handbook Parents and Students, Please download the student handbook linked below. There are 3 different versions – English, Spanish, and Vietnamese. Additionally, please complete the form that serves acknowledgement of your receipt and review of the student handbook. English | Spanish | Vietnamese Acknowledgment Form Meal Services Announcement Breakfast and Lunch is Served! All CCPS students may receivemeals at the school bus stop closest to their home (see CCPS Transportation website) or curbside at the nearest school (9 am – Noon) . Breakfast and lunch meals will be served at the same time.Only CCPS students are eligible to receive meals. StudentID numbers may be required to identify students. Parents/guardians may pick up meals for students. Attendance Matters Please make sure that documentation related to student absences needs to be emailed or faxed to our attendance clerk – Connie Young. Connie Young, Attendance Clerk connie.young@clayton.k12.ga.us 770-473-2905 ex. 505124 770-473-2913 fax Students will be marked tardy if they are 6 minutes late to their virtual classes. Cameras are required to be on during SEL (social-emotional learning) and Live instruction (20-25 mins). If a teacher is unable to see or no responses are given when called, that will lead to the student being marked absent. Parents and families, please remember to check your parent portal to view your child’s attendance and grades. Online Registration System Since May 2020, Clayton County Public Schools (CCPS) has been offering anOnlineRegistration (OLR) process for students who areregisteringfor new/returning students who arenot currently enrolled with CCPS for the 2020-2021 school year. For more information regarding 2020-2021 Online Registration, please view the video at http://youtu.be/cct5TjGH7Twor visit the CCPS website (http://www.clayton.k12.ga.us). Registration Central Page https://www.clayton.k12.ga.us/cms/One.aspx?portalId=54515&pageId=237811 CCPS Withdrawal Request Google Form For more information about counseling related topics, please visit the counseling page. Online Textbooks and Digital Resources We are working to make sure that all students and parents have access to textbooks and resources. As info, there are two documents you can reference. The first is the CCPS flyer about available resources. The second provides resources available for our students and parents at RHS. CCPS Flyer Reminders for Students and Parents Please join the Remind classes below to get updates: Class of 2021: https://www.remind.com/join/ad2a6c Class of 2022: https://www.remind.com/join/86b33c Class of 2023: https://www.remind.com/join/dbdhb8 Class of 2024: https://www.remind.com/join/g7ea74 Contact Us Donna Thompson, 9th Grade Counselor donna.thompson@clayton.k12.ga.us 770.648.4457 Google Classroom Code: 7peytsa Kansas Cooley, 12th Grade Counselor kansas.cooley@clayton.k12.ga.us 202.930.2287 Google Classroom Code: j6itmj4 Tiffany Rodriguez, Bookkeeper tiffany.rodriguez@clayton.k12.ga.us Sandy Hathcock, Registrar sandy.hathcock@clayton.k12.ga.us Connie Young, Attendance Clerk connie.young@clayton.k12.ga.us Christie George, Parent Liasion Christie.george@clayton.k12.ga.us Congratulations to Coach Fenley, Coach Walker and Coach Patton and the JV Lady Raiders for taking home the JV Volleyball Championship 2-1 over Morrow!!! Scholarships Download
Home - Riverdale High School Riverdale High Times for the High School Schedule Report to your teacher’s Google Classroom ready and on time to be amazing. #GoRaiders #DaleBuilt Get Your Driver's License/Learner's Permit To Obtain your PERMIT you will need to go to this link: https://dds.georgia.gov/how- do-i-learners-permit - guidelines are changing daily so make sure you read thoroughly, schedule an appointment and bring all necessary documentation. Then email lakesha.walton@clayton.k12.ga. us and ask her for your Certificate of enrollment. To Obtain your LICENSE you will need to go to this link: https://dds.georgia.gov/ georgia-licenseid/new- licenseid/how-do-i-class-c- license - guidelines are changing daily so make sure you read thoroughly, schedule an appointment and bring all necessary documentation. Then email lakesha.walton@clayton.k12.ga. us and ask her for your Certificate of enrollment (yes AGAIN). You will need to contact YOUR health teacher with whom you took ADAP class/test with and have them send you your ADAP certificate. COVID 19 Vaccination Flyers Please be sure to check out the information that CCPS is making available to students, families, and the community. Flyers are available in English | Spanish | Vietnamese Seniors >>> Class of 2021 HERFF JONES WILL BE HERE!!! Cap and Gown Delivery March 10 - 3 to 5 pm April 28 - 2 to 5 pm Please aim to pick up your regalia on these dates. Otherwise, you'd need to pick them up from the Herff Jones office. If you do not make the pickups on either day and time posted above, you would need to pick up cap and gowns from the Herff Jones office address below. Herff Jones 4634 Lawrenceville Hwy Suite B Lilburn, GA 30047 Your Input Matters Click to download the pdf that has two survey links. Please complete both surveys. Any questions, please contact our Title I Liason Christie George christie.george@clayton.k12.ga.us DOWNLOAD Monthly and Weekly Calendar of Activities and Events Below are links to the monthly and weekly calendar of events and activities. Title I Calendar April 26-30 Senior Newsletter Student Handbook Parents and Students, Please download the student handbook linked below. There are 3 different versions – English, Spanish, and Vietnamese. Additionally, please complete the form that serves acknowledgement of your receipt and review of the student handbook. English | Spanish | Vietnamese Acknowledgment Form Meal Services Announcement Breakfast and Lunch is Served! All CCPS students may receivemeals at the school bus stop closest to their home (see CCPS Transportation website) or curbside at the nearest school (9 am – Noon) . Breakfast and lunch meals will be served at the same time.Only CCPS students are eligible to receive meals. StudentID numbers may be required to identify students. Parents/guardians may pick up meals for students. Attendance Matters Please make sure that documentation related to student absences needs to be emailed or faxed to our attendance clerk – Connie Young. Connie Young, Attendance Clerk connie.young@clayton.k12.ga.us 770-473-2905 ex. 505124 770-473-2913 fax Students will be marked tardy if they are 6 minutes late to their virtual classes. Cameras are required to be on during SEL (social-emotional learning) and Live instruction (20-25 mins). If a teacher is unable to see or no responses are given when called, that will lead to the student being marked absent. Parents and families, please remember to check your parent portal to view your child’s attendance and grades. Online Registration System Since May 2020, Clayton County Public Schools (CCPS) has been offering anOnlineRegistration (OLR) process for students who areregisteringfor new/returning students who arenot currently enrolled with CCPS for the 2020-2021 school year. For more information regarding 2020-2021 Online Registration, please view the video at http://youtu.be/cct5TjGH7Twor visit the CCPS website (http://www.clayton.k12.ga.us). Registration Central Page https://www.clayton.k12.ga.us/cms/One.aspx?portalId=54515&pageId=237811 CCPS Withdrawal Request Google Form For more information about counseling related topics, please visit the counseling page. Online Textbooks and Digital Resources We are working to make sure that all students and parents have access to textbooks and resources. As info, there are two documents you can reference. The first is the CCPS flyer about available resources. The second provides resources available for our students and parents at RHS. CCPS Flyer Reminders for Students and Parents Please join the Remind classes below to get updates: Class of 2021: https://www.remind.com/join/ad2a6c Class of 2022: https://www.remind.com/join/86b33c Class of 2023: https://www.remind.com/join/dbdhb8 Class of 2024: https://www.remind.com/join/g7ea74 Contact Us Donna Thompson, 9th Grade Counselor donna.thompson@clayton.k12.ga.us 770.648.4457 Google Classroom Code: 7peytsa Terri Shipman, 10th Grade Counselor terri.shipman@clayton.k12.ga.us 404-399-2507 Google Classroom Code: ntljwpe Andrea Counselor, Lead Counselor/11th andrea.cosby@clayton.k12.ga.us 470.223.0287 Kansas Cooley, 12th Grade Counselor kansas.cooley@clayton.k12.ga.us 202.930.2287 Google Classroom Code: j6itmj4 Tiffany Rodriguez, Bookkeeper tiffany.rodriguez@clayton.k12.ga.us Sandy Hathcock, Registrar sandy.hathcock@clayton.k12.ga.us Connie Young, Attendance Clerk connie.young@clayton.k12.ga.us Christie George, Parent Liasion Christie.george@clayton.k12.ga.us Congratulations to Coach Fenley, Coach Walker and Coach Patton and the JV Lady Raiders for taking home the JV Volleyball Championship 2-1 over Morrow!!! Scholarships Download
msmarco_doc_00_127651
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Landmark Cases in Special Education
Landmark Cases in Special Education Landmark Cases in Special Education Lau v. Nichols 1974 Honig v. Doe, et al. Honig, California Superintendent of Public Instruction 1988
Landmark Cases in Special Education Landmark Cases in Special Education Details Created on Wednesday, 30 August 2006 07:24 The first federal laws designed to assist individuals with disabilities date back to the early days of the nation. In 1798, the Fifth Congress passed the first federal law concerned with the care of persons with disabilities ( Braddock, 1987; cited in NICHCY, 1997 ). This law authorized a Maine Hospital Service to provide medical services to sick and disabled seamen. By 1912, this service became known as Public Health Service. However, prior to World War II, there were relatively few federal laws authorizing special benefits for persons with disabilities. Those that existed were intended to address the needs of war veterans with service-connected disabilities. This meant that, for most of our nation's history, schools were allowed to exclude-and often did exclude-certain children, especially those with disabilities. In 1948, only 12% of all children with disabilities received some form of special education. By the early 1950s, special education services and programs were available in school districts, but often, undesirable results occurred. For example, students in special classes were considered unable to perform academic tasks. Consequently, they went to special schools or classes that focused on learning manual skills such as weaving and bead stringing. Although programs existed, it was clear that discrimination was still as strong as ever for those with disabilities in schools. Legislation and court cases to prevent discrimination in education first came to notice in 1954 with the famous case Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. In Brown, the Court ruled that it was illegal practice under the Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution to arbitrarily discriminate against any group of people. The Court then applied this principle to the schooling of children, holding that a separate education for African American students is not an equal education. In its famous ruling, separate but equal would no longer be accepted ( 347 U.S. 483 ). Brown set the precedent for future discrimination cases in education. People with disabilities were recognized as another group whose rights had been violated because of arbitrary discrimination. For children, the discrimination occurred because they were denied access to schools due to their disabilities. Using Brown as their legal precedent, students with disabilities claimed that their segregation and exclusion from school violated their opportunity for an equal education under the Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution -the Equal Protection Clause. If Brown could not segregate by race, then schools should not be able to segregate or otherwise discriminate by ability and disability. In the 1960s, parents began to become advocates for better educational opportunities for their children. Around the same time, many authorities began to agree that segregated special classes were not the most appropriate educational setting for many students with disabilities. By the end of the 1960s, landmark court cases set the stage for enactment of federal laws to protect the rights of children with disabilities and their parents. This section presents an overview of some of the most historical court cases in special education in their order of occurrence. Hobson v. Hansen (1967). In Hobson v. Hansen, a U.S. district court declared that the District of Columbia school tracking system was invalid. However, special classes were allowed, provided that testing procedures were rigorous and that retesting was frequent ( Sattler, 1992 ). Diana v. State Board of Education (1970). In this case, California was mandated by the Court to correct bias in assessment procedures used with Chinese American and Mexican American students. Diana had three very important holdings that would later influence the enactment of federal special education laws: 1. If a student's primary language was not English, the student had to be tested in both English and his or her primary language. 2. Culturally unfair items had to be eliminated from all tests used in the assessment process. 3. If intelligence tests were to be used in the assessment process, they had to be developed to reflect Mexican American culture ( Diana v. State Board of Education, C-70: 37RFT (N.D. Cal., 1970 ). PARC v. Commonwealth of Pennsylvania (1972). In this case, a U.S. federal court in Pennsylvania ratified a consent agreement assuring that schools may not exclude students who have been classified with mental retardation. Also, the Court mandated that all students must be provided with a free public education. Testimony in this case indicated that all mentally retarded persons are capable of benefiting from an educational program. Some are capable of self-sufficiency and some achieve self-care. It also shows that the earlier the program is started, the more the person will learn. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania had taken it upon themselves to provide a free public education to all of its children between the ages of six and twenty-one, including exceptional children. This caused the Commonwealth not to be able to dent any mentally retarded child access to a free public education. It became their responsibility to make this education and training appropriate for the child. Wyatt v. Stickney (1972). In Alabama, a federal court ruled that mentally retarded children in state institutions had a constitutional right to treatment (Wyatt v. Stickney, 344 F. Supp. 387, M.D. Ala 1972). Larry P. V Riles (1972) : Larry P. Was a black student in California, and his complaint led to an expansion of the ruling in the Diana case. The court ruled that schools are responsible for providing tests that do not discriminate on the basis of race. In the class-action case of PASE v. Hannon (1980), however, the fudge stated he could find little evidence of bias in the test items. The Larry P. Case also set a precedent for the use of data indicating disproportionate placement of minority groups as prima facie (sufficient to establish a fact or case unless disproved) evidence of discrimination. However, subsequent cases have undermined this precedent ( Marshall et a. v. Georgia [1984] and S-I v. Turlington [1986]). Guadalupe v. Tempe Elementary School (1972). In Arizona, a U.S. district court agreed to a stipulated agreement that children could not be placed in educable mentally retarded classes unless they scored lower than two standard deviations below the population mean on an approved IQ test administered in the child's own language. Guadalupe v. Tempe Elementary School also stipulated that other assessment procedures must be used in addition to intelligence tests, and that parental permission must be obtained for such placements ( Sattler, 1992, p. 779 ). Mills v. Board of Education of District of Columbia (1972). This case set forth future guidelines for federal legislation, including the rights of students with disabilities to have access to a free public education, due process protection, and a mandated requirement to receive special education services regardless of the school district's financial capability ( Mills v. Board of Education of District of Columbia, 348 Supp. 866, CD. DC 1972; contempt proceedings, EHLR 551:643 CD. DC 1980 ). Lau v. Nichols 1974 This civil rights case was brought by limited-English proficient Chinese students living in San Francisco. The students claimed that they were not receiving special help in school due to their inability to speak English, help which they argued they were entitled to under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 becauseof its ban on educational discrimination on the basis of national origin. Finding that the lack of linguistically-appropriate accommodations (e.g., educational services in Chinese) effectively denied the Chinese students equal educational opportunities on the basis of their ethnicity, the Supreme Court in 1974 ruled in favor of the students, thus expanding the rights of limited English proficient students around the nation. Among other things, Lau reflects the now-widely accepted view that one's language is so closely intertwined with one's national origin (the country someone or her ancestors came from) that language-based discrimination is effectively a proxy for national origin discrimination. Lau remains an important decision in the areas of civil rights and language rights, and is frequently relied upon as authority in many cases. ( The San Francisco Unified School District remains covered by the consent decree that was ultimately entered into in the Lau case, and civil rights groups continue to monitor SFUSD 's compliance with that decree.) PASE (Parents in Action on Special Education) v. Joseph P. Hannon (1980). In this case regarding bias in IQ testing, the judge ( Judge Grady in Illinois) found that on the IQ tests he examined, only nine of the 488 test questions were racially biased. Consequently, IQ tests were found not to be discriminatory. Furthermore, Judge Grady indicated that clinical judgment also plays a large role in interpreting IQ test results. He stated: "There is no evidence in this record that such misassessments as do occur are the result of racial bias in test items or in any aspect of the assessment process currently in use in the Chicago public school system." Therefore, the decision in PASE resolved some of the controversy about the use of IQ tests for special education classification. As a result, the use of intelligence tests was acceptable in psychoeducational assessment as long as they followed all other procedural safeguards under federal law ( PASE v. Joseph P. Hannon, No. 74 C 3586 N.D. Ill. 1980 ). Luke S. and Hans S. v. Nix et al. (1982). In the state of Louisiana, all evaluations had to be completed within a 60-day time period. The plaintiffs in this case argued that thousands of students were not being appropriately evaluated within this time period. The court ruled in favor of the plaintiffs and informed the state of Louisiana that greater prereferral assessment should be done before a referral is made ( Luke S. and Hans S. v. Nix et al., cited in Taylor, 1997, p. 13 ). Board of Education of Hendrick Hudson School District v. Rowley (1982). In Rowley, the parents of Amy Rowley, a deaf student with minimal residual hearing and excellent lip-reading skills, sought the services of a full-time interpreter in her regular classes. Amy had been provided with an FM trainer (a teacher of the deaf) for one hour per day, and speech for three hours per week. Even though Amy was missing about half of what was being discussed in class, she was very well adjusted, was performing better than the average child in the class and was advancing easily from grade to grade. Based on these facts, the U.S. Supreme Court determined in Board of Education of Hendrick Hudson School District v. Rowley that Amy was receiving an "appropriate" education without the sign interpreter. In reaching this opinion, the Court concluded that the obligation to provide an appropriate education does not mean a school must provide the "best" education or one designed to "maximize" a student's potential. However, the program must be based on the student's unique individual needs and be designed to enable the student to benefit from an education. In other words, the student must be making progress ( Hager, 1999, p. 5 ). Jose P. v. Ambach (1983). In this case, the plaintiffs filed suit against New York City. Their complaint involved the inappropriate delivery of services. The plaintiffs argued that many students in special education were not receiving services in an appropriate time frame. The court ruled in favor of the plaintiffs and stated that from the time of referral to evaluation there can be a maximum of 30 days that can elapse. The court informed the defendants that all evaluations must be "timely evaluations" ( Jose P. v. Ambach, cited in Taylor, 1997, p. 13 ). Roncker v. Walter, 700 F2d. 1058 (6th Circuit Court 1983) addressed the issue of "bringing educational services to the child" versus "bringing the child to the services". The case was resolved in favor of integrated versus segregated placement and established a principle of portability; that is, " if a desirable service currently provided in a segregated setting can feasiblely be delivered in an integrated setting, it would be inappropriate under PL 94-142 to provide the service in a segregated environment" Questions used to determine whether mainstreaming can be accomplished. 1) What is it in the segregated program that makes it better than a mainstreaming program? 2) Can these things (modified curriculum, teacher) be provided in the regular school environment? " It is not enough for a district to simply claim that a segregated program is superior: In a case where the segregated facility is considered superior, the court should determine whether the services which make the placement superior could be feasibly provided in a non-segregated setting (i.e. regular class). If they can, the placement in the segregated school would be inappropriate under the act (I.D.E.A.) ." (Roncker v. Walter, 700 F.2d 1058 (6th Cir.) at 1063, cert. denied, 464 U.S. 864 (1983)) The Roncker Court found that placement decisions must be individually made. School districts that automatically place children in a predetermined type of school solely on the basis of their disability (e.g., mentally retardation) rather than on the basis of the IEP, violate federal laws. Larry P. v. Riles (1984). In this California case, using IQ tests as the assessment measure for placing African American students in specil education as mentally retarded was found to be discriminatory. Schools in California were mandated by the Court to reduce the disproportionate representation of African American students in special education. In Larry P. v. Riles, the court determined that IQ tests were discriminatory against African Americans in three ways: 1. IQ tests actually measure achievement rather than ability. Because African Americans throughout their educational history have been denied equal educational opportunities through schools segregated by race, they will inevitably have achievement scores lower than the norms and thus be discriminated against in testing. 2. IQ tests rest on the plausible but unproven assumption that intelligence is distributed in the population in accordance with a normal statistical curve (bell shaped), and thus the tests are artificial tools to rank individuals. 3. IQ tests lead to the classification of more African American students than white students in dead-end classes for students with mild to moderate disabilities [ (No. C-71-2270 RFP (1979) and No. 80-4027 DC No. CV 71-2270 in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit (1984)]. Georgia State Conference of Branches of NAACP v. State of Georgia (1984). A U.S. court of appeals ruled that black children schooled in the state of Georgia were not being discriminated against solely because there was a disproportionate number of them in classes for low achievers. The court explained that there was no evidence of differential treatment of black and white students. Overrepresentation of black children in classes for the mentally retarded by itself was not sufficient to prove discrimination ( Sattler, 1992 ). Honig v. Doe, et al. Honig, California Superintendent of Public Instruction 1988 Problem Two students were to be expelled for being violent and disruptive. Both of the students had Iep's and recognized emotional disabilities. According to zero reject, should the boys have been separated from school? Ruling Expulsion would violate zero reject and IDEA. Results Students cannot be excluded from the classroom and programs because of violent or disruptive behavior that stems from their recognized emotional disabilities. LEA's have a right to suspend for up to 10 days even if a parent requests due process. If schools believe a student to be truly dangerous to self or others, they may file a preliminary injunction against the student and his inclusion in school. The student's present placement is favored, but may be denied if his behavior would likely result in injury to self or others. A student may be disciplined as if he were disabled as long as his actions do not stem from his disability. In Polk v. Central Susquehanna Intermediate Unit 16, 853 F.2d 171 (3rd Cir. 1988), the court held that a school district’s IEP did not provide the student FAPE. The court ruled that a student’s IEP must be “likely to produce progress, not regression or trivial educational advancement.” The Sixth Circuit has followed the language of Polk: “ [I]n order to be ‘appropriate,’ the educational benefits provided by the states must be more than de minimis.” Doe by and through Doe v. Smith, 879 F.2d 1340, 1341 (6th Cir. 1990), citing Polk, 853 F. 2d at 182. Undeniably, this minimal educational requirement must be viewed on a case by case basis as the disability of each student poses unique challenges. More important than advancing from grade to grade is whether the student made more than trivial progress toward his or her IEP goals. Some students, due to the extent of their disabilities, will never be able to perform at grade level and will require several years to achieve what would be a year’s worth of progress to a non-disabled student. Conklin v. Ann Arundel County Bd. Of Ed., 946 F.2d 306, 316 (4th Cir. 1991). “ Progress ” for a special education student has more to do with advancing toward IEP goals than performing at grade level. How, then, should parents of a special education student determine whether their child is making “more than trivial progress” toward his or her IEP goals? The answer is through testing, data collection, and interpretation; the most accurate way to assess educational benefit or regression is through changes in test scores over time. The starting point for the development of any IEP is a complete evaluation to determine the present levels of educational performance in all areas –academics, behavior, and social skills – with a potential impact on the student’s achievement. The appropriate assessment of these areas provides the baseline data from which all future progress can be measured. Parents and administrators should be careful, therefore, when incorporating the present levels into the IEP, that they identify specific skills and/or deficits of the student. Vague general and subjective statements should be avoided. Results Schools and school districts have to try harder. They must provide children with special needs not a minimum, but a MEANINGFUL BENEFIT from their educational program. Daniel R. R. v. State Board of Education (1989). Daniel R. R. is one of the leading cases opening the door to increased inclusion of children with disabilities in regular education classes. The court noted that Congress created a strong preference in favoring mainstreaming; that is, educating the student in the regular education classroom with supports. Ironically, the court determined that it was not appropriate to include the child in this case in full-time regular education. However, the court's analysis of the least restrictive environment requirement, especially its interpretation of what is meant by providing supplementary aids and services in the regular classroom, has been followed by a number of other courts ( Hager, 1999, p. 6 ). In determining whether it is appropriate to place a student with disabilities in regular education, the student need not be expected to learn at the same rate as the other students in the class. In other words, part of the required supplementary aids and services must be the modification of the regular education curriculum for the student, when needed. The court in Daniel R. R. v. State Board of Education noted, however, that the school need not modify the program " beyond recognition ." Also, in looking at whether it is "appropriate" for the child to be in regular education-in other words, whether the student can benefit educationally from regular class placement-the school must consider the broader educational benefit of contact with nondisabled students, such as opportunities for modeling appropriate behavior and socialization ( Hager, 1999, p. 6 ). Gerstmeyer v. Howard County Public Schools (1994). In the Gerstmeyer case, Howard School District had been told that a child needed an evaluation for the first grade four months before entering the first grade. The evaluation was not done prior to entering the first grade. The parents sent their child to private school and the evaluation was only done six months after the initial referral. The parents sued the district for the costs of private schooling and tutoring caused by the delay. In Gerstmeyer v. Howard County Public Schools, the Court ruled in favor of the parents and made Howard School District reimburse them for all associated costs (cited in Taylor, 1997, p. 13 ).
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Examples and Non-Examples
Examples and Non-Examples Examples and Non-Examples
Examples and Non-Examples Examples and Non-Examples Details Created on Tuesday, 14 October 2008 15:17 What are Examples and Non-Examples? Examples and Non-Examples is a tactic that can be used to teach defined concepts: Comprehend level. The tactic involves providing learners with instances that include both Examples and Non-Examples of the defined concepts being taught, and asking them to classify them according to the appropriate concept. Below is an example of how to use Examples and Non-Examples for defined concepts at the K3: Comprehend level: You are teaching students about various Chemical Warfare Agents. The related defined concepts in your lesson are Sarin, VX, Mustard, and Hydrogen Cyanide. You have already used a Concept Frame or Concept Map to teach students the defining characteristics of each concept. You then provide them with a series of instances (Examples) set in battlefield contexts that describe what they would experience if the various agents were being used by the enemy. You do not name the chemical agents in your examples, but instead require students to classify each instance according to the appropriate warfare agent. Why should I use Examples and Non-Examples in my teaching? A defined concept is a concept that is known primarily by its definition rather than by physical characteristics. By stating the definition alone, the learners may not fully comprehend the defined concept. Understanding why Examples are in fact Examples and why Non-Examples are not Examples clears up confusion and leads to deeper understanding of the concepts being taught. Also, having learners classify specific items as Examples or Non-Examples tests learners' ability to classify instances of the defined concepts. Examples and Non-Examples may be used with other tactics such as Venn Diagrams, Concept Maps, Concept Frames, and Mental Images. It is important to note that the instances you develop as Examples and Non-Examples must belong to only one of the defined concepts you are teaching. However, they should not be so obviously an Example of a particular concept that learners do not have to do any thinking. Non-Examples are best when they have some characteristics of an Example. When using Non-Examples make sure to point out what characteristics of the Non-Example keep it from being an Example. What are the steps for using Examples and Non-Examples? Steps for using Examples and Non-Examples for defined concepts: Comprehend level: 1. Identify the defined concept for which you want to create Examples and Non-Examples. 2. List out all of the defining characteristics each defined concept must contain. 3. Identify several specific Examples of the concept that contain all of the appropriate defining characteristics. These will be your Examples. 4. Identify a few specific Non-Examples of the concept that contain some of the defining characteristics, but do not contain all of the appropriate defining characteristics. These will be your Non-Examples. 5. Be able to explain to learners why the Examples and Non-Examples either illustrate or do not illustrate the defined concept. 6. Have learners classify the Examples and Non-Examples you created according to the appropriate concept name. What are some class activities that involve Examples and Non-Examples? The following table contains suggestions of activities to use with Examples and Non-Examples for defined concepts at the K3: Comprehend level. Click on the activity hyperlink for a list of procedures to follow for using the activity. Activity Example or Non-Example? Purpose and Description The purpose of this activity is to allow students to practice classifying defined concepts. Students are given instances that represent Examples and Non-Examples. They must correctly name the defined concept described. Format Class Preparation and Materials Required __________________________________________________________________________________________________________ List of Examples and Non-Examples for the defined concepts Instructor presentation materials Example and Non-Example Creation The purpose of this activity is to allow students to practice comprehending the characteristics of the defined concepts by creating Examples and Non-Examples of the defined concepts. Format Individual Pairs Small group Preparation and Materials Required Handouts of a list of defined concepts Student presentation materials __________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Narrative Generation from Examples and Non-Examples The purpose of this activity is to allow students to practice and test their understanding of the characteristics of the defined concepts by creating narratives from a list of Examples and Non-Examples that summarize the lesson content. Format Individual Pairs Small group Preparation and Materials Required Handouts of Examples and Non-Examples of the defined concepts _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Procedures for Example or Non-Example? 1. Explain that the purpose of this activity is to practice comprehending the characteristics of the defined concepts presented by classifying Examples and Non-Examples of the defined concepts. 2. Present a new Example or Non-Example (that has not been previously presented to students) of the defined concept from the list. 3. Have students determine if it is an Example or Non-Example and explain what characteristics make it an Example or Non-Example. 4. Provide feedback for the answer. 5. Repeat steps 2-4 until the students have correctly identified every defined concept from the list. 6. Summarize the results of the activity. Procedures for Example and Non-Example Creation 1. Explain that the purpose of this activity is to practice comprehending the characteristics of the defined concepts presented by creating Examples and Non-Examples of the defined concepts. 2. Divide students into pairs or small groups if desired. 3. Hand out the list of defined concepts to students. If handouts are unavailable, you can write the information on the board and have students copy it. 4. Have students create several new Examples and a few new Non-Examples for each defined concept on the list. (Students should not create Examples or Non-Examples that have been previously presented in class.) 5. Have a few students present their Examples and Non-Examples. Other students should classify the Examples according to the correct defined concept. 6. Provide feedback. 7. Summarize the results of the activity. 8. (Note: Collect the Examples and Non-Examples that students create. You may want to use them in review activities in the current offering of the course, or in the future should you teach the class again.) Procedures for Narrative Generation from Examples and Non-Examples 1. Explain that the purpose of the activity is to practice understanding the characteristics of the defined concepts presented by creating narratives from a list of Examples and Non-Examples that summarize the lesson content. 2. Divide students into pairs or small groups if desired. 3. Provide students with handouts of the Examples and Non-Examples. 4. Have students write a narrative discussing the defined concepts and characteristics presented in the Examples and Non-Examples. 5. Have students exchange their narratives with their peers for evaluation. This step can be repeated if desired. 6. After peer review, have students return the narratives to the original student who wrote the narrative. 7. Encourage class discussion and provide feedback. Ask students to state the common errors they noticed. 8. Summarize the results of the activity. What kind of media and student materials should I use for Examples and Non-Examples? There are several media and student materials that can be useful when using Examples and Non-Examples for defined concepts at the K3: Comprehend level. The following table contains suggestions for how you can integrate media and student materials into your lesson. Clicking on the hyperlink for each medium in the table will take you to a template (if there is one provided). Suggested IMM PowerPoint or Overheads Description and Example (s) PowerPoint or overheads can be used to present Examples and Non-Examples. Examples: Present a PowerPoint slide that displays a two-column table that lists Examples and Non-Examples of Chemical Warfare Agents. Present a series of PowerPoint slides that describe instances of each type of Warfare agent in a battle context. Have students read and classify each according to its concept name. Suggested Student Materials Description and Example (s) Handouts of Descriptive Text Handouts of descriptive text can be used by students for review or to create Examples and Non-Examples from as an in-class or homework assignment. Example: Provide students with handouts that highlight key characteristics of Chemical Warfare Agents, and have them create Examples and Non-Examples from it as a homework assignment. Where can I go to learn more about Examples and Non-Examples? Buehl, D. (1996). Learning by example. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.weac.org/News/NOV96/readroom.htm Byrd, P. (1999). Types of examples: Positive, negative, non-, and best. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.gsu.edu/~wwwesl/issue1/extypes.htm Fox, S. Comprehending words and ideas: Definitions, examples and non-examples. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.resourceroom.net/Comprehension/literature/nonexample.htm Gagne, R., Briggs, L., & Wager, W. (1992). The principles of instructional design. Fort Worth: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich College Publishers. Gagne, R., & Medsker, K. (1996). The conditions of learning: Training applications. Fort Worth: Harcourt Brace College Publishers. Hayduk, P. (2001). The five axes of the DSM-IV: A self-instructional exercise. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://psych.athabascau.ca/html/Psych435/Tutorial/exer2.shtml Mason, J., & Watson, A. (1999) Getting students to create boundary examples. Teaching and learning undergraduate mathematics [Electronic version].11, 9-11. Merrill, M., & Tennyson, R. (1977). Teaching concepts: An instructional design guide. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Educational Technology Publications. Mora, J. K. (2000). Teaching concepts and vocabulary: Principles and strategies. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://coe.sdsu.edu/people/jmora/ConceptsTch.htm Project Better. Concept learning through best examples. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.mdk12.org/practices/good_instruction/projectbetter/social/ss-60-62.html Selden, A., & Selden, J. (1998). The role of examples in learning mathematics. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.maa.org/t_and_l/sampler/rs_5.html Teaching Enhancement Center, The. (1996). Teaching ideas #3 - Lecturing components. Retrieved February 19, 2002, from http://www.emporia.edu/tec/tchid03.htm _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Examples and Non-examples Imagine that you are watching a sport for the first time. How do you figure out the rules that govern that sport? Simply being told the rule is probably not adequate if you really want to understand it. You need to see the rule in operation. So as you watch, you begin to infer how the rule works by observing examples of the rule and non-examples. Most football fans have come to understand the rule of "pass interference" through this method. As we view games over time, we come to refine our understanding of this football concept. Tackling a receiver before the ball arrives is "pass interference." Tackling a receiver after the ball arrives is not. Accidentally bumping into the receiver before the ball arrives is "pass interference." Bumping into the receiver as you try to intercept the ball is not. Getting in the receiver's way is "pass interference" unless it is done at the line of scrimmage, which is not. Contact with a receiver when the pass is not catchable is not "pass interference." And so on. The Strategy Providing experiences with examples and non-examples helps students construct rich and sophisticated meanings of important concepts. Joyce and Weil (1986) outline the Concept Attainment strategy, which uses an inquiry model to introduce new concepts: Step 1: Generate pairs of examples and non-examples that exhibit some of the major defining characteristics or attributes of the new concept. Present them one at a time to students and ask them to consider what it is that differentiates the two lists. For example, a math teacher developing the concept of "equation" might present the following items, which could also be displayed on the chalkboard or on an overhead transparency: * 5+3=8 is an example of an equation. * 3+7 is not an equation. * 3x-2y=7z is an example of an equation. * 5x+2y-3z is not an equation. * 144÷6x=12 is an example of an equation. * 27÷3>5 is not an equation. As students think about each example and non-example, ask them to define what it is that makes the two lists different. Note that these initial definitions should be considered hypotheses which will be subject to revision as the process goes on. Step 2: Provide additional examples and non-examples, including some that might bring in more specific defining characteristics. This allows students to test their hypotheses and refine their understanding of the new concept. For example, students might note that "all equations have equal signs." When they encounter a non-example, they realize there is more to the definition than merely the presence of equal signs. Non-examples underscore that all mathematical expressions are not necessarily equations. Furthermore, a non-example lets students see that an expression could be true, but may not be an equation. Ask students to revise their list of characteristics or attributes of the concept. Students might now observe that "equations must have two sides," "the two sides must result in the same value," and "an equal sign must be between the two sides." Step 3: To further establish the concept, assign students to work in pairs to generate their own examples and non-examples of the concept. To initiate this phase of the strategy, you may wish to provide students with a list of several possible examples as well as additional non-examples. After they have labeled them, each pair of students continue by locating or creating their own examples and non-examples. These are then shared with the entire class, and students receive feedback on their choices. Step 4: As a final step, ask students to develop a written description of the concept that includes all the key or defining characteristics. Students describing the concept of "equation" might offer the following: "An equation has two sides separated by an equal sign. The numbers on each side must end up equaling the same value. It doesn't matter whether you add, subtract, multiply, or divide on either side, as long as both sides result in the same value." Advantages The emphasis on student inquiry in the Concept Attainment strategy is advantageous for a number of reasons: * Students go beyond mere definitions to flesh out deeper and more complex understandings of concepts. * Students are involved in a process of discovery, which allows them to build a concept by encountering progressively more sophisticated examples and non-examples. * Students are given a compare/contrast framework for exploring the defining characteristics of a concept through consideration of non-examples that may share some but not all of these characteristics. III. Types of Examples: Positive, Negative, Non-, and Best While the terms are not used with complete consistency, four subcategories are frequently referred to in the literature on exemplification: positive example, negative example, non-example, and best example. The basic example is often termed the positive example. A negative example illustrates a mistake or the wrong way to do something: "*The students was confused." A non-example, on the other hand, illustrates what is not being talked about; it shows things that are not part of the topic under discussion: "Regular nouns form their plural by adding -s. Child is not a regular noun because its plural is children." A best example shows a typical member of a group: "Poe's "The Bells" shows the use of alliteration." Another way of thinking about best examples is that they provide the most appropriate example in a particular setting. For example, the best example of the word tree would be different in Minnesota (pine? fir?) and in Saudi Arabia (palm?). Three of these example types can be combined in what we call the comparative example: two or more forms are illustrated in the same set of materials to demonstrate their differences. These comparative examples involve positive, negative, and non-examples to illustrate how the forms should and should not be used. A standard comparative set in ESL materials focuses on the simple past tense and the present perfect verb forms. Sirridge (1980) points out a basic characteristic of an example: its meaning can change from one context to another. This characteristic is important for the language instructor because of the danger of assuming an example can stand on its own without commentary to clarify its purpose. A single sentence could be viewed as illustrating any of several different points about English grammar. Moon (1990) comments that one of the purposes of the instructional materials that accompany examples is to clarify the purpose of the example. Another purpose for examples is pointed out by Moon (1990): examples give details of the functioning of the rule that are not included in the explanatory materials. This purpose for an example underscores the interdependence of grammar rule and illustrative example: neither is complete without the other. One of the few discussions of the characteristics of examples in second language learning and teaching is provided by Sweet in his Practical Study of Languages (1964), where he discusses principles to guide the selection and use of examples in the teaching and learning of grammar. While he seems to be thinking of single words or sentences that are given with a generalization about the language, much of what he has to say is appropriate for the other types of examples: 1. Examples help tie the individual rule to the language as a whole. 2. An example "explains, illustrates, and justifies" the rule of grammar which it accompanies. 3. An example serves as a pattern to be used in analyzing other language samples by the student in subsequent encounters with the language. 4. Rules are not the primary purpose of study--using the language is. 5. Therefore, examples are more important than rules. "The rules are mere stepping-stones to the understanding of the examples..." (pp. 130-131). Not only grammar rules but many other aspects of a language and its use are taught through examples. In reading and writing classes, teachers provide examples of the ways that higher discourse units function, and in oral communication classes examples are provided of the ways in which conversations are begun, conducted, and concluded. Ponder and Powell (1989) illustrates the double use second language teachers make of reading materials, mining them for information and content and at the same time using them as models to practice reading skills (looking for the main idea, timed reading, and etc.). Additionally, from the description of role plays in Dubin and Olshtain (1986), it is clear that this activity provides both for authentic communication and for carrying out communication in situations that are examples of the real. In sum, examples are used in all types of language teaching including but not limited to grammar lessons and materials. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ TEACHING CONCEPTS and VOCABULARY Principles and Strategies Jill Kerper Mora San Diego State University What is a concept? CONCEPTS are (1) categories into which experiences are organized and (2) the larger network of intellectual relationships brought about through categorization. Understanding a concept requires some level of critical thinking in order to make associations between words and ideas according to certain criteria. Objects or events are sorted into concept categories according to their basic characteristics or critical attributes. The critical attributes must be present in a particular sequence, relationship or patterns to qualify for category placement. These represent the concept criteria. The specific ordering of attributes is known as the concept definition or rule. PLANNING FOR CONCEPT & VOCABULARY TEACHING Identify an important concept or key idea in a content-area lesson. Choose a more complex or abstract concept that lends itself to a higher level of analysis. The characteristics of concepts are as follows: Degrees of concreteness Concrete, semi-concrete, abstract: Can a person see, hear, touch, taste or feel the concept or aspects of the concept? Or does the concept involve combining multiple thoughts and ideas that are remote in time and space? Nature of critical attributes Is the concept narrowly defined through a few converging features or characteristics versus broadly defined with divergent and multiple features or characteristics? What critical attributes distinguish this concept from other related concepts? What rules or criteria define the concept? Which qualities, characteristics or attributes are essential in classifying this concept into its class or category? Does the concept represent a system? If so, how are the component parts related to each other? How do they act on each other and respond to each others actions? Are there clear examples and non-examples that illustrate and distinguish the concept rule or criteria? Form or manner in which learned Consider how students may have experienced or be familiar with the concept, i.e., its representational forms within the students’ experience: By doing it? By seeing it depicted or represented vicariously? Through symbols or language? Perhaps students have experienced aspects of the concept or are familiar with some representations of the concept, but have not linked these together to appreciate their inter-relationships. Or are they merely unfamiliar with the labels and words used to define and describe the concept? Does the concept have personal and public dimensions? Context in which learned Is the concept being learned or taught in a formal context such as in school or training program? Or is it learned primarily or initially in an informal context such as a social setting or through casual observation? If a concept learned informally is a component of an academic lesson, how is the informal learning of the concept being linked or transferred to the formal classroom setting and for what purpose? Analyzing Vocabulary Related to Concepts Word level analysis Examine the word naming a concept for prefixes, suffixes, and or root words. This morphological analysis will reveal the meanings embedded within words according to their structure. Cognates Teaching cognates is a way of relating new words in English to known words in a students’ native language. Often words that are common in a student’s L1 will be “big words” or less commonly used terms in English. Deceptive words Deceptive transparency: infallible; shortcomings Words with a deceptive morphological structure: outline, nevertheless, discourse Idioms False friends Words with multiple meanings: abstract, state, since Synforms: cute/acute, available/valuable, conceal/cancel, price/prize, industrial/industrious Words you can’t guess when there are non-existent contextual clues, unusable contextual clues, misleading and partial clues or suppressed clues Planning inventory for teaching a concept 1. What name is commonly applied to the concept? Ex. Lake 2. What is the concept's rule or definition? Ex. A body of water surrounded by land. 3. What are the essential characteristics or critical attributes of the concept? Ex. land, water, surrounding 4. What are the non-critical attributes typically associated with the concept? Ex. size, location, depth 5. What are some interesting and learner-relevant examples or cases of the concept which you can use in its explanation? Ex. local lakes, mountain lakes, desert lakes 6. What are some contrasting non-examples of the concept that will help clarify or illustrate the concept? Ex. ocean, stream 7. What are some cues, questions or directions that can be employed to call attention to critical and non-critical attributes in the concept examples? Ex: "Look at all the points where the water meets the land." 8. What is the most efficient, interesting and thought-provoking medium (or media) by which to present examples and non-examples? Ex. slides, aerial photographs 9. What level of concept mastery do you expect of students and how will you measure it? Ex. Be able to define "lake" and state the similarities and differences this body of water has with other major bodies of water through a project. Teaching word meanings related to concepts: How to select and teach vocabulary 1. Word meanings are best learned through conceptual development. This approach stresses in-depth understanding as opposed to surface understanding. Existing concepts can be used as a basis for acquiring new concepts. For example, a student who knows what a horse is can relate the new concept of unicorn to horse in order to understand the new concept. 2. Word meanings should be learned in context. The contextual setting gives student clues to word meanings. The teacher should provide examples in which the new word is used correctly and students should have opportunities to apply the word's meaning. 3. Vocabulary instruction should be based on learner-generated word meanings. Learner involvement increases understanding and memory; thus, when students use their experience and background knowledge to define words, they learn better. The words serve as labels for concepts and students associate words to a larger vocabulary and experiences. 4. Vocabulary should focus on usable words. The use of vocabulary related to a theme or instruction in "word webs" is helpful. Students should be taught how to figure out related words. 5. Students should be taught the use of context clues and structural analysis skills (prefixes, suffixes, root words). 6. Students should learn to use the dictionary, thesaurus and glossary to develop understanding of word meanings when they cannot figure out the meanings from experience, context or structural analysis. Contextual aids to word meanings Type and examples The following are ways to define words within a text. These forms of definition of words and terms can also be used to teach students to use context as clues to meaning while reading content-area texts. These are also useful as strategies for defining words in writing without isolating words from their context, thus focusing students on associating words with their related concepts. 1. Definition A micrometer is an instrument used with a telescope or microscope for measuring minute distances. 2. Restatement A cockroach has two antennae, or feelers, on its head. 3. Example "The ship plows the sea" is an example of a metaphor. 4. Comparison/contrast A machete, like a sword, can be very dangerous. In bright light, the pupils of the eyes contract; in the dark, they dilate. 5. Description A ginkgo is a tree of eastern China that has fan-shaped leaves and provides much shade. 6. Familiar experience Artificial respiration was applied to the nearly drowned man. 7. Association He ate as ravenously as a bear. 8. Synonyms/Antonyms The mercury in the thermometer was dropping--the quicksilver was contracting. The acid, not the base, reddened the litmus paper. 9. Reflection of mood All alone, Jim heard the creaking sound of the opening door and saw a shadowy figure standing suddenly before him. Jim was literally stupefied. 10. Summary Even though he was sixty-five years old, he continued to love sports. He played a skillful game of tennis and seldom missed his daily swim. He was very athletic. Sources: Roe, B.D., Stoodt, B.B., & Burns, P.C. (1987). Secondary School Reading Instruction: The Content Areas. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. Cooper, J. M. (Ed.). (1986). Classroom Teaching Skills. Boston, MA: D.C. Heath.
msmarco_doc_00_159542
http://006fd3a.netsolhost.com/snowboard_stance.html
Snowboard Stance Snowboard Stance The binding setup, or stance, of a snowboard offers an endless variation in binding angles and positions. Most snowboarders have tried a lot of setups before choosing a particular one. I have written this article with the intention of giving solid advice and explaining more about the whyof different setups. I have also tried to give the source of particular items whenever possible -- all the information in this article eventually comes from magazines, the internet and conversations with experienced- and professional snowboarders. Unfortunately, there exist many different opinions about snowboard stances and not one of them seems to prevail. In the end, there is no "best" setup and it still comes down to personal preference. Hopefully, this article will at least help you to find a setup that fits you well! Have fun, Daan Leijen. [mail, www] Disclaimer: Although I have been very careful with all the provided information, I don't make any claim whatsoever regarding the accuracy or safety of anything in this article. Any item that may appear to be offering either medical or legal advice is doing neither. Stance angles The stance anglesare the angles of the bindings with the width of the board. Normally, you can find these angles on the binding plates. You can change the angles by unscrewing the binding, turning it and fasten it again. Some (rental) setups have an easy clip system where you can simply push a button to change the angles. The angles are normally written like "+21°/+6°", which means 21 degrees for the front angle and 6 degrees for the back angle. There is no official way of classifying stance angles, but I think that all sensible setups can basically be categorized into alpine-, forward-, and duckstance. The snowboard styles with the alpine- and forward stance are quite similar, with both knees and the upper body pointing forward. The snowboard style with duck stance differs from the previous stances, with the rear knee pointing backwards and the upper body aligned with the board. All styles have in common that your body (and especially your knees) should always be in a naturalposition. For example, the rear angle should never be larger than the front angle. Needless to say that your knees will have a bad time otherwise. (This may seem obvious to you but I have seen people off piste with a setup of +30°/+40° :-) Alpine stance This setup is used for alpine(or race, or carve) boards. These stiff boards are narrow and have a square tail. These boards are used with hard boots and the stance angles for this setup are steep: the front and rear angles are anywhere between +70° and +35° degrees. This style allows for aggressive carving and is thus well suited for racing contests. The stance on an alpine board is nowadays more or less determined by the width of the board with respect to your feet (instead of some fixed angles). In order to maintain good control in short turns, the difference between the front- and rear angle should be at least 5°. Forward stance This is the most common stance setup used on regular freeride- and freestyle boards. The front angle can be between +40° and +15° degrees and the rear angle anywhere between +30° and 0° degrees. With the resulting snowboard style, both knees point forward and the shoulders are aligned with the feet. Anatomically, it is a good idea to make the difference between the front- and rear angle not too large, say, less than 21° degrees. A common all-mountain setup is +21° on the front and +6° on the rear. A common, more carve oriented, stance is +30°/+15° (and some people say that this is also a good stance for learning snowboarding). Duck stance This setup is not so common nowadays but it is seen frequently in the half-pipe. With duck stance, the front angle is anywhere between 30° and 0° degrees while the rear angle is negative, between -1° and -20°. With this snowboard style, the front knee points forward while the rear knee points backward. The upper body is aligned with the snowboard. Anatomically, one should keep the difference between both angles large enough, say, more than 10°, i.e. a 0°/0° degree setup is not very good for the knees since they are forced to point inward. Common setups are "laid back" +18°/-6° and "mirror" +15°/-15°. What angles are right for me? Alpine boards (with plate bindings) It is easy if you own an alpine board with hard-boots: use an alpine stance. The angles on an alpine board are nowadays more or less determined by the width of your board. A good start setup is to mount the rear binding in such a way that the toe-side stands slightly out of the board while the heel-side is just on the edge. This maximizes the pressure that you can exert on the edges of the board. The front binding is installed with 8° degrees added to the angle of the rear binding. Later, you can change the angles a little bit to find a stance that suits you best. Drawing 1 on the right side shows a setup with not enough angle, especially on the back foot, which often leads to a spin out during backside turns. Drawing 2 shows a setup with too much angle. This makes it harder to do fast transitions in short and medium sized turns. (drawings by: hot snowboards) Regular boards (with soft-boots) The other 95% of the snowboarders (with soft-boots) should try forward stance or duck stance. Start with one of the common setups and see what you like the best (and if you don't like to experiment, just use +21°/+6°). Once you have found a stance that feels good, you can vary the angles a little bit (±3°) to fine tune the setup, although it is hard to feel any difference with these small angles. The most difficult choice is whether to use forward stance or duck stance since the resulting snowboard style is fundamentally different. With this choice, we nosedive directly into the endless and almost religious discussions about ... To duck or not to duck? The snowboard styles with forward stance and duck stance differ fundamentally due to the different alignment of the upper body to the board. Currently, the forward stance is more commonly used and it is a safe and good choice. A nice advantage of the forward stance is that you see where you are going without having to turn your head. With forward stance, you are backed by the famous Terje Haakonsen (+21°/+9°), who said that this stance is essential to have stable edge control, and by the 2002 olympic champion Ross Powers who uses a +21°/+6° setup. The opinions on duck stance are more controversial. Many experienced snowboarders that I have talked to, advised against duck stance since they got knee problems. It is believed that a force that is aligned to the board (for example, the breaking force of a rock on your path) will be bad for the rear knee. I also heard that a Swiss medical article (which I couldn't locate) reported that there were more rear knee injuries with snowboarders that used a 0° angle or duck stance -- off course, it might also be that duck stanced people do more dangerous tricks (or over-estimate their skills :-). However, there is also a good argument for using duck stance: it is easier (and more natural) to bend deep through the knees in duck stance. You can easily try this at home, try to bend deep through your knees when both feet are pointing a little bit forward and try it again in a duck stance. Since bending through the knees is crucial to good snowboarding, it might even be the case that duck stance improves style and is more friendly to your knees and spine. I have had off-piste lessons from three different snowboard guides in France, each of them having taught snowboarding for more than 7 seasons and all of them used duck stance. At least one of them used duck since he was getting knee problems with a forward stance -- as I said, the opinions on duck stance are quite diverse! Other arguments on duck stance are less convincing. A quick survey of the stance angles of current professional freestyle snowboarders shows that about half of them use duck stance and some people say the it is easier to ride backwards (fakie) with duck stance, but this is quite debatable. One word of warning though. Duck stance isbad for the rear knee when your technique is wrong. Off course, this is true in general for any stance but it happens often that people try to point their rear knee forward when standing in duck stance for the first time. You can easily spot this by looking at your knees when making a (frontside) turn, or when your rear knee gets tired very soon. It is essential that you keep your lower body aligned with the board in this stance and that both knees point in their natural direction -- do not force your knees into unnatural angles! Stance centering Stance centeringmeans that your feet should always be centered and aligned with respect to the width of your board. This is extremely important -- I once had one of my bindings off-center and it took me at least a month before I discovered why my turn completions were unstable. When both bindings are off-center, it is not so bad, but your turns will be inconsistent: short turns on one side, forced turns on the other. A centeredstance on the other hand, leads to balanced turns and reduces the likelihood of catching an edge when the board is pointed down the fall line.. The feetshould be centered on the board -- this normally corresponds with the disks on the bindings being centered but that doesn't have to be the case. The best way to center the bindings is to put on your boots and bindings on and feel very carefully where your feet are with respect to the binding discs. Than, you can shift both bindings to center your feet on the board. Some bindings have a fixed heel cup (Burton, Flow) and you need to shift the discs. Other bindings have a heel cup which can be shifted forward or backward in order to change the position of the boot. (drawings by: hot snowboards) Stance width The stance widthis the distance between the centers of both bindings. The stance width depends mostly on your height. The width should be roughly equal to the distance from the middle of your kneecap to the ground, or about 1 inch (2.5 cm) more than the width of your shoulders. If you have chosen the right board for your length (a board up to your chin!), this should be about the same as distance between the default holes on the board. The stance width has quite some effect on your board control and you can feel even small differences in the stance width. A wider stance will give more stability but makes the turn transitions harder. The reverse holds for a smaller stance width. A wide stance is sometimes used by freestyle snowboarders while a narrow stance is often seen on alpine boards. My personal advice is to use your natural stance and to stick with the default holes on the board (if you have bought a snowboard that fits you well!). I recommend not to vary too much with the stance width unless you're an expert snowboarder. The following table gives a rough indication of a good stance-width relative to your height for normal boards. Use the lower bounds when your board is shorter than 1.55 m. (source: Snow Board Canadamagazine). height (m) height (feet) width (inch) < 1.54 < 5'1" 17-18 1.56 to 1.62 5'2" to 5'4" 18-19 1.65 to 1.72 5'5" to 5'8" 19-20 1.75 to 1.82 5'9" to 6' 20-21 > 1.82 > 6' 22-23 Here are some formulas to determine the stance width. (source: hot snowboards). normal board alpine board male 0.29 * height 0.275 * height female 0.27 * height 0.265 * height Stance offset (or setback) The stance offsetis the distance between the center of both bindings and the logical center of your board. The logical center normally corresponds to the center of the effective edge of the board. The center of the effective edge is determined by taking the middle between the widestpoints of the board at the nose and the tail ( i.e. not the middle between the nose and tail of the board itself). The center of the bindings is determined by taking the middle between the centers of both bindings. Here is a quick way to determine the offset: measure the distance between the widest point at the nose with the center of the front binding (a), measure that distance for the rear too (b), and finally subtract those values (a-b) to get the offset. An even better way to determine the offset is to take advantage of the default settings of the manufacturer. Normally the default holes are marked with their stance width and stance offset. If this is the case, you can check the stance width by measuring the distance beween the centers of the default holes. If this is correct, you take the middle between both holes. From here, you measure the default stance offset in the direction of the nose of your board. Now you mark this point on your board with some tape or a pencil. This point is the logical centerof your board. With this point, you can now easily determine the stance offset when using other holes on your board. This method is better than the previous method, since modern boards sometimes use asymetrical flex patterns which leads to a difference between the center of your effective edges and the logical center of the board. Now, the best way to set your stance offset (and stance width for that matter) is to look at the reference manual of your board. Unfortunately, not all manufacturers include one with their boards but if you have one, you normally find large tables with all the possible stance offsets (and widths) available on your board. First of all, the offset should never be negative (i.e. the bindings should never be centered forward on the board). With a centeredstance, the offset is zero. The board turns easily and you will have a good board control. If you stick to the default holes of the manufacturer, the bindings are normally set a bit backward on the board with an offset of about 1 inch (or 25mm) which is also called setback. The board will behave as if it has a shorter and stiffer tail. This means you can make more aggressive turns, ollie higher, and float more easily in the powder. People that ride a lot of powder sometimes even use a 2 inch setback to ride the powder in a more relaxed stance without worrying about a nosedive into the deep snow. However, setting the bindings too far backwards makes the turn initiation harder and should thus not be used by less advanced snowboarders. Stance kind The stance kinddetermines which leg is in front. If it is your left foot, you are regularand otherwise you are goofy. About 80% of the snowboarders are regular. Using the right stance kind makes it much easier to learn snowboarding. You can only know your stance kind by trying it out on the first day of snowboarding -- you will feel the difference immediately! A quick test will give you a good hint before renting the snowboard for the first time. Try to slide on the kitchen floor with your socks; the foot that is in front normally corresponds with your stance. What setups do the professionals use? The following tables use degrees for angles and inches (yuk!) for distances. The table entries are sorted on the back angle, front angle, and the name. A lot of setups of professional (freestyle) snowboarders. Source: Onboardbuyer's guide (2001). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Jason Brown 20 duck Stephan Babler +15/-13 21 0 duck Gian Simmen +15/-12 21 duck Matt Hammer +18/-12 21.5 duck Danny Kass +12/-9 21 0 duck Jamie Parker +15/-9 22.75 duck Gabe Taylor +18/-9 21 duck Eddie Wall +18/-6 21.75 0 duck Andrew Crawford +21/-6 22 1 duck Nic Drago +21/-6 19.5 duck Janny Meyen +21/-6 21 duck Katrina Voutilainen +21/-6 19.5 duck Kyle Clancy +25/-5 22 1 duck Ali Goulet +29/-5 19 0 duck Vic Lowrence +30/-3 21 1 duck Natasza Eva Zurek +18/ 0 20 1 forward Raam Clampert +18/ 0 20.25 0 forward Kim Cristiansen +18/ 0 23 forward Xaver Hoffman +21/ 0 20.5 1 forward Jaime Macleod +21/ 0 19 forward Line Ostvolo +30/ 0 20 4 forward Barret Christy +18/+3 18.5 1.5 forward Amy Johnson +24/+3 19.5 1.5 forward Jesse Burtner +25/+3 21 1.5 forward Shaun White* +15/+4 20 forward Ross Powers** +21/+9 21 0 forward Tricia Byrnes +21/+12 19.5 forward *) The stance angles of Shaun White are different on the Burton site: +15/-6. Setups of famous big mountainriders. (I would like to extend this table with more riders -- please send me a mail if you know the stance angles of good freeriders, like Jeremy Jones, Gilles Voirol, Ashley Call, ...). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category source Victoria Jealouse +21/ 0 forward burton Axel Pauporte +27/ 0 20.5 forward heckler Jim Rippey +21/+6 forward burton Johan Olofsson +27/+6 forward burton Craig Kelly +27/+9 forward burton Stephen Koch +40/+30 alpine burton The setups of the US40/Santa Cruz boardercross team. Source: US40(2001). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Cri Maierhofer +30/+5 20.3 forward Ine Pötzl +33/+5 19.1 forward Fabo Bonacina +27/+6 21.1 forward Berti Denervaud +24/+9 21.1 forward Tor Bruserud +33/+9 20.7 forward Philippe Conte +27/+15 20.7 forward Setups of the Burton 2002 team (mostly freestyle). Source: Burton(2002). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Shaun White* +15/-6 20 duck Romain de Marchi +24/-6 duck David Carrier Porcheron +15/-3 duck Stefan Gimple +18/-3 duck Trevor Andrew +15/ 0 forward Jussi Oksanen +15/ 0 forward Keir Dillon +18/ 0 forward Gigi Ruf +18/ 0 forward Natasha Eva Zurek +18/ 0 20 1 forward Victoria Jealouse +21/ 0 forward Dave Downing +18/+3 forward Anne Molin Kongsgaard +27/+3 forward Nicola Thost +27/+3 forward Shannon Dunn +18/+6 forward Jim Rippey +21/+6 forward Johan Olofsson +27/+6 forward Terje Haakonsen +21/+9 21 forward Ross Powers +21/+9 21 0 forward *) The stance angles of Shaun White are different in the Onboard buyer's guide: +15/+4. The setups of the (freestyle (railslide! )) Forum team members. Source: Forumwinter collection folder (2000-2001). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Nathan Bozung 22 duck Chris Dufficy +24/-18 23 duck JP Walker +18/-15 21.75 1.5 duck Jeremy Jones* +18/-15 22 duck Peter Line +20/-15 20.5 duck Devun Walsh +29/-15 21 duck Mike Page +26/-8 22.5 duck Joni Malmi +17/-9 duck Bjorn Leines +18/-9 21.75 duck Mikko Sjoblom +27/-9 20.5 duck *) This is not the same Jeremy Jones who descends steep slopes in Alaska. The latest Optigrab movevie (TB10) has a short shot of the board setup of the "Rossignol" Jeremy Jones, which shows a (goofy) forward stance, around +21°/+6°. As a dutchman, I couldn't resist to give the setups of the Dutch (freestyle) Doritos team. Source: Ultimate Snowboarding site (2001)& Deep magazine(2001). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Tijs Goossens +21/-15 23 duck Marc van der Meer +27/-12 duck Jody Koenders +20/-4 22.5 duck Bo Schenk +12/ 0 20.7 forward Anne Fleur Eiff +18/ 0 19.9 forward Erik van Kammen +24/+3 20.7 forward Marc v/d Meer (half-pipe) +27/+3 forward Luc Daniel van Ommen +15/+6 forward Patrick van der Graaff +21/+6 20.7 2.4 forward The setups of some French snowboard guides that I had lessons from. Allthough the angles seem quite extreme, you have to keep in mind that these people spend a lotof time on their snowboards in extremely versatile terrain and conditions. (2000 - 2001). name stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Hughes, La Plagne +20/-20 duck Valerie, Les Deux Alpes +15/-15 0 duck The averagestances of professional riders from different snowboarding disciplines (might be a bit outdated). Source: Transworld Snowboarding. discipline stance angles stance width stance offset stance category SlopeStyle +12/ 0 21.3 1 forward Halfpipe +17/+2 20.7 0.5 forward Freeride +22/+7 21.1 1.7 forward Slalom +49.2/+47.2 17 0.4 alpine Super G +49.4/+47.4 17.2 0.45 alpine GS +49.6/+47.6 17 0.44 alpine Recommended stance angles from the Snow Board Canadamagazine. style stance angles stance width stance offset stance category Halfpipe +10/+5 forward Park +15/+5 forward Beginner +25/+15 forward Freeride +25/+15 forward Extreme +25/+15 forward Freecarving +45/+35 alpine Racing, asymetrical +50/+45 alpine Racing, symetrical +65/+60 alpine Links Everything about setting up and buying your gear: How to determine your stance, solid advice. Snowboard buyer's guide, a must-read before you buy a snowboard. Choose the perfect board, more good advice before you buy a snowboard. Snowboard faq, lot's of answers on lot's of questions. Alpine boarders: Hot snowboards, good pages with lots of technical advice. Bomber online, a forum for carvers. Snowboard style and technique: Extreme carving, inspiring site with excellent advice on snowboard technique. Cern skiclub, a great page for learning snowboarding and advanced snowboard techniques. Sanity: why you absolutelyneed to wear wristguards and why a helmet is a good idea too: Snowboarding injuries, a great overview with good advice -- a must read! Snowboarding injuries, statistics. Good odds And, even better, your chances of dying as a result of one of those [snowboard] accidents, you’ll be pleased to hear, is about one in 5,000,000. In other words, you’re twenty times more likely to be struck by lightning. Tell you what, though, if you’re not chasing ‘mortuary air’ you’ll be fine. Just stay out of the next twenty electrical storms...! (Source: 280north)
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http://019221f.netsolhost.com/carrierstats.shtml
The Cure Tay-Sachs Foundation - Carrier Statistics
The Cure Tay-Sachs Foundation - Carrier Statistics Our Site... Carrier Statistics A person can only be affected by Tay-Sachs Disease when two carrier parents pass a Hex-A gene mutation to their child. When two-carrier parents have children, three outcomes are possible. Both parents do not pass the gene mutation to the child ï¿¿ child will be normal. One parent pass the gene mutation to the child but the other does not ï¿¿ child will not suffer from TSD but will be a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene. Both parents pass the gene mutation to the child. Child will suffer from TSD and depending upon the mutations passed will likely die at a very young age. As we look at these four possible outcome ï¿¿ there is a 25% chance both parents do not pass the gene mutation to the child; a 50% chance one of the parents passes the gene mutations; and a 25% chance both parents pass the gene mutation. See the chart below: If only one of the parents is a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene mutation then only two outcomes are possible: That one parent passes the gene mutation to the child and the child is a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene The parent does not pass the gene mutation and the child is normal and not a carrier A one-carrier family has a 50% chance that no gene mutation is passed and the children are not carriers and a 50% chance the gene mutation is passed and the child is a carrier. A one-carrier family cannot have an affected child. See chart below: What are the chances you are a carrier? The groups most at risk are eastern Europeans of (Ashkenazi) Jewish decent, French Canadian living near the St. Lawrence River and Louisiana Cajuns. In these populations statistics show that one in every 27 people carried a Tay-Sachs gene mutation. The next highest at risk population is people of Irish-American decent. The carrier rate in that population is one in 50 people carry the Tay-Sachs gene. And finally for everyone in the general population studies have shown there is a one in 250 chance that you carry the Tay-Sachs gene. In the US alone there are over 1.2 million Tay-Sachs carriers and the vast majority of those people have never heard of the disease. One of the most insidious features of Tay-Sachs disease is it often strikes families with no prior history of the disease. Large and diverse family trees allow the carriers of the Tay-Sachs disease to go without expression for generations until unexpectedly a child is diagnosed and the family submits to carrier testing. How do I know if I am a carrier? A simple blood test can distinguish Tay-Sachs carriers from non-carriers. Blood samples can be analyzed by either enzyme assay or DNA studies. The enzyme assay is a biochemical test that measures the level of Hex-A in a person's blood. Carriers have less Hex-A in their body fluid and cells than non-carriers. The NTSAD (referenced below) maintains a listing of certified carrier screening locations - this is not a blood test every hospital is equiped to preform. Since there is currently no treatment or cure for Tay-Sachs disease, it is important that couples in high risk groups undergo genetic testing to determine if they are carriers. There are pre-natal tests that can be preformed to see if a fetus is affected by the Tay-Sachs disease, but there is no treatment for affected fetuses. For more information about Tay-Sachs disease and carrier testing: National Tay-Sachs & Allied Diseases Association 2001 Beacon Street, Suite 204 Boston, MA 02135 Toll Free: 800-906-8723 Telephone: 617-277-4463 Fax: 617-277-0134 Website: NTSAD
msmarco_doc_00_219369
http://019221f.netsolhost.com/gt.shtml
The Cure Tay-Sachs Foundation - Research Initiatives - Gene Therapy
Click play to start video
The Cure Tay-Sachs Foundation - Research Initiatives - Gene Therapy Our Site... HOME MAKE A DONATION Tay-Sachs Disease Carrier Statistics Family Stories Drawings of Our Kids State Proclamations Media Coverage Research Initiatives Tay-Sachs Research for DUMMIES Current Research Update Gene Therapy Inhibitors Cord Blood Transplant Chaperone Therapy Stem Cell Therapy Enzyme Replacement Therapy (ERT) Fundraising Tay-Sachs Charity Auction Our Store Donor Recognition Upcoming Events Corporate Supporters About CTSF Our Brochure Board of Directors Useful Links Gene Therapy The science of gene therapy has been advancing very quickly over the past ten years. The concept of using gene therapy to treat Tay-Sachs disease is to use molecular trucks (vectors also referred to as viral vectors or AAV) to transport one or more therapeutic genes into diseased cells in the brain. Once inside the cells those vectors will direct the production of large amounts of normal Hex A enzyme, which will be distributed throughout the entire brain. This will lead to elimination of lysosomal storage in the brain, and possibly reversal of deficits and resumption of normal neurological development. Tay-Sachs disease is an excellent candidate for gene therapy because: Tay-Sachs is caused by mutations in a single gene (the Hex A gene). Therefore we only need to restore the activity of one enzyme, which can be accomplished by introducting one gene (hexA) or two genes (hexA and hexB simultaneously) since higher levels of HexA can be reached if both hex genes are introduced simultaneously into the target cells. Cells have the ability to take Hex A from outside the cell and absorb it. If we can create Hex A in the brain, the cells are adept at picking it up and using it. The gene therapy work that is most interesting to us is that of the Tay-Sachs Gene Therapy Consortium composed of researchers from seven highly regarded academic institutions (Auburn University, Boston College, Cambridge University, NYU, Massachusetts General Hospital, Harvard Medical School and University of Massachusetts). Their work as individual scientists has focused on lysosomal storage diseases (LSDs) affecting the brain. These researchers have combined their expertise with the goal of initiating a gene therapy clinical trial for Tay-Sachs disease (and Sandhoff disease) in early 2017. The Consortium's first year of reasearch was funded entirely by private sources (include $300,00 from the CTSF) at a cost of $423,000. But in 2009, the research team was awarded a four year $3.5 million grant from the NIH. The team found wonderful success with small animal models (mice) large animal models (cats) and even a rare breed of Jacob Sheep that where discovered to suffer from Tay-Sachs disease in 2009. This first year of research produced unbelievable success in small animal models and vector distribution throughout the brain. The second year of research focus on large animal models - and again the results where spectacular. However, as the team prepared to submit clinical trial request to the FDA in late 2012 - a problem was found. While testing a new vector delivery device that could pinpoint areas of the brain with more percision than ever before - the team found vectors injected into primate brains where causing unwanted symptoms. The primate brains where having and adverse reaction to the vectors. The finding where a complete suprise and the team determined it could not move forward safely without fully understand why the primate brain reacted differently that the mice, cats and sheep. And most importantly - how would the human brain react! 2013, 2014 and 2015 where dedicated to finding those answers. In late 2015 the TSGT team believes it has created vectors that will not be toxic in primates - and ultimately humans. A new plan was established at a cost of $1,045,000 to move the project to clinical trials in early 2017. The new plan includes expanded testing, vector manufacturing and another Toxicity study all in hopes of gaining FDA approval for clinical trial. The team has gotten guidance from the FDA and believes it is following the "road map" set forth to be approved. Here is how it might work. All the genes of a virus (adeno-associated virus) are removed and replaced with the HexA gene and other non-viral genetic elements necessary to direct production of the enzyme in infected cells. This is what is commonly known as a viral vector because of it is derived from a virus and it can shuttle (vector) genetic information into cells. The virus vectors carrying a normal HexA gene are then injected into the brain, and infected cells will start make large amounts of active HexA enzyme which is released into the brain. In essence the viral vectors turn brain cells into microfactories of normal enzyme in the brain. Diseased cells throughout the brain pick up this enzyme released from those manufacturing centers and use it to metabolize (recycle) GM2-ganglioside and eliminate this main product stored in their lysosomes. The concept is quite simple, and it has been demonstrated to be highly effective in treating mouse models of different lysosomal storage diseases, including GM2-gangliosidoses. Untreated GM2 mice (Sandhoff disease) die at 3-4 months of age. Members of the Consortium have shown that animals treated by the approach described above survive up to 2 years. Although treated animals still present movement abnormalities their lifespan has been increased by 8-fold! Click play to start video Translation of this approach into an effective treatment in humans has considerable challenges: Size - The human brain is ~2000-fold larger than the mouse brain. Complexity The human brain anatomy is considerably different than the mouse. Delivery modality Although it has been relatively easy to treat mice, the targets in the human brain will have to be carefully chosen to minimize risk and at the same time achieve global distribution of enzyme throughout the brain. Timing of treatment Can severely affected patients resume normal development after treatment? Recent experiments in mouse models of LSDs indicate that the earlier the intervention is performed the better the outcome. This raises the question of when it may be too late to alter the course of disease? We know gene therapy works in animals models. After the primate issues we need to safely upscale to larger animal models and ultimately human trials. The Tay-Sachs Gene Therapy Consortium has a fourteen month plan to prove the theory and develop a clinical trial protocol. Our is the research will meet FDA guidelines for clinical trial. The new plan cost $1,045,000 and does not include the cost of clinical trial - which may cost and additional million. We are hopeful that some of the larger pharmaceutical companies may be interested in funding the research as we near clinical trial. One of the real benefits of gene therapy is that if we can prove that this therapeutic approach works in Tay-Sachs, the vectors can be packed with genes that would help other LSD diseases. From what will be learned during this pre-clinical and clinical studies we may be able develop treatments for many other neurological diseases including Parkinson's, Alzheimer's or multiple sclerosis (MS). Ongoing gene therapy trials in Parkinsonï¿¿s patients have already shown hopeful results. To read the detailed Tay-Sachs Gene Therapy Consortium project description ï¿¿ click here. Visit the Tay-Sachs Gene Therapy Consortium website at www.tsgtconsortium.com. For additional information: Article from February 14, 2008 Edition of Boston College Chronicle www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov Gene Therapy Therapy Procedures Overview of Gene Therapy
msmarco_doc_00_223204
http://01construction.com/2015/04/21/4-things-to-know-about-self-contained-septic-systems-as-waste-treatment-alternatives/
4 Things To Know About Self-Contained Septic Systems As Waste Treatment Alternatives - Everything You Need To Know About Construction
Everything You Need To Know About Construction Everything You Need To Know About Construction 4 Things To Know About Self-Contained Septic Systems As Waste Treatment Alternatives 1. Reduce Groundwater Contamination 2. Conserve Water With Recycling Of Treated Water 3. Simple To Maintain And Access Your System For Maintenance 4. An Ideal Solution For Homes With Sensitive Septic Requirements
4 Things To Know About Self-Contained Septic Systems As Waste Treatment Alternatives - Everything You Need To Know About Construction Everything You Need To Know About Construction « Back to Home 4 Things To Know About Self-Contained Septic Systems As Waste Treatment Alternatives For many homes, having a conventional sewage system is not possible. This is because sewage services do not reach many homes. In these areas, a septic system is needed to treat waste. Depending on the location of your home, you may not be able to install a conventional septic system either. If this is your case, an alternative waste treatment system is needed, such as an aerobatic septic system. These systems have improved over the years, and today, there are even self-contained systems. Here are some of the things that you may want to know before having a self-contained system installed in your home: 1. Reduce Groundwater Contamination Self-contained septic systems are a type of aerobic septic system that can be installed in your home. The waste is contained in the tanks and does not leave to the environment like with conventional systems. This means that these systems to not have the problem of contaminating groundwater supplies, which makes them ideal for homes with wells that are used for the main water service. 2. Conserve Water With Recycling Of Treated Water You can also conserve water with a self-contained septic system. Since these systems are like a miniature sewage treatment plant, the wastewater can often be used for various needs. It can be filtered and use to flush toilets and as irrigation around your home. This can also help your home to be more energy efficient. 3. Simple To Maintain And Access Your System For Maintenance Another benefit of a self-contained system is that it is easily accessible. Since it is not buried like a conventional system, you will be able to easily access your system. This makes it easier to do maintenance and repairs to your system, as well as catch problems with your system before they get out of hand. 4. An Ideal Solution For Homes With Sensitive Septic Requirements You may have a home that has sensitive septic requirements. This can be because of a protected environment or body of water that needs to be free of contamination. In these unique circumstances, a self-contained septic system is the best solution. It will keep the surrounding environment completely free of septic waste. These are some of the things that you will want to know about self-contained septic systems as an alternative to more conventional systems. They have many benefits and your home may benefit from one. If you need to have an alternative waste treatment system, contact a septic service like Enviro Clean Septic and ask them if a self-contained system would be right for your home. Share
msmarco_doc_00_231223
http://01greekmythology.blogspot.com/2013/11/phobos.html
Greek Mythology: Phobos
Greek Mythology Greek Mythology Monday, 25 November 2013 Phobos 4 comments:
Greek Mythology: Phobos Greek Mythology Monday, 25 November 2013 Phobos In Greek mythology, Phobos is described as the son of Aphrodite and Ares, and twin brother of Deimos (terror). Phobos was described as the personification of fear. In Greek mythology, Phobos is more of a personification of the fear brought by war and does not appear as a character in any myth. He was known for accompanying Ares into battle along with Enyo, Eris, and Deimos (terror). Phobos often is depicted as having a lion's or lion like head. Warriors and heroes who worshiped Phobos such as Hercules and Agamemnon carried shields with depiction of Phobos on them. Those who worshiped Phobos often made bloody sacrifices in his name. INDEX Posted by Rohit at 00:09 Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest 4 comments: Anonymous 12 May 2014 at 17:00 good information. why does it say terror after Deimos' name Reply Delete Replies Rohit 13 May 2014 at 07:41 Phobos was the god of panic fear, flight and battlefield rout, and his twin-brother Deimos of fear, dread and terror. They were sons of the god Ares, who accompanied their father into battle, driving his chariot and spreading fear in their wake. As sons of Aphrodite, goddess of love, the twins also represented the fear of loss. Delete Replies Reply Unknown 19 January 2016 at 14:18 Deimos is the god of terror Delete Replies Reply Reply Anonymous 15 October 2018 at 10:10 do you know how they were made/born? Reply Delete Replies Reply Add comment Load more... Newer Post Older Post Home Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
msmarco_doc_00_234813
http://01mrmotorcycle.blogspot.com/2009/02/coincidence-did-sam-crow-inspire-name.html
Mr. Motorcycle: Coincidence??? Did "Sam Crow" inspire the name "SAMCRO"?
Regardless of what you ride, even if you don't ride at all, EVERYONE is welcome here. I am Mr. Motorcycle *****This is my Bliss***** KUSTUM PAINT Friday, February 6, 2009 Coincidence??? Did "Sam Crow" inspire the name "SAMCRO"?
Mr. Motorcycle: Coincidence??? Did "Sam Crow" inspire the name "SAMCRO"? "I pulled you over for Speeding. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" Regardless of what you ride, even if you don't ride at all, EVERYONE is welcome here. Mr. Motorcycle I am Mr. Motorcycle I live at 1 Frozen place in, Minnesota, United States My real name is Mark. For many years now my wife has called me Mr. Motorcycle. When I started my Blog I was looking for a catchy blog name, so I went with it. I'm happily married and I'm also a father of 6 children. I have two human offspring, one dog, two cats and one custom Harley. I believe that makes 6 children. When I'm not doing my real full time job, or going for a ride, I like to do art, custom paint jobs, and of course BLOG. If you would like to contact me, my e-mail address is phonetically spelled for avoiding spammers. (I actually do use the number 1 in the beginning.) 1mrmotorcycleATgmailDOTcom View my complete profile *****This is my Bliss***** Depending on your settings, Click, or Double Click on the image for full size photo. The photo above is my ride : "Kenny" started life as a stock '97, 883 Sportster. It's been a work in progress since the day I bought it many years ago. Its mostly custom with a built, "slightly juiced up" 1200 motor. The Metal Fabrication, bodywork and custom paint was done by me. How the Hell did I come up with a name like Kenny for my bike you ask?...... Most people who name their rides, go with chick names. I of course had to be different. I think bikes look tough, cool and masculine; not feminine. Plus, my father "Ken" has helped make me who I am today. Therefore with a little twist on the name, my bike was named "Kenny". KUSTUM PAINT Come check out my custom paint! Click on the logo above to go to my custom paint blog. Friday, February 6, 2009 Coincidence??? Did "Sam Crow" inspire the name "SAMCRO"? For those of you who don't watch the television show Son's of Anarchy, here is an explanation of the word SAMCRO. It is an acronym for Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original. This is what they refer to their Motorcycle Club as. I'm just starting to read the second book in a series of "Prey" novels by John Sandford. The series is fantastic, and has gotten great praise from critics, and readers alike. The second book is Shadow Prey. I'm just getting started. Then I read this here, and was struck with the question if the writers from the new hit television show Son's of Anarchy ever read the novels, and if they put a play on words, or if this is merely a coincidence. I've blown this page up into bigger pictures below, so don't try to strain your eyes to read this one. Things that make you go Hmmm? Posted by Mr. Motorcycle at 9:40 AM Labels: Sam Crow , SAMCRO Newer Post Older Post Home Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
msmarco_doc_00_236691
http://01tutorials.com/video/1559139/how-to-delete-your-fedex-account/
How to Delete Your FedEx Account
How to Delete Your FedEx Account How to Delete Your FedEx Account mutlu82
How to Delete Your FedEx Account How to Delete Your FedEx Account 3,113 views  0  0  Share  mutlu82 6 years ago Subscribe 0 Let your friends enjoy it also! Add it to your website  Link to this  <iframe width="853" height="480" src="https://100tutos.com/embed/mRJ2X/" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> Embed code 1920x1080 1280x720 854x480 640x360 426x240    Responsive embed Include this script into your page along with the iframe for a responsive media embed www.fedex.com/lite When you're pressed for time, FedEx Ship Manager Lite helps you create your shipping labels online, giving you one less thing to ... Delete Fedex Account, Delete Fedex Online Account, How To Delete Fedex Profile, How To Delete A Fedex Label, How To Delete Fedex Account, Close Fedex Account, How To Remove Account From Fed Ex Profile, How To Close My FedEx Account show more show less
msmarco_doc_00_240065
http://01tutorials.com/video/1621177/how-to-adjust-the-height-of-a-sunsetter-motorized-awning/
How to Adjust the Height of a SunSetter Motorized Awning
Tutorial : SunSetter Retractable Awnings - Motorized Model How to Adjust the Height of a SunSetter Motorized Awning chadengle
How to Adjust the Height of a SunSetter Motorized Awning  Home  Videos  Playlists  Channels  Blog Share videos, music and pictures, follow friends and keep track of what you enjoy! Join us Site language gps_fixed English Tutorial : SunSetter Retractable Awnings - Motorized Model YouTube Subscribe Watch later Copy link Info Shopping Tap to unmute If playback doesn't begin shortly, try restarting your device. More videos More videos Switch camera Share Include playlist An error occurred while retrieving sharing information. Please try again later. Watch on 0:00 0:00 0:00 / 0:00 Live • How to Adjust the Height of a SunSetter Motorized Awning 3,595 views  0  0  Share  chadengle 6 years ago Subscribe 0 Let your friends enjoy it also! Add it to your website  Link to this  <iframe width="853" height="480" src="https://100tutos.com/embed/Na0kA/" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> Embed code 1920x1080 1280x720 854x480 640x360 426x240    Responsive embed Include this script into your page along with the iframe for a responsive media embed This video shows SunSetter's most popular awning model, their motorized model with its many uses and handy remote control. Complete information on our ... Motorized Sunsetter Height Adjustments, How To Adjust Sunsetter Motorized Awning, Adjusting Height Of Sunsetter Retractable Awning, How To Adjust A Retractable Awning By Sunsetter, How To Adjust A Sunsetter Awning, Show Video How Adjust Your Sunsetter, How To Adjust Motorized Sunsetters, How To Adjust Pitch On Sunsetter Motorized Awning, Sunsetter Awning Adjustments Video, How To Tighten Sunsetter Awning show more  show more show less Recent Smileys & People Animals & Nature Food & Drink Activity Travel & Places Objects Symbols Flags Diversity Diversity Diversity Diversity Diversity
msmarco_doc_00_241295
http://02.extensionfile.net/
Open 02 File
Open 02 File Open 02 File How to Open 02 file What is 02 File? 02 File Applications
Open 02 File Open 02 File To open 02 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 02 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 02. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 02 file To see if you have an application which support 02 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 02 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 02 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 02 files. What is 02 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 02 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 02 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 02 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 02 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_243637
http://02038.com/
Home
Trusted Advisor Trusted Advisor Law Degree Fiduciary Responsive Strong Brand Creative Professional Warren Reynolds Your Trusted Advisor Home Better. sm Ask Warren
Home Buy Better, Sell Better... Home Better sm Trusted Advisor Lots of people throw out the phase ‘Trusted Partner’, and very few people actually turn out to be one. I can tell you without reservation that Warren partnered with us as a trusted advisor and never let us down. WM Law Degree Legal knowledge empowering you. Fiduciary Feel confident and well cared for. Responsive The support you want. .When you want it. Strong Brand Sterling reputation backed by a world-recognized brand. Creative Creativity and resourcefulness get the job done right. Professional High standards and attention to detail. Let’s Talk About Solutions Real Estate Planning Guide Warren Reynolds Your Trusted Advisor Franklin broker and attorney-at-law Warren Reynolds helps clients buy and sell homes in the Greater I-495 region of Massachusetts. Clients benefit from his powerful blend of legal expertise and advanced brokerage skills. You can trust Warren to take care of everything for you so you don’t have to become a real estate expert! Let’s Talk! Law Degree Legal knowledge empowering you. Fiduciary Feel confident and well cared for. Responsive The support you want. .When you want it. Strong Brand Sterling reputation backed by a world-recognized brand. Creative Creativity and resourcefulness get the job done right. Professional High standards and attention to detail. Let’s Talk About Solutions Real Estate Planning Guide Warren Reynolds Your Trusted Advisor Franklin broker and attorney-at-law Warren Reynolds helps clients buy and sell homes in the Greater I-495 region of Massachusetts. Clients benefit from his powerful blend of legal expertise and advanced brokerage skills. You can trust Warren to take care of everything for you so you don’t have to become a real estate expert! Let’s Talk! Home Better. sm Focus on what's important and gain clarity by speaking with Warren Reynolds. It's free! He's a Massachusetts real estate expert with decades of experience helping people get the most out of home. His mission is to treat you with respect while he helps you make better home purchase and sale decisions. Get answers to your questions and benefit from some sound advice by using the button below to connect with Warren. Your conversation with Warren is free - no-cost, no-obligation! Free conversation with Warren Home Better. sm Focus on what's important and gain clarity by speaking with Warren Reynolds. It's free! He's a Massachusetts real estate expert with decades of experience helping people get the most out of home. His mission is to treat you with respect while he helps you make better home purchase and sale decisions. Get answers to your questions and benefit from some sound advice by using the button below to connect with Warren. Your conversation with Warren is free - no-cost, no-obligation! Free conversation with Warren Ask Warren Call Text Email
msmarco_doc_00_245850
http://02038.com/2009/03/foreclosed-winterized-homes/
How to Inspect a Foreclosed Winterized Home | 02038 Real Estate
How to Inspect a Foreclosed Winterized Home How to Inspect a Foreclosed Winterized Home
How to Inspect a Foreclosed Winterized Home | 02038 Real Estate How to Inspect a Foreclosed Winterized Home Buying a home from a bank after the foreclosure auction can be very lucrative. And by buying a foreclosed property, you are performing an important function in helping stabilize the real estate market in general as well as the neighborhood in which the home is located. But REO home sales carry a hidden problem for prospective purchasers: the properties frequently have been “winterized” to protect them from the cold Massachusetts weather. If you’ve ever seen a home that has had burst pipes, you know the terrible damage water can cause to a structure. Where a water pipe bursts on an upper floor, the water damage quickly spreads. Ceilings on lower levels collapse, walls sprout mold, wood floors buckle – whole sections of a structure must be gutted if water runs unabated for even one day. It’s easy to run up repair bills of $50,000 and more. That’s why lenders which foreclose on properties during the cold winter months in MA will “winterize” the structure immediately upon taking title at the auction. They turn off the utilities, drain all pipes and often add anti-freeze. Sometimes electrical service is left on, but everything else is turned off, disabled and drained. This creates a lot of challenges for the post-foreclosure marketing and sale of REO homes. It’s impossible for buyers to do a full home inspection of a winterized home. “Dry” inspections are easily done, but there’s no way to judge the functioning and condition of the home’s heating and plumbing systems. You just assume the risk of undiscovered problems with mechanical systems if you buy a home with only a “dry” home inspection. Buyers may get the REO lender’s OK to pay to dewinterize the structure for a home inspection, but the buyer will also have to foot the bill to re-winterize the place after the inspection is done. Together, the dewinterize/rewinterize process can cost well over $1,000. You can say everything is negotiable and seek to get the REO lender to pay to dewinterize and rewinterize a property. Some REO lenders will pay at least part of the dewinterize/rewinterize costs. But communications with REO lenders (or their 3rd party asset management company) are notoriously slow and difficult. Many buyers give up on a REO purchase in frustration after lots of lost time. Lack of open, easy communications between real estate agents and REO lenders greatly complicates inspections and sales of REO properties. It’s the part of the buyers’ cost of doing business with REO properties. Copyright ©2009 02038.com
msmarco_doc_00_249112
http://025.extensionfile.net/
Open 025 File
Open 025 File Open 025 File How to Open 025 file What is 025 File? 025 File Applications
Open 025 File Open 025 File To open 025 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 025 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 025. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 025 file To see if you have an application which support 025 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 025 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 025 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 025 files. What is 025 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 025 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 025 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 025 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 025 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_252134
http://02c94c4.netsolhost.com/ssfweb/
Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg
Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg
Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg Accredited by the American Academy of Sleep Medicine in 2010. Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg, also known as Sleep Disorder Center of Fredericksburg, was established in 2006 by local physicians who saw a growing need for rapid, reliable diagnoses of sleep disorders in a growing region. Our physicians and highly trained staff look forward to assisting you and your physician with an evaluation for sleep disorders that may include Obstructive Sleep Apnea, Narcolepsy, Periodic Limb Movement Disorder, REM Sleep Behavior Disorder, and others. Studies are routinely done 7 nights a week (except certain holidays), and by appointment during the day, to accommodate your busy schedule. Our equipment and facility are AASM compliant. Each room has a private full bathroom, a fully adjustable bed, flat-panel television, and ceiling fan. Studies can only be obtained with a physician’s order, so if you suspect that you have a sleep disorder, feel free to click on our information links, but discuss your concerns with your physician or one of our associated sleep specialists. HOME SLEEP TESTING Tired of being tired, loud snoring and gasping for air? Sleep Solutions of Fredericksburg can help. Our portable device allows you to get your sleep study, while staying cozy in the comfort of your own room. Speak to your family doctor or to any of our board certified sleep specialists and let them assist you with your sleep related questions or concerns. We can get you set up for a home sleep study any day of the week including weekends. For more information about Home Sleep Testing; call us a call at (540)372-6430. PATIENT FORMS (click here)
msmarco_doc_00_254369
http://03.extensionfile.net/
File extension 03 is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 03. Here is some information which will get you started. Open 03 File Open 03 File To open 03 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 03 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 03. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 03 file To see if you have an application which support 03 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 03 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 03 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 03 files. What is 03 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 03 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 03 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 03 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 03 files read other articles on this website. Open 03 File on Windows Find a 03 file in question in Windows OS File Explorer and double click on it to launch the correpsonding application. If a 03 file is not opened in an application and you instead get a "Windows can't open a file" error message you should try looking for an application which can open the file in question. If you know the application which can open 03 file then run it and see if there is a File->Open main menu option in the application. If you don't know the application which can open 03 file then try to search for "03 wiki", "application to open 03 file" or "open 03 file" queries in the search engine you like. Install the application you found and check if it can open 03 file Rate 03 filepage: 54321 4/5based on 20ratings Populating this website with information and maintaining it is an ongoing process. We always welcome feedback and questions that can be submitted by visiting Contact Us page. However since there are many users visiting this website and because our team is quite small we may not be able to follow up personally on every request. Thank you for your understanding. Open 03 file article translations For more general information about how to open 03 files, file extension 03 and registry you can read one of the following articles: Windows registry- Windows registry is included in modern Windows operating systems to replace the older INI files which also contained system configuration. Let's concentrate on the structure and purpose of Windows System Registry, review some possible attacks to it and ways to avoid them... Folders, files and paths- Files are the entries or information stored on your computer. These are represented by binary coding and written on the tracks on a disk. Files are often represented by distinct icons, a normal practice done by Microsoft with their products including system files for their series of operating systems... What are file extensions? - File extensions are unnoticed yet are very crucial parts of the computer world. But many are still unaware of the basic foundation and principles behind the remarkable wonders of computers... © Copyright 2021 extensionfile.net Privacy Policy. Terms of Service
msmarco_doc_00_256320
http://031.extensionfile.net/
Open 031 File
Open 031 File Open 031 File How to Open 031 file What is 031 File? 031 File Applications
Open 031 File Open 031 File To open 031 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 031 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 031. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 031 file To see if you have an application which support 031 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 031 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 031 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 031 files. What is 031 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 031 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 031 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 031 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 031 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_260788
http://033b649.netsolhost.com/
RV Resort @ Carolina Crossroads
VOTED ONE OF THE NATIONS TOP PARKS BY GOOD SAMS IN 2012! Our Rates are under the 'About Us' tab. ***AMENITIES***
RV Resort @ Carolina Crossroads VOTED ONE OF THE NATIONS TOP PARKS BY GOOD SAMS IN 2012! The RV Resort at Carolina Crossroads is a new rv park / campground located less than a mile from I-95, just south of the Virginia border. All sites are pull-thrus, full-hookups with 50/30 amps, 65 to 70 feet long and 35 feet wide. We offer cable and wifi at most all sites. We pride ourself on being the cleanest and most well maintained park off I-95. Pet and people friendly! Our RV park was designed to be very RV friendly. Wide paved lanes to make your turns in the biggest of RVs with a tow. Easy to get in and out. All of our buildings, pool area and recreational areas are ADA compliant. There is security on site 24 hours a day. There are also around 30 restaurants located within 3 miles of us. We are directly beside the outside amphitheater and less than 1/4 mile behind the Royal Palace. Our Rates are under the 'About Us' tab. 3 sec 2/3 ***AMENITIES*** We have a brand new laundry room and it is conveniently located in the new club house. Our in ground hot tub is open year round. Our brand new beautiful tile bathrooms are centrally located in the new club house. Come play our 9 hole putt-putt course for free! Our covered pavilion is located beside the pool and in ground hot tub where campers can sit and relax, play a game of pool, darts or corn hole. We have a brand new 100 person capacity meeting room complete with a kitchen and tables for group meetings and dinners. YouTube RorschachReality 297 subscribers Subscribe Carolina Crossroads RV Resort Watch later Copy link Info Shopping Tap to unmute If playback doesn't begin shortly, try restarting your device. You're signed out Videos you watch may be added to the TV's watch history and influence TV recommendations. To avoid this, cancel and sign in to YouTube on your computer. Cancel Confirm More videos More videos Switch camera Share Include playlist An error occurred while retrieving sharing information. Please try again later. 0:00 0:00 0:00 / 0:16 Live •
msmarco_doc_00_263023
http://04.extensionfile.net/
Open 04 File
Open 04 File Open 04 File How to Open 04 file What is 04 File? 04 File Applications
Open 04 File Open 04 File To open 04 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 04 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 04. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 04 file To see if you have an application which support 04 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 04 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 04 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 04 files. What is 04 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 04 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 04 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 04 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 04 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_265459
http://048.extensionfile.net/
Open 048 File
Open 048 File Open 048 File How to Open 048 file What is 048 File? 048 File Applications
Open 048 File Open 048 File To open 048 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 048 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 048. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 048 file To see if you have an application which support 048 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 048 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 048 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 048 files. What is 048 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 048 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 048 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 048 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 048 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_267672
http://05.extensionfile.net/
Open 05 File
Open 05 File Open 05 File How to Open 05 file What is 05 File? 05 File Applications
Open 05 File Open 05 File To open 05 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 05 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 05. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 05 file To see if you have an application which support 05 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 05 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 05 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 05 files. What is 05 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 05 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 05 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 05 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 05 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_269907
http://051.extensionfile.net/
Open 051 File
Open 051 File Open 051 File How to Open 051 file What is 051 File? 051 File Applications
Open 051 File Open 051 File To open 051 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 051 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 051. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 051 file To see if you have an application which support 051 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 051 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 051 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 051 files. What is 051 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 051 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 051 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 051 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 051 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_272120
http://05lovesgeography.blogspot.com/2011/01/carbon-cycle_22.html
Biosphere, Atmosphere and Hydrosphere: The Carbon Cycle
Biosphere, Atmosphere and Hydrosphere Biosphere, Atmosphere and Hydrosphere Saturday, January 22, 2011 The Carbon Cycle Blog Archive
Biosphere, Atmosphere and Hydrosphere: The Carbon Cycle Biosphere, Atmosphere and Hydrosphere 405, please remember to sign off with your name when you post as well as comment. Saturday, January 22, 2011 The Carbon Cycle Hello :) So here are the things I understood from the notes. The post would be quite lengthy, have a lot of arrows, and notes in point form. So please bear with me. Carbon is essential as it provides energy through photosynthesis and respiration. The very presence/absence of it helps determine whether a molecule is considered organic or inorganic, and it controls the pH level in the ocean. Also, it allows carbon to be recycled and reused in the biosphere as well as in organisms, and ensures survival. As of today, the pH level of the ocean is decreasing due to the excessive uptake of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Carbon dioxide also increases the atmosphere's ability of hold heat, hence the name "greenhouse gas". Carbon can be found in: carbon dioxide, limestone, diamonds, graphite, the ocean floor, the Earth's mantle etc. The carbon cycle is a biogeochemical cycle by which carbon is exchanged, in different forms, on Earth. The cycle is divided into two subcomponents: the geological component (of which the elapsed time scale is millions of years) and the biological component (time scale spanning a few days to thousands of years). Carbon movement and exchange occur due to specific chemical, physical, geological and biological processes. Unless there are external influences (e.g. black smoker and uncontrolled deep water oil leak, both of which emit large amounts of sulfite and hydrocarbon (diff. forms of carbon compounds), respectively) that significantly increases/depletes the amount of carbon in the ocean, the cycle occurs gradually. Difference between carbon sink and carbon source: carbon sink---more carbon enters than leaves (think 'whirlpool' and the carbons sinking); carbon source---more carbon leaves than enters (think 'origin'). Oceans are long-term sinks atmospheric carbon dioxide due to both the ability to form limestone and fossil fuels. Linking carbon cycle to the rock cycle. (Lots of arrows here). Forms of interaction: weathering and dissolution, precipitation of minerals, burial and subduction, volcanism (In the atmosphere)carbonic acid reacts with carbon dioxide and water --> rain --> weakly acidic water reacts with minerals at the Earth's surface --> (chemical weathering) minerals will dissolve into their component ions --> ions will be carried in surface waters (e.g. lakes) and eventually reach the ocean, where they precipitate out as minerals like calcite (CaCO3) --> minerals sink to the bottom of the ocean -->deposition (meaning 'removal') and burial of calcite --> (over time) limestone will be formed due to compression of sediments --> (geographical condition) subduction --> limestone and seafloor carbon heats up and melts --> carbon rises back up to oceanic surface --> interaction of molecules on oceanic surface --> carbon dioxide released into the atmosphere Note: Volcanic eruptions, seeps (places where liquid from the ground oozes out from the Earth surface), vents (openings at the Earth's surface where volcanic material is emitted), and carbon dioxide-rich hot springs, also release carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. Note: Carbonic acid gas is produced by respiration, burning charcoal/other carbon compounds, when chalk/marble/limestone meets a stronger acid like sulfuric/muriatic acid, etc. Linking carbon cycle to the hydrosphere. 1. Extreme storms (e.g. hurricanes and typhoons) --> sediments will be washed away into the oceans --> carbon/calcite minerals will be buried under ocean bed --> deposition and burial of carbon/calcite --> limestone formed --> (refer to the cycle written in the section before ) 2. (Convection Current concept needed) Oceanic upwell (meaning warm oceanic water rises, cold water sinks) --> cold water on oceanic surface allows carbon from heated limestone (from subduction) and and ocean floor to be released into the atmosphere Oceanic downwell (inverse of oceanic upwell) --> carbon dioxide from the atmosphere will be converted to dissolved carbon in oceanic water. Atmospheric carbon --> dissolved carbon dioxide. 3. Dissolved carbon dioxide reacts with water to form carbonic acid Carbonic acid will be in equilibrium (meaning 'reversible') with hydrogen ions + bicarbonate ions when the acid reacts with weathered rocks Bicarbonate ions will be in equilibrium with hydrogen ions + carbonate ions Carbonate ions + calcium carbonate (from shells of oceanic microorganisms like phytoplankton) will form carbonate sediments (which form limestone) 4. (Only under certain geological conditions) Organic matter buried --> (over time) deposits of carbon-containing fuels coal and oil formed (remember black smoker and uncontrolled deep-water oil well leak?). Non-calcium containing organic matter is transformed into fossil fuel. Note: Calcium carbonate is an inorganic carbon. Linking photosynthesis, respiration, the climate and the carbon cycle. I'm sure you all know how carbon dioxide plays a role in both photosynthesis and respiration so I won't say much about it. :) (During daytime) Leaves absorb sunlight --> carbon dioxide taken from the atmosphere; microorganisms consume organic carbon matter (e.g. carbohydrates) --> carbon dioxide returned to the atmosphere through respiration. Level of carbon dioxide and oxygen somewhat the same, not including external factors like extensive burning of fossil fuels, deforestation etc. (At night) Photosynthesis stops (no solar energy); respiration continues. Atmospheric concentration of carbon dioxide is higher than oxygen's. (During winter) Plants lose their leaves --> photosynthesis ceases --> atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration increases. (During spring) Photosynthesis resumes --> atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration reduces. According to data collected, the Earth's climate has oscillated between relatively warm (interglacial periods) and relatively cold (glacial periods) periods over the past 20 million years. (Interglacial period) Atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration is relatively high. This period is where we are now, and human activities are increasing carbon dioxide concentrations higher than what have been recorded in the past interglacial periods. (Glacial period) Atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration is relatively low. How carbon is emitted/retained but not removed on time (due to artificial causes), consequences of excessive carbon, and solutions carried out by governments: Sources of carbon: 1. Burning of fossil fuels. Carbon is released into the atmosphere far more rapidly than it is being removed. 2. Deforestation. The ability of photosynthesis to remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere results in a net increase in atmospheric carbon dioxide level. Consequences: 1. Rise in average sea-level due to global warming, which melts ice caps. Low-lying coastal cities or cities located by tidal rivers will be exposed, maybe submerged, even. 2. Glacial retreat and species range shifts. Trees may not be able to cope with the extent of global warming. 3. Plant growth will be affected, as some plants/shrubs respond more favorably under high level of carbon dioxide concentration. Grasslands may be invaded by carbon dioxide-responsive grass species. 4. Rise in average global temperature of approximately 1-5 degree celsius in the next half-century. 5. Major changes in precipitation patterns and land use throughout the world. 6. Change in the growth cycle of phytoplankton due to difference in atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration. Solutions formed: 1. Intergovernmental Panel of Climate Change (IPCC) has been set up to produce reports on climate change. 2. Kyoto Protocol has been carried out to avert the negative impacts linked with human-induced climate change. To sum up: carbon is released through: 1. Respiration 2. Decay of animal and plant matter 3. Combustion of organic material, which produces carbon dioxide 4. Production of cement (heating of limestone) 5. Volcanic eruptions, seeps, vents, carbon dioxide-rich springs Okay this is all. Hope you have a greater understanding of the cycle! Done by: Sylvia :) Posted by 405 at 7:57 PM Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Newer Post Older Post Home About Us Our blog to discuss about what we learn in class! Blog Archive ▼ 2011 (15) ► May (1) ► April (3) ► March (2) ► February (4) ▼ January (5) <!-- [if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 f... Longwave radiation and Shortwave Radiation The Carbon Cycle The Nitrogen Cycle - 17/01/11 The atmosphere. ×
msmarco_doc_00_274355
http://06.extensionfile.net/
Open 06 File
Open 06 File Open 06 File How to Open 06 file What is 06 File? 06 File Applications
Open 06 File Open 06 File To open 06 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 06 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 06. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 06 file To see if you have an application which support 06 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 06 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 06 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 06 files. What is 06 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 06 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 06 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 06 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 06 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_283493
http://07.extensionfile.net/
Open 07 File
Open 07 File Open 07 File How to Open 07 file What is 07 File? 07 File Applications
Open 07 File Open 07 File To open 07 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 07 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 07. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 07 file To see if you have an application which support 07 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 07 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 07 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 07 files. What is 07 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 07 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 07 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 07 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 07 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_285706
http://07doc.extensionfile.net/
Open 07DOC File
Open 07DOC File Open 07DOC File How to Open 07DOC file 07DOC file purpose 07DOC File Applications
Open 07DOC File Open 07DOC File To open 07DOC file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 07DOC file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 07DOC. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 07DOC file To see if you have an application which support 07DOC file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 07DOC either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 07DOC files you need to search on the internet which application can open 07DOC files. 07DOC file purpose File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 07DOC files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 07DOC File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 07DOC and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 07DOC files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_287919
http://07xls.extensionfile.net/
Open 07XLS File
Open 07XLS File Open 07XLS File How to Open 07XLS file What is 07XLS File? 07XLS File Applications
Open 07XLS File Open 07XLS File To open 07XLS file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 07XLS file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 07XLS. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 07XLS file To see if you have an application which support 07XLS file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 07XLS either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 07XLS files you need to search on the internet which application can open 07XLS files. What is 07XLS File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 07XLS files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 07XLS File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 07XLS and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 07XLS files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_290196
http://08.extensionfile.net/
Open 08 File
Open 08 File Open 08 File How to Open 08 file What is 08 File? 08 File Applications
Open 08 File Open 08 File To open 08 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 08 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 08. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 08 file To see if you have an application which support 08 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 08 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 08 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 08 files. What is 08 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 08 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 08 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 08 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 08 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_292475
http://0844.uk2numbers.co.uk/?go=support&page=UK-Telephone-Guide/number-codes
UK 0844 Numbers | UK 0800 Freephone & Free Phone Numbers Help & Support
Great selection of 0844 Numbers Great selection of 0844 Numbers
UK 0844 Numbers | UK 0800 Freephone & Free Phone Numbers Help & Support Great selection of 0844 Numbers 0844 Numbers - Service Help and Support Dialling the area code and number 1.1 The majority of consumers in the UK have at least one home telephone number. Some may have additional numbers for other uses, for example a fax machine, a dedicated number for their computer, or a number for business use. Businesses have numbers for their switchboards and extensions. 1. 1.2 These numbers have an area code based on the area of the country you are situated in, followed by a local telephone number and are known as `Geographic' numbers eg in London your number will have the area code `020' followed by a local number such as `7634 8700'. 2. 1.3 However, consumers do not always have to dial the area code. If you are calling someone within the same code area you can just dial the local number, eg if you are calling from within the Aberdeen code area (01224) and you wish to dial, from your landline phone, a number also within the Aberdeen code area, you can just dial the local number (you cannot do this from a mobile). Please note that if you wish to, you can dial the area code and the local number and still get through. 3. 1.4 If you are calling from outside the Aberdeen code area you will always need to dial the code followed by the local number to get through. Also, if you are dialling from a mobile phone you will always need to dial the area code followed by the local number - this is discussed below. 4. 1.5 The above example applies to most code areas in the UK. However, there are some exceptions to this. For example, Southampton and Portsmouth used to be in different code areas, but both now have the same area code `023'. Therefore, although customers are located in different areas, they can still dial each other using just the local number. 5. 1.6 Within Northern Ireland, all calls within the province can be dialled using just the 8 digit local number. 6. 1.7 There are also some area codes that share the first five digits. For example, the digits `01539' are used for several code areas as follows: 01539 - Kendal 015394 - Hawkshead 015395 - Grange over Sands 015396 - Sedburgh 1.8 If you are dialling from one of these code areas to another of these code areas, you will need to dial both the code and number to get through. If you do not dial the code you will get a wrong number or get the number unobtainable announcement or tone. Code and number lengths, and layout 1.9 The UK is currently split into over 600 area codes. (BT publishes a phone book companion that lists area codes). Most area codes start with the digits `01' and are followed by 3 further digits, and in most code areas the local numbers following the area codes are 6 digits. 1.10 Since the code and number changes in the year 2000, most numbers in the UK have a 3-digit code beginning `02X' followed by an 8-digit local number eg `020' for London, `028' for Northern Ireland, etc. 1. 1.11 However, the lengths of area codes and local numbers can vary across the UK. The table below sets out the various combinations of area code and number lengths currently diallable within the UK: 2. 1.12 Local numbers in geographic areas typically start with any digits except `0', `1' or `99'. In each code area with 6-digit local numbers there is approximately 790,000 numbers available, 7.9 million numbers in 7-digit areas, and 79 million numbers in 8-digit areas. 3. 1.13 Ofcom believes that confusion can be minimised by displaying a consistent number layout. Ofcom recommends the layout for national format as shown in the table above, and international format (using the same examples) as follows (note that the leading `0' of the area code should be omitted when calling UK numbers from abroad): (Note: `44' is the international code for the UK, and should only be dialled from outside the UK. The `+' indicates that there are digits dialled before the `44' to make an international call eg `00' are the digits dialled to make international calls from the UK. Many other countries eg all of Europe, also use `00' for international calls). How do code areas relate to the cost of a call? 1. 1.14 If you are a BT or Kingston Communications (Hull) customer, then the cost of a call to a geographic number is usually dependent on where you are calling from and to. 2. 1.15 The country is divided into over 600 Charge Areas. In the very large majority of cases, each Charge Area corresponds to one geographic code area. So, for example, the Rugby Charge Area is the same as the Rugby code area (01788). 3. 1.16 If you are dialling within your own Charge Area or one adjacent to it, then the call will be charged as a local call. Beyond that, calls will be charged at the National call rate - see figure 1 below. (In a very few cases, calls to adjacent Charge Areas are charged at National rate). Figure 1. Local Rate and National Rate calls to adjacent and non-adjacent code areas, respectively. 1.17 However, there are a few exceptions to this: „ Some code areas are divided up into several Charging Areas. For example, Wearside, Durham, and Tyneside all have the same area code - `0191' - (the first digit of the local number identifies which Charge Area you are calling). If you call from one of these areas, on a landline phone, to an adjacent code area then you will be charged at local rate. However, despite the same code area arrangements as above, if you call from another of these Charge Areas to a non-adjacent Charge Area, you could be charged at your telecoms providers national rate (see figure 2 below); Figure 2. One code area covering several Charge Areas Equally, the new wide area codes, for example `023', cover several Charging Areas. So even though Southampton can be dialled from Portsmouth using just the 8 digit local number, the call will be charged at national rate (see figure 3 below); and Figure 3. One code area covering two Charge Areas „ Some Charging Areas cover two area codes. For example, the area codes `01707' (Welwyn Garden City) and `01727' (St Albans) are both in the Colney Heath Charge Area (see figure 3, below). One effect of this is that while the `01727' area is not adjacent to the London `020' area, calls between them are charged at local rate, as Colney Heath and London Charge Areas are adjacent (see figure 4 below). Figure 4. One Charge Area covering two code areas 1. 1.18 Telecoms providers other than BT and Kingston Communications (Hull), do not tend to use code area charging, and charging methods vary between them eg some charge by time of day - daytime/evening/weekend - rather than by distance. Some cable companies may charge local rate across large areas eg any calls within Northern Ireland are charged at their local rate. Others may offer free calls to anywhere in the UK at specific times of the day, provided the call is to another of their customers. 2. 1.19 BT's website gives details of it's customers specific local calling area. 3. 1.20 In addition to the above examples, telecoms providers may offer `out of area' numbers. Out of area numbers are Geographic numbers used, for example, by companies that may wish to have a `point of presence' in London ie have a London telephone number (s), but be physically located for instance, in Manchester, as this may be more beneficial to the business. Callers are charged the normal rate by their telecoms provider for calls to London. However, calls are routed through to the company office in Manchester.
msmarco_doc_00_294688
http://0844.uk2numbers.co.uk/Area-Code-Routing.cfm
0844 Numbers Area Code Routing Service for Call Centre - Dialling Code Routing
0844 Area Code Routing Service - 0844 Exchange Routing - 0844 call centre 0844 Area Code Routing Service - 0844 Exchange Routing - 0844 call centre
0844 Numbers Area Code Routing Service for Call Centre - Dialling Code Routing 0844 Area Code Routing Service - 0844 Exchange Routing - 0844 call centre STD Area Code Routing Route 0844 calls depending on the location of the caller to your nearest call centre with UK2Numbers STD Area Code Routing Service (also known as Exchange Routing service). This complex service is mostly suitable for large corporate organisations with multiple office locations or call centers. Go back to: Full service list Service Description - STD Area Code Routing STD Area Code Routing service enables you to route calls to different locations based upon the calling party's STD area code (physical location). This is normally used for routing customers to your nearest branch office or sales outlet. The system works by examining the STD area code of the calling party (out of a possible 650 STD codes) and then routing the call to the appropriate diversion number for your office as specified by you. How it Works - STD Area Code Routing If you receive a call from a client based in London (0208/0207) you could route the call to your London office. If, however, the client calls your number from Manchester (0161), you could route the call to your Manchester office. You would also have the option of routing any calls originating from unspecified/unknown locations or mobiles to your central office or any other nominated default number. How to order STD Area Code Routing service: To order the STD Area Code Routing service for your Non-Geographic Number please contact the UK2 Numbers Support team.
msmarco_doc_00_302584
http://08gamer.com/operating-system/backgroundtaskhost-exe-feedback-hub-background-task-host-takes-almost-all-cpu/
backgroundTaskHost.exe Feedback Hub Background Task - 08Gamer.com
backgroundTaskHost.exe, Feedback Hub Background Task Host, Takes almost ALL CPU backgroundTaskHost.exe, Feedback Hub Background Task Host, Takes almost ALL CPU Post navigation
backgroundTaskHost.exe Feedback Hub Background Task - 08Gamer.com backgroundTaskHost.exe, Feedback Hub Background Task Host, Takes almost ALL CPU 2019-08-192020-03-14 Author OS Is your CPU going crazy time to time and almost freezes your computer and task manager says some of these files are taking all the CPU backgroundTaskHost.exe, Feedback Hub Background Task Host, then you might have a problem with Runtime broker. Runtime broker is part of the security subsystem of Universal Apps (then called Metro apps). Essentially, all access to files and other resources goes through the Runtime broker.. so what this means is that it’s only accessing files on the behalf of another Universal app. This is probably something like the Photos app or something that searches through indexed files and catalogs them or indexes them. So if you have NAS for Example then this service can go crazy. Runtime Broker is a service called Time Broker, which can be disabled through editing the registry. Right-click on the Start Menu Icon. Star application Run and type regedit.exe and select OK. Find the following entry: Enabled [HKEY_LOCAL_MACHINE\SYSTEM\CurrentControlSet\Services\TimeBroker] “Start”=dword:00000003 Change the 3 to a 4. Disable [HKEY_LOCAL_MACHINE\SYSTEM\CurrentControlSet\Services\TimeBroker] “Start”=dword:00000004 It can be good to know: Disabling Runtime Broker will prevent apps from the Microsoft Store from running. Post navigation Thank you Cant login on Starleaf
msmarco_doc_00_304568
http://09.extensionfile.net/
Open 09 File
Open 09 File Open 09 File How to Open 09 file What is 09 File? 09 File Applications
Open 09 File Open 09 File To open 09 file you need to find an application which works with that kind of file. 09 file extension is used by operating systems to recognize files with content of type 09. Here is some information which will get you started. How to Open 09 file To see if you have an application which support 09 file format you need to double click on the file. This will either open it with matching application or Windows will suggest you to look for an application for file extension 09 either on web or on local computer. If there is no application on your computer which can open 09 files you need to search on the internet which application can open 09 files. What is 09 File? File extensions help computers locate correct application for specific files. Operating systems will not look into the content of the files to be opened, but instead, it will immediately locate the file extension of the file and locate for associated application that can open 09 files. This helps the computer to organize its functions and work much faster. Most operating systems (Windows) require the use of file extensions, but others do not (Unix). These file extensions are also beneficial for us. By simply looking at the filename, we can determine what type of information is stored to that and what applications can open these files. Have you noticed that when your computer acquires an unknown file, it will ask your permission to look for associated program to open it or look for these programs over the Internet? Yes! These file extensions make the work of the computer easy. Once there is no application associated with the file, then the computer will immediately ask the users assistance to help look for the source files. 09 File Applications If you know which application opens file extension 09 and it is not mentioned on our site please e-mail us via contact form. For more information on how to open 09 files read other articles on this website.
msmarco_doc_00_306542
http://096bfb6156e88b4f14f7-64aaf2d87ba050305a8c250db2b75557.r87.cf2.rackcdn.com/uploaded/t/0e2721419_1387218143_the-meaning-of-confirmation.doc
Our United Methodist Understanding of Confirmation Our United Methodist Understanding of Confirmation The Big Picture Your child’s confirmation year has the potential to be one of the most significant events in his or her life - and in the life of your family. It is also an experience that we will be asking your help with. For this reason we want to give you some additional information about what your child will be going through and what we will be asking you to help with. There are three reasons what some of us might find this information helpful: Many people who join our church were not raised in the United Methodist Church or in churches that practice confirmation. This means that for some of us confirmation may be an entirely new idea. We may be more familiar with people making a decision for Christ through an altar call than through a class or program. Others of us may have been raised in churches that practice confirmation, but may not be familiar with how we do confirmation at Highland Park UMC. Our church is nationally known for its confirmation program and it is the centerpiece of our youth ministry. Though the majority of Christian churches practice confirmation, in some ways we are unique in the way we approach confirmation. The degree of parent involvement, for example, is unparalleled anywhere in the country. In 1996 the General Conference of the United Methodist Church adopted a new theology of baptism, and thereby a new theology and understanding of confirmation. This new understanding has far reaching consequences for how we approach confirmation. Before going into the details of our understanding of confirmation and how we do confirmation at our church, here is the big picture. What we know as confirmation today has existed in the church since the very beginning. And, from the beginning, what we call confirmation has always involve two distinctly different (but related) things: A Worship Service – At the center of confirmation is a worship service. This service is an opportunity, at the appropriate age, to personally respond to God’s call to be Christian and to openly affirm our faith. In other words, confirmation includes a rite or worship service. This is what we will do on Confirmation Sunday. A Class or Program – Confirmation also involves a period of training that prepares the person to make their public profession of faith. This is what we do in the 12 months leading up to confirmation Sunday. In the early church the norm was for adults to be baptized. Adults went through a period of training and preparation. Then they were baptized and confirmed at the same time. Later, as these adults had children who were raised in the faith, these children were baptized as infants to affirm God’s unconditional love for them, then later – when they were of age – they went through the period of preparation and made their own person professions of faith (confirmation). The Basic Meaning of Confirmation in the United Methodist Church The meaning of confirmation is closely related to that of baptism. Baptism and confirmation are both part of an ongoing, lifelong process of sanctification, whereby we are conformed into the image of Christ. The word “ confirmation ” literally means “to make firm”. Confirmation seeks to make firm that which has gone before. It is closely linked to (and dependant on) what has taken place in the individual’s life already, including God’s prevenient grace, the sacrament of baptism, the Christian nurture provided by the parents and the home, and the Christian nurture provided by the faith community. Confirmation is part of the life long process of sanctification. Through the Holy Spirit, God is at work in the life of the person - preparing, justifying, sanctifying, and empowering. The larger picture of this journey is Christian education. The confirmation program or class is one piece of this life long process of education. The larger picture is Christian formation, being transformed - over time and through the work of God’s Spirit - into the image of Christ. Confirmation does not complete baptism. It is not the second half of baptism. The sacrament of baptism stands by itself. Confirmation is the first public occasion in which a person affirms her or his personal response to divine grace and proclaims faith in Christ. It is the first public expression of the individual’s affirmation of the baptismal covenant. The response of faith in confirmation involves the entire person, including: Repentance : turning from sin and to faith in God Conversion : a process of transformation (not just an event). Part of the life long journey of sanctification Decision : to accept (receive) God’s grace and to commit one’s life to God Confirmation also involves the laying on of hands. This is not only symbolic of the receiving of the Holy Spirit and God’s power, but the laying on of hands also symbolizes consecration for service. In confirmation, the individual is given divine authority and empowerment for the Christian calling and vocation of discipleship. Confirmation as God’s Act In baptism, the Holy Spirit marks the person as God’s own. In confirmation, the Holy Spirit strengthens (makes firm) the person in his or her discipleship. The confirmation prayer is: “receive the Holy Spirit.” Confirmation as a Human Response of Faith A child who has been baptized as an infant or a young child needs an opportunity to personally affirm the faith into which he or she was baptized and raised, and to claim the faith for him or herself. At confirmation we acknowledge that a child has reached the age when he or she can begin to assume responsibility for his or her own faith. Wesleyan tradition is clear in insisting that every person must come to accept for him or her self the salvation offered by Christ and that this commitment is to be made publicly. The Confirmation Program & the Confirmation Service Part of the task of Christian nurture or Christian education is to nurture the child in the faith in such a way that the child will be able to respond to the call of God and to claim the faith into which he or she was baptized as his or her own personal faith. Confirmation is about intentional commitment. During the confirmation process, the individual is asked to consciously embrace the Christian faith and vocation as one’s own and to accept the responsibilities of Christian discipleship. The Confirmation Program or Class In order to do this, two things must happen in a confirmation program. First, the child must be instructed in the basics of the faith. Confirmation seeks to give the child a systematic overview of the faith - our identity, our history and heritage, our practices, and our beliefs. This will include both our heritage and practices as a Christian community and as a United Methodist Family, as well as our basic beliefs and commitments. In addition, the person should be instructed in what it means to live the Christian life and be involved in the mission of the church in the world. Some faith traditions base the response of faith on emotion and feeling and emphasize altar calls. Those that practice confirmation base the response of faith more on an informed decision. The other thing that needs to happen in a confirmation program is spiritual formation. Our faith is not just about information. It is about formation – being molded, shaped, or transformed into the image of Christ. This takes time and experiences, not just data. A comprehensive confirmation program is more than just a class. It seeks to provide experiences and opportunities in which the child can be shaped as a Christian. Confirmation provides a setting in which the child can be shaped or formed and in which the child can prepare to understand the faith and what it means to make a decision (the confirmation program or class). Confirmation seeks to mold or shape the child by providing a save environment of love and acceptance in which the child can explore the faith as well as experiences which make what is being taught real (i.e., relationships with peers and mentors, small group experiences, mission opportunities, etc.). At this level the faith is lived and experienced. The Rite of Confirmation (The Confirmation Service) As a ritual, the rite of confirmation provides the setting and opportunity for the child to acknowledge and profess the faith into which he or she has been baptized (the confirmation service). During the service the individual stands before the community, is asked the historical questions of Christian discipleship, is asked to affirm the faith for him or her self, receives the power of the Holy Spirit, and is commissioned for a life of Christian discipleship. This results in the person becoming a “professing member” of the church. The person “professes” the faith into which he or she was baptized. The person intentionally and publicly commits self to practice holiness and strive to continually grow in grace. He or she commitments to the process or journey called discipleship (sanctification). Professing members accept and participate in the privileges and responsibilities of membership in the church. They enter more fully into the ministry for which baptism has commissioned them. The content of the class will depend on the age at which it is offered. At 6th grade the class will be shaped this age group’s stage of faith, which is affiliative. At this age the focus is primarily on experience and belonging to the community. The cognitive element is there, but it is not front and center. This age group primarily learns through experience. The 1996 General Conference affirmed confirmation as a repeatable rite, which can occur more than once. The new confirmation resources for 2000 provide resources for both middle school and high school. In this understanding confirmation can occur more than once. Youth can be confirmed during middle school, and then go through confirmation again at high school. Nor does it need to end there. Further confirmation programs and experiences can be provided as the ongoing process of sanctification and Christian journey continues. The 7 Pillars of Our HPUMC Confirmation Model Highland Park UMC has made some basic decisions concerning confirmation that give shape and drive everything else. Here are the key decisions we have made. 6th Grade In this model confirmation is done in the sixth grade. This is not the only year it could be done, and the curriculum we have developed could be appropriate for older youth. With older youth there would be more discussion and you would not necessarily need all of the activities. John Westerhoff, one of the leading Christian educators of our age, uses a tree image to explain how we go through different stages or “rings” in our spiritual growth. During the middle school years we are dealing with “affiliative faith”, not “questioning faith”. Our goals here include instruction and a basic understanding of the faith. But this is not our primary goal. At the sixth grade level the primary importance falls to experiencing the faith community and an opportunity to identify with that community, be shaped by that community, and to affiliate with that community. The intellectual component is important and is present to some degree. As the child grows the intellectual aspect of faith will become more important. This is especially true during the high school years when youth have “questioning faith”. A Total/Holistic Program – Not Just a Class We have made a basic decision that confirmation is to be much more than just class. It is a comprehensive yearlong youth program that includes retreats, socials, visits, mission projects, and special worship services. Many of these other components are reflected in the class curriculum. Two of our sessions are given to preparing for our covenant service. We are away two Sundays on retreats. And we debrief our visits to the Jewish synagogue, the Roman Catholic Church, the Episcopal Church, and an African-American congregation of the United Methodist Church during our morning sessions. Other components are done outside the Sunday morning timeframe. A Year Long The class meets for one year. This includes a nine-month academic year component and a summer group building component. In addition, the curriculum for the confirmation year is part of a larger 7-year plan that goes from 6th grade through 12th grade. Educationally, confirmation is a seven-year process, though the rite of confirmation comes at the end of the first year. Parent Volunteer Leadership Team In this model it is the parent volunteer team collectively - as a whole - which takes responsibility for leading the confirmation class and program. The professional church staff person has a role - and an important one - but it has changed. The role now becomes analogous to a person conducting an orchestra. Others play the instruments. The staff person’s job is the score, the big picture. The staff facilitates and enables others to play their part to the best of their ability. The staff trusts that when all of the instruments are played well, the result is greater than any one of us could do. In this model, the congregation - through the large parent-volunteer team - owns and leads the church’s ministry to the confirmation class. Relational One of the most important things we do in confirmation is build relationships - with God, with each other, with the adults who lead the class. The great commandment that Jesus gave us is to love - to love God and to love each other. In all we do during the year, we try to fulfill this commandment. We intentionally spend a lot of time and effort building trust, building relationships, and building community. Small Group Based Small groups are essential for our confirmation program. Our sessions are roughly divided equally into a total group “community” experience and small groups where 6 to 8 youth are in ongoing groups with two adults. Sunday Morning (Sunday School) Classes Different churches will have their class sessions at different times. Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, Saturdays, or after school on a weekday are all possibilities. We have elected to have our class sessions on Sunday mornings for two reasons. First, we have our maximum attendance on Sunday mornings. Second, we have made confirmation our sixth grade Sunday school. The Specific Components of Our Highland Park Confirmation Model In the model presented here, confirmation is seen as a total youth program, rather than as a class that just meets at a given hour for a set number of weeks. The goal is to totally immerse the confirmation youth and their parents in a holistic and comprehensive program that is designed to foster spiritual formation. Many of the goals of this program are accomplished outside the normal weekly meeting time. Many of the other goals require an extensive period of time. 1. Our Confirmation Summer Class Highland Park UMC promotes the first Sunday in of June. We also know that the kids are in and out all summer on family vacations and going to camp. This means there is no consistent attendance. The result is that we have three months in the summer where the new 6th graders (our confirmation grade) are in our program, but in which we can’t start our regular curriculum. Our solution is to include these three months in the confirmation program but to make this a “summer component”. We chose to use adventure learning challenge initiatives originally designed for ropes challenge courses. The overall goal of these activities is communication, cooperation, and team building - what it means to be a faith community. Yet each week’s session stands alone. We have discovered that these activities are a wonderful addition to our confirmation program and that they help us in our goals for the confirmation year. 2. Relationships One of the most important things we do in confirmation is to build relationships - with God, with each other, with the adults who lead the class. The great commandment that Jesus gave us is to love - to love God and to love each other. In all we do during the year we try to fulfill this commandment. We intentionally spend a lot of time and effort building trust, building relationships, and building community. 3. Weekly Sunday School Class Our main class runs concurrent with the academic school year. This gives us 41 weeks. At HPUMC the class meets during the Sunday school hour and is our sixth grade Sunday school class. If we have visitors who are sixth graders, they attend the confirmation class as their Sunday school. If sixth grade youth join the church during the middle of the year, they become a part of the confirmation class. These class sessions are based on a mixture of large group and small group experiences. 4. Retreats (2) We’ll begin the year and end the year with a retreat. We have a two night retreat at the beginning of the year and a two night retreat at the end of the year in May. The fall retreat is primarily for group building purposes. The spring retreat focuses on the confirmand’s decision concerning confirmation and what follows that decision. 5. Regular Worship Attendance It is expected that families who are in the confirmation program will be regular in worship attendance. This is not seen as extra but as integral to the confirmation process itself. Students learn about worship by being in worship. 6. Missions (7) Mission is seen as an integral part of what it means to be Christian. Mission projects, trips, and opportunities provide chances to engage in “service learning”. The faith we profess is the faith we live. Each informs the other. We believe that it is important to provide the confirmation class with multiple opportunities to learn about mission and to be involved in mission - in a variety of settings. This also gives class members sensitivity to the problems we face in the world and lets them know that they can make a difference. The class will participate in “local missions” where they help within the church in a service capacity, in “community missions” in which they are involved in the large community, and in two mission trips to locations beyond our local community. One of these is in state (spring break) and one is out of state (the summer following confirmation). 7. Visiting Other Churches & Faiths (4) As we explore our history and heritage, our class will visit four other churches and faiths: A Jewish synagogue (to understand our Jewish heritage), a Roman Catholic church (to understand our Catholic heritage), an Episcopal church (to understand our Protestant and Episcopal heritage), and another United Methodist church (to understand better our own heritage). 8. Parties & Social Events (9) Another aspect of being a total youth program for the 6th grade is to provide social and recreational activities. About once a month the class will have an opportunity to be involved in a recreational or social activity. Among these are a Whirly Ball, the Main Event, Adventure Landing, bowling, roller skating, ice skating, a swimming party and miniature golf, and more. 9. Faith Mentors At one time our church had the confirmation class members choose a “faith mentor” - an adult who would share the confirmation journey with them. However, we have realized that with over 50 adults working with our class in a teaching capacity, that we no longer need to do that. We have 50 plus faith mentors in the classroom working as teachers and small group leaders. If class members want to seek out another adult they know (a grand parent, etc.), we encourage them to do so. 10. Special Worship Services (2) We begin the year and end the year will special worship services. In the fall we begin with a Covenant Service in which youth, parents & teachers all pledge to enter into the confirmation journey together. In the spring we will end the year with our Service of Baptism and Confirmation. 11. Participation in Youth Choir, Spring Break Mission Trip, and Summer Trips Confirmation youth are also involved in some of the youth activities of our church. In particular they are able to be in our youth choir, the spring break mission trip to San Marcos, and the three summer trips (choir tour, summer mission trip, Colorado Wilderness trip). 6 Title Our United Methodist Understanding of Confirmation Author Walt Marcum Last modified by Walt Marcum Created Date 4/2/2012 5:15:00 PM Company Preferred Customer Other titles Our United Methodist Understanding of Confirmation
msmarco_doc_00_308755
http://0ldsk00l.ca/nestopia/
Nestopia UE
Nestopia UE Nestopia UE News Platforms Download/Source Code Windows Binaries Linux and BSD Binaries Source Code Git Clone Changelog
Nestopia UE Nestopia UE Nestopia is a portable NES/Famicom emulator written in C++. Nestopia UE (Undead Edition) is a fork of the original source code, with enhancements from members of the emulation community. This includes support for new platforms, and bug fixes in the emulator core. News December 2, 2020 New Project Goals The project is back to being active. I've decided to start working on it again, but with a significantly reduced scope so that I don't get overwhelmed. The new project goals will include simplifying the GTK+ build and also going back to building the old Windows binaries that most of the users still want. I am killing explicit macOS support because there are better ways to use Nestopia on macOS (OpenEmu). To make a long story short, this project is now going to be focused on the standalone GUI for the Nestopia core emulator. The core itself is maintained elsewhere and I want to leverage that eventually to take the load off this project's scope. For the libretro users, please continue using that port. The libretro people maintain Nestopia for platforms I have trouble caring about, but many people do wish to use. Since their focus is running on every possible platform, they are the best positioned to maintain a port that runs everywhere, and I simply don't have that capacity. More details will follow when I tag the next release. Platforms Nestopia UE officially supports: Linux BSD Windows Download/Source Code Windows Binaries If you're a Windows user, download the win32 build: 1.50 win32 Linux and BSD Binaries The following distributions have packages available: Arch Linux Debian FreeBSD OpenBSD Rosa Desktop Fresh Slackware (Slackbuilds) Ubuntu Void Linux Source Code If you want a source tarball, download it here: Download 1.50 Git Clone This is the best way to get the latest source code: git clone git://github.com/0ldsk00l/nestopia To update your source tree later: git pull origin Changelog Shell: Additions: - Added ability to output data from homebrew module (Phil Smith) libretro: Additions: - Button shift option - Input bitmask support (TwinAphex) - Enhanced core options (TwinAphex) - Build in NstDatabase.xml Core: Additions: - Homebrew module (Phil Smith) - Support for mapper 31 (rainwarrior) - Support for mappers 28 and 30 (retro-wertz) - Support for UNL-KS7031 (retro-wertz) - Support for MMC3 Big CHR-RAM Board Fixes: - Deterministic Save States (creambits)
msmarco_doc_00_329921
http://1-1-mail-media-inc.software.informer.com/
1&1 Mail & Media Inc. software updates and reviews: mail.com MailCheck for Internet Explorer, mail.com toolba... Over 1153 users downloaded software by 1&1 Mail & Media Inc.. See developer information and full list of programs. Menu Log in / Sign up Search Windows MacAndroid Audio & Video Games System Tools Design & Photo Mobile Phone Utilities Developer Tools Business Internet Tools Education Communication Antivirus & Security Theming Productivity Lifestyle General Windows›Developers› 1&1 Mail & Media Inc. Share 1&1 Mail & Media Inc. 1&1 Mail & Media Inc. is a developer of internet tools. The current developer portfolio contains 3 programs. The most popular software is mail.com MailCheck for Internet Explorer with 8 installations on Windows PC. Best software by 1&1 Mail & Media Inc. mail.com MailCheck for Internet MailCheck for Internet Explorer notifies you of incoming email on your desktop. FREE mail.com toolbar for Internet With just a few clicks, you can adapt individual toolbar components. FREE mail.com toolbar for Mozilla A tool for optimizing mail.com for Mozilla Firefox. FREE Tags Check Email BoxCheck EmailsConfigureEmail ReaderIncoming EmailsMail NotificationMailboxNewsSearchView Mails Stories about 1&1 Mail & Media Inc. See all Microsoft Invites the Media to the 'Windows 9' Event Microsoft is inviting the press to its Windows 9 event on the 30th of September... Beware of e-mails telling you to upgrade to Windows 10 ...official-looking e-mailthat claims to ...send you e-mailswith embedded links... Best free Windows Media Center replacements for Windows 10 ...are playing. MediaPortal MediaPortal MediaPortal and... Facebook and French media companies crack down on fake news ...with eight French mediacompanies in an ...of eight French mediacompanies to verify... Best mail tips and tricks ...find a few handy e-mailrelated tricks such ...click the Import mailsand contacts... Top About us Who we are Terms & privacy News Feedback & support Users Members Forum FAQ Developers Advertising General information Submit/Update program DMCA Software Answers Top software forMac All downloads FB Twitter Copyright © 2021, Informer Technologies, Inc.
msmarco_doc_00_332686
http://1-4-3.com/
1-4-3 means I LOVE YOU
1-4-3 means I LOVE YOU 1-4-3 means I LOVE YOU
1-4-3 means I LOVE YOU 1-4-3 means I LOVE YOU "1-4-3" - the 1894 Origins in Massachusetts In 1894, Capt. F. A. Mahan, an engineer with the Lighthouse Board, suggested a new system for lighthouse characteristics. Under the new plan, every lighthouse in the nation would be given a unique numerical flash. As a trial, on May 1, 1894, Minot’s Ledge Light in Massachusetts was given a new 12-panel rotating Fresnel lens and a distinctive 1-4-3 flash - a single flash followed by an interval of three seconds, four flashes separated by one second, another interval of three seconds, followed by three flashes again separated by one second. Someone decided that 1-4-3 stood for “I Love You,” and Minot’s Ledge Light was soon popularly referred to as the “I Love You Light,” an appellation that inspired Mr. Rogers many songs and poems. "1-4-3" - our Beloved Mr. Rogers Neighborhood In the week of "Go Stop Go" on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, the numbers on King Friday and Handyman Negri's helmets are 1-4-3. 1-4-3 was Fred Rogers’ numerical way of saying "I Love You". This concept was first demonstrated on the show "Transformations," #1696-1700, from 1996, in which Daniel Stripèd Tiger demonstrates this to his friends. Though this is the first time 1-4-3 had been explained, it had been used subtly in many episodes. On Mr. Rogers Neighborhood “Transformations", 1-4-3 is used to mean "I Love You". 1 meaning I for 1 letter, 4 meaning LOVE for the 4 letters, and 3 meaning YOU for the 3 letters. Reportedly, Fred, maintained his weight at exactly 143 pounds for the last thirty years of his life, and always associated the number, 1-4-3, with "I Love You". The show was in production from 02/19/68 to 02/20/76, and again from 08/27/79 to 08/31/01. The Pittsburg studio, where the series was taped, was renamed "The Fred Rogers Studio", in honor of Rogers himself. Fred Rogers 03/20/28 - 02/27/03, thank you for your legacy. CLICK HERE for the First Recorded Explanation of the Meaning of 1-4-3 on Mr. Rogers "1-4-3" - a New International Following in 2013 Henry Lau was born October 11, 1989. He is better known as Henry, a Canadian singer-songwriter, producer, dancer and actor working in Korean pop music. He attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston MA and received a Gold Medal from the Canadian Royal Conservatory of Music for his Level 10 violin performance. His areas of expertise lie in violin, piano, drum, guitar, popping, Latin dance, ballet and rap. He is a gifted prodigy. He is best known for being a member of "Super Junior-M". While Henry’s native language is English, he also speaks Mandarin, Korean, Cantonese, Japanese, Thai and French. Henry burst on to the scene in early June 2013 with the release of his debut mini-album "Trap". On August 21, 2013, he released the hit single “1-4-3". “1-4-3” by Henry "1-4-3" - our Goal with a Little Help from YOU Our fundamental desire with this site is to make "1-4-3" as recognizable throughout the world, as the symbols below, but we cannot accomplish this without YOU. Now is the time for change. We need some love, caring, understanding and civility in a world that has become overrun with chaos, hatred, abuse and self-importance. Only with your help, can we bring about this lofty goal - simply say, write, text, tweet or email someone once a day "1-4-3", or even "2-4-3" for WE LOVE YOU. CLICK HERE for "1-4-3" Fashions © Copyright 2003-2015 - All Rights Reserved - 1-4-3.com
msmarco_doc_00_335089
http://1-87vehicles.org/
1/87 Vehicle Club Home Page - Welcome!
1/87 Vehicle Club Home Page - Welcome! Photo Gallery 801 Photo Gallery 801 features this spectacular model of a Peterbilt 567 forward axle dump truck! Built by Brian Roy, this amazing model began as a Peterbilt 389. Check out the details and all the great companion models in our Photo Gallery 801! [posted 05/28/2021] 2021 Red River 1/87 Vehicle Club Meet & RPM Meet It appears we're finally going to be able to attend some modeling events and model railroad shows in the near future. The 1/87 Vehicle Club is collaborating with the Red River RPM Meet for a joint show on June 29, 2021 in Ft. Worth, Texas. This is the first RPM Meet in Ft. Worth and we're doing our best to help promote the meet. If you've never attended a RPM Meet, this is a golden opportunity to meet fellow vehicle modelers, like Ryan Harris whose P-I-E Kenworth is shown here, and also enjoy some outstanding work from model railroaders in the area. [posted 04/1/2021] May New Products Rapido has dropped a bombshell announcement that they will be producing a whole series of 1980s Chevrolet Impalas in multiple body styles with sedan, station wagon, taxi, and law enforcement versions. The first models replicate 1980-1985 model years. Also, Iconic Replicas has announced several new bus models under development but the one that caught our eye was the Eagle Model 10 shown here (prototype photo). We certainly hope Iconic Replicas does as good a reproduction on this model as their previous stellar efforts. Athearn has announced a new production run of their 53' CIMC domestic container in five paint schemes and complementary 53' chassis in six paint schemes. Check out further details in our May New Products. Who We Are, What We Do The 1/87 Vehicle Club was established to promote the construction, use, and manufacture of prototypically accurate scale vehicle and equipment models specifically in 1/87 (HO) scale. 1/87 scale is most commonly referred to as "HO" scale because this is the scale of HO gauge model trains, by far the most popular scale for railroad modeling. Our club assists in the exhibition, promotion, manufacturing, and production research of vehicles of all kinds in 1/87 (HO) scale. This web site and associated events are the place to meet and communicate with other people who are passionate about your hobby. Upcoming Events June 26, 2021 - 1/87 Vehicle Club Red River Meet Ft. Worth, TX June 26, 2021 - Red River RPM Meet Ft. Worth, TX July 30-31, 2021 - St. Louis RPM Meet Collinsville, IL November 13-14, 2021 - Trainfest Milwaukee, WI January 29-30, 2022 - Amherst Model Railroad Show W. Springfield, MA Marc Schmidt We were shocked and deeply saddened by the news this past week that our friend and German model collector Marc Schmidt had passed. We have collectively been trying to compose a suitable tribute but words have failed us. Marc was but 44 at the time of his passing. Marc was known to his many friends and industry contacts for his enthusiasm and dedication to the hobby. Marc was very instrumental in helping us gain traction in the early days of the 1/87th Vehicle Club website with his annual Toy Fair reports from Nuremberg and various model shows around Europe in the early 2000s. You may still read his reporting from the past monthly New Products pages from the era. Marc was also instrumental in founding the annual Fulda Meet that brought together modelers from all over Europe. We mourn the loss of not only a great resource but a dear friend to many in the 1/87 collector and modeler community. We extend our sincere condolences to his many friends in the modeling community and his family. He will be sorely missed by many! [posted 04/19/2021] Photo Gallery 800 Photo Gallery 800 features, as promised, a complete gallery of Kenworth T800 variant models. We wish to thank everyone who submitted photos for this gallery! It took a few weeks more than planned but we're very pleased to present these models. Our feature photo is a gorgeous Kenworth T800W truck tractor built by Brad Hassler using Dennis Aust resin components. Check out the details and all the great companion Kenworth T800 and variant models in our Photo Gallery 800! [posted 03/28/2021] Photo Gallery 799 Photo Gallery 799 features another phenomenal model from Paul Kittle. This handsome Kenworth W900 in the bicentennial paint scheme of 1976 began as an Athearn model. Check out the details and all the great companion models in our Photo Gallery 799! We are planning a special Photo Gallery 800 featuring all Kenworth T800 models! If you have any projects that include T800s of any spec, please send them to us. We'd anticipate posting in 1-2 weeks. We're looking forward to seeing what you folks have for us. We want to thank everyone who has responded with photos so far but please, send us photos of your modeling to keep our pipeline of galleries coming. We would request anyone who had sent us photos that have not appeared in a previous Photo Gallery to please resend to pho tos@1-87vehicles.org. We would like to take this opportunity to remind contributors that we desperately need details of your models and photos that are a minimum of 800 pixels wide (wider is much better!). [posted 02/16/2021] Photo Gallery 798 Photo Gallery 798 features the return of Ed Sweeney to our galleries and we'd like to give him a very warm welcome!!! Ed submitted this fleet of dump trucks featuring Autocar and Mack trucks. We are planning a special Photo Gallery 800 featuring all Kenworth T800 models! If you have any projects that include T800s of any spec, please send them to us. We'd anticipate posting in 2-3 weeks. We're looking forward to seeing what you folks have for us. We want to thank everyone who has responded with photos so far but please, send us photos of your modeling to keep our pipeline of galleries coming. We would request anyone who had sent us photos that have not appeared in a previous Photo Gallery to please resend to photos@1-87vehicles.org. We would like to take this opportunity to remind contributors that we desperately need details of your models and photos that are a minimum of 800 pixels wide (wider is much better!). Check out all of the great companion models in our Photo Gallery 798! [posted 02/16/2021] Check Out Classic Mint Collectibles Archive Web Site We continue to update the Classic Mint Collectibles web site as we uncover more photos, some never before published. This is another of the projects we've recently completed, an archival web site for Classic Mint Collectibles. In case you're a recent "convert" to 1/87 scale or have only recently discovered our web site, Classic Mint Collectibles produced some of the most exquisite museum quality brass models of HO scale Peterbilt trucks, Komatsu and John Deere mining and construction equipment, and Talbert lowboy and Heil pneumatic bulk trailers from 2003 through 2009. Having been involved in the research and development of these models we feel uniquely qualified to keep the brand at the forefront of any discussion regarding high quality models in 1/87 scale. We'll be adding to the site and doing all we can to keep the content fresh so please check it out. We hope you enjoy the site! [posted 08/02/2013] N Scale Vehicle Association Announces New River Point Station Ford Truck Models We invite you to check out the N Scale Vehicle Association's latest web site updates. The latest updates highlight the new River Point Station 1992 Ford F-250 pickups and F-350 service body trucks. These are outstanding models and adds sorely needed North American prototype variety to N scale layouts and collections! Check them out!
msmarco_doc_00_338929
http://1-888-ohiocomp.com/
Ohio Managed Care Organization | 1-888-OHIOCOMP
Ohio Managed Care Organization | 1-888-OHIOCOMP Toggle navigation 1-888-OhioComp is considered an essential contractor of the Ohio Bureau of Workers Compensation under Govenor DeWine's stay-at-home order. We continue to service our injured workers, employers, and all our customers through existing channels. Stay up to date on the coronavirus (COVID-19) by clicking Here At 1-888-OHIOCOMP, our workers' compensation experts provide quality care you can rely on and customer service you can trust to effectively handle your managed care needs. Return-to-work focus Aggressive medical case management Provider discounts Transitional work programs
msmarco_doc_00_346756
http://1-car-garage.coolhouseplans.com/
House Plans | Better Living by Good Design | Family Home Plans
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House Plans | Better Living by Good Design | Family Home Plans Enter a Plan Number or Search Phrase and press "Enter" or "ESC" to close SEARCH ALL PLANS My Account/Order History Customer Service Shopping Cart Saved Plans Collection Plan Comparison List Satisfaction Sign In Search Search All Plans Top Trending Plans Search House Plans Garage Plans Multi-Family Plans Backyard Project Plans Search Form Hot Styles Farmhouse Plans Craftsman Plans Modern Plans European Plans More Hot Styles Hot Links Plans Our Visitor's Love Best Selling Plans NEW House Plans Search Form Our Blog My FHP Saved Plans Collection Plan Comparison List House Plans Search House Plans Best Selling Plans New House Plans House Plans Search House Plans Best Selling Plans NEW House Plans House Plan Styles Home Plan Collections Plans Our Visitor's Love Exclusive House Plans Conceptual Designs Hot Styles Farmhouse Plans Craftsman Plans Modern Plans Country Plans European Plans French Country Bungalow Plans Ranch Plans Traditional Plans More Hot Styles Best Selling Plans Search All Best Selling Up to 999 Sq Ft 1000 to 1499 Sq Ft 1500 to 1999 Sq Ft 2000 to 2499 Sq Ft 2500 to 2999 Sq Ft 3000 to 3499 Sq Ft 3500 Sq Ft and Up New House Plans Search All New Plans Up to 999 Sq Ft 1000 to 1499 Sq Ft 1500 to 1999 Sq Ft 2000 to 2499 Sq Ft 2500 to 2999 Sq Ft 3000 to 3499 Sq Ft 3500 Sq Ft and Up 30+ Architectural Styles View All Plan Styles 30+ Architectural Styles Garage Plans Search Garage Plans Best Selling Plans New Garage Plans Garage Plans Search All Garage Plans Best Selling Garage Plans Newest Garage Plans 1 Car Garage Plans 2 Car Garage Plans 3 Car Garage Plans 4 Car Garage Plans 5 Car Garage Plans 6 Car Garage Plans Collections Barn Style Garage Plans Carport Plans Garage Apartment Plans Garages with Boat Storage Garages with Bonus Room Garages with Carport Garages with Dog Kennel Garages with Lap Pool Garages with Loft Garages with Office Space Garages with Storage Garages with Workshop RV Garage Plans Hot Garage Styles Craftsman Garage Plans Modern Garage Plans Country Garage Plans European Garage Plans French Country Garage Plans Bungalow Garage Plans Ranch Garage Plans Multi-Family Search Multi-Family NEW Multi-Family Duplex Plans (2 Units) 3 Unit Triplex 4 Unit Quadplex 6 Unit Multiplex 8 Unit Multiplex Homes with In-Law Suites welcome to familyhomeplans Plan 56705 welcome to familyhomeplans Quick Search Heated Sq Ft to Bedrooms Min 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 to Max 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Bathrooms All 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 All ½ bath Stories All One Story Two Stories Three Stories Split Level Raised Ranch -- Include All Plans -- Garage Bays All One Car Two Car Three Car or more No Garage -- Include All Plans -- Search House Plans Search We offer more than 30,000 house plans and architectural designs that could effectively capture your depiction of the perfect home. Moreover, these plans are readily available on our website, making it easier for you to find an ideal, builder-ready design for your future residence. Featured Plan: 51981 Best Selling Designs When choosing a house plan, we need to consider the needs of our family along with the re-sale value of the new house. There's nothing like a best-seller list to help you narrow down the most popular floor plans quickly. Browse our collection of Best-Selling Home Plans for new construction. New House Plans If you're looking for a unique floor plan with all of today's favorite real estate features, be sure to bookmark this page! Consider the benefits of a new design when you are building a home: new house plans are sure to include all of your wish-list items. We add brand new house plan designs to this collection every week. Garage Plans Search Apart from providing enough storage for your car, you can customize your garage to include a fully functional office space or workshop. You could even add an extra story to create a flexible dwelling with enough space to park your car underneath and the upper section serving as an extra room for your guests. Low Price Guarantee If you find the exact same plan featured on a competitor's web site at a lower price (advertised OR special promotion price), we will beat the competitor's price by 5% of the total, not just 5% of the difference! Our guarantee extends up to 4 weeks after your purchase, so you know you can buy now with confidence. Call us now! 800-482-0464 Farmhouse Plans Modern Farmhouse style houses have been around for decades, mostly in rural areas. However, due to their growing popularity, farmhouses are now more common even within city limits. They�re typically two-stories and have a wrap-around porch, family gathering areas, a cluster of bedrooms on the upper level, formal front rooms and a country kitchen. 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msmarco_doc_00_347572
http://1-glucosamine-source.com/osteo-bi-flex-cream.html
Osteo Bi-Flex Cream
Osteo Bi-Flex Cream Osteo Bi-Flex Cream Item # 91-02294 * Shipping Rates 3 Pain Relieving Ingredients in One Cream Formula from America's #1 Choice for Healthy Joints Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream, with Exclusive, Patented Liposome Technology. Benefits of Chosing Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Crea is strong medicine with 3 pain relieving ingredients. In fact, no other leading brand contains more of these 3 pain relieving ingredients. It warms as it penetrates deep to provide hours of soothing relief from minor aches and pains in joints associated with arthritis. Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream can also be used for the temporary relief of muscle aches and strains. The formula is greaseless, so you don't havee to worry about staining your clothing. Indication: Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream is indicated for the temporary relief of minor aches and pains of muscles and joints associated with arthritis. It combines three pain relieving ingredients formulated with modern Lipoceutical delivery system to provide hours of relief. Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream provides penetrating pain relief for strained muscles and joints. Directions: Adults and children 2 years of age and older: Apply to affected area not more than 3 to 4 times daily. Children under 2 years of age: Consult a physician. Active Ingredients: Methyl Salicylate 30%, Menthol 12%, Camphor 6% Inactive Ingredients: Aloe, Carbomer, Hydrogenated Lecithin, Polysorbate 20, Purified Water, Sorbitan Oleate, Triethanolamine Warnings: Use only as directed. For external use only. Avoid contact with eyes. Do not apply to wounds or damaged skin. If condition worsens, or if symptoms persist for more than 7 days, or clear up and occur again within a few days, or with arthritis-like conditions in children under 12, discontinue use of this product and consult a physician. Discontinue use if excessive irritation of the skin develops. Do not bandage tightly. Do not use with heating pad. Keep out of reach of children to avoid accidental poisoning. In case of accidental ingestion, seek professional assistance or contact a Poison Control Center immediately. Notes: Osteo Bi-Flex Arthritis Pain Relieving Cream is a topical analgesic drug. It is not a dietary supplement and does not contain the dietary ingredients glucosamine or chondroitin. Lipoceutical is the registered trademark of Biozone Laboratories, Inc. Manufactured using Liposome Technology, US Patent No 4,937,078 These statements have not been evaluated by the Food & Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease. * Shipping Rates Osteo Bi-Flex Cream Item # 91-02294 Customer Comment - "This is the only place that I will order my glucosamine from...simply because they are the best place!" Glucosamine Source Atlanta Georgia 30363 ©2001-2013 Glucosamine Source, Inc All Rights Reserved
msmarco_doc_00_357208
http://1-happycamper.com/about.php
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msmarco_doc_00_360415
http://1-million-dollar-blog.com/average-monthly-salary-for-72-countries-in-the-world/
Average Monthly Salary for 72 Countries in the World - 1-million-dollar-blog Average Monthly Salary for 72 Countries in the World. Malaysian received USD961 per month & was at ranked 46 out of 72 countries. ≡ Menu Home Calculators Dividends Widgets Contact Home» Average Monthly Salary for 72 Countries in the World Average Monthly Salary for 72 Countries in the World April 17, 2012 32comments Statistics Employment, Malaysia Recently, United Nations’ International Labour Organization (ILO) published the average monthly salary or wage for the whole world & the average for 72 countries. For the whole world, the average is USD1,480 per month. The figures are published for the first time. It’s a rough figure based on data from 72 countries, omitting some of the world’s poorest nations. In addition, all figures are adjusted to reflect variations in the cost of living from one country to another. To make comparisons in living standards across countries, economists use specially adjusted exchange rates. The figures in this calculation are given in Purchasing Power Parity (PPP) dollars. One PPP dollar is equal to 1 US dollar spent in the US. But a US dollar goes further in some countries than in others. The limitations of the data are. The data (for 2009) covers 72 countries, and misses out some big ones, Nigeria, for example. Only wage earners are counted – not the self-employed or people on benefits. In some countries, the data is incomplete – in South Africa, for example; it leaves out public sector workers and agricultural workers, while in Uganda, it covers only the manufacturing sector. To see gross versus net salaries in any country you need to use a local salary calculator like this one from Industry Super Australia. The table below is the rank of average monthly salary or wage in the world. Malaysia was at number 45 out of 72 countries with average monthly salary of USD961 per month. Rank Country Average Wage (USD) 1 Luxembourg 4,089 2 Norway 3,678 3 Austria 3,437 4 United States 3,263 5 United Kingdom 3,065 6 Belgium 3,035 7 Sweden 3,023 8 Ireland 2,997 9 Finland 2,925 10 Korea (Republic of) 2,903 11 France 2,886 12 Canada 2,724 13 Germany 2,720 14 Singapore 2,616 15 Australia 2,610 16 Cyprus 2,605 17 Japan 2,522 18 Italy 2,445 19 Iceland 2,431 20 Spain 2,352 21 Greece 2,300 22 New Zealand 2,283 23 South Africa 1,838 24 Malta 1,808 25 Israel 1,804 26 Czech Republic 1,786 27 Croatia 1,756 28 Turkey 1,731 29 Qatar 1,690 30 Hong Kong (China) 1,545 31 Poland 1,536 32 Slovakia 1,385 33 Hungary 1,374 34 Macedonia 1,345 35 Bosnia & Herzegovina 1,338 36 Estonia 1,267 37 Russian Federation 1,215 38 Jamaica 1,135 39 Lithuania 1,109 40 Argentina 1,108 41 Latvia 1,098 42 Serbia 1,058 43 Chile 1,021 44 Botswana 996 45 Malaysia 961 46 Belarus 959 47 Romania 954 48 Bahrain 917 49 Panama 831 50 Mauritius 783 51 Brazil 778 52 Macau (China) 758 53 Kazakhstan 753 54 Bulgaria 750 55 Colombia 692 56 Ukraine 686 57 China 656 58 Mexico 609 59 Georgia 603 60 Azerbaijan 596 61 Egypt 548 62 Thailand 489 63 Armenia 471 64 Dominican Republic 462 65 Moldova (Republic of) 438 66 Mongolia 415 67 Syrian Arab Republic 364 68 Kyrgyzstan Republic 336 69 India 295 70 Philippines 279 71 Pakistan 255 72 Tajikistan 227 Do you earn more or less than the world’s or Malaysia average salary/wage? No related posts. 32comments… add one SaidLinkMarch 25, 2013, 2:31 am Oh!! This Article is full of mistakes, Huge ones in fact. In Egypt the average wage is far far lower than 548 usd/month .The same thing is for Hungary and I doubt also about many mentioned countries above. Reply 1mdb.comLinkMarch 25, 2013, 2:35 pm Do you have fact to support your claim? Reply SaidLinkAugust 2, 2013, 1:17 pm Facts!? DO you live on the planet Earth 2013 ?.The averrage wage in Qatar that you list number 29 for example is 8000 EUR (not USD!), which no doubt surprises you.Is this an amateur articl? student in first year economics? Reply 1mdb.comLinkAugust 2, 2013, 5:58 pm This data is base on research done by United Nations’ International Labour Organization and this is base on 2009 data. You can say anything but without fact or extensive research, it is useless. Reply FaresLinkAugust 2, 2013, 6:56 am totally agree. The numbers are wrong. Average salary in czech is no more than $1100 Reply 1mdb.comLinkAugust 2, 2013, 6:02 pm How sure are you? where is your fact or research report to support your claim. Reply FilipotLinkSeptember 4, 2013, 8:18 pm http://www.praha.czso.cz/csu/2009edicniplan.nsf/engkapitola/0001-09-2009-1000-> Czech statistical office for example claims the average gross wages to be 24 604 CZK which was according to the National Bank of Czech Rep. (http://www.praha.czso.cz/csu/2009edicniplan.nsf/engkapitola/0001-09-2009-1000) ~1385 USD .. Here’s your research 😉 Reply 1mdb.comLinkSeptember 4, 2013, 8:47 pm I appreciate that you write with supporting research report but does it corrected to PPP? NadiaLinkMarch 25, 2013, 11:54 pm Why are so many countries whose wages are somewhere in the middle there not seen? Are you only intending to show the biggest or most famous? Portugal for instance has a medium wage around 770 euros so it should be there! Reply danLinkMarch 31, 2013, 11:35 am This may be right in nominal terms, but extremely misleading. If you adjust for PPP, it should be Singapore, Hong Kong, US, Luxembourg and the Swiss. I’ve known some Swedes and Norwegians, they said prices seem 2-3X cheaper here. If PPP is not meant to be in this graph, then fine, but there should be a disclaimer. Reply A.LinkApril 5, 2013, 1:24 pm @dan I understand Hong Kong’s PPP GDP per capita is quite impressive but this is “wage PPP”. Many people are confused with Wage PPP and GDP per capita PPP when they are so different one another. I think Singapore’s wage PPP should be higher than that but Hong Kong’s wage has been not very high in comparison with its GDP per capita level. High GDP per capita does not necessarily mean high wage. Wage is high when there is an ongoing inflation but Hong Kong recently experienced ongoing deflation as far as I know according to IMF statistics. By the way, it is actually in PPP term and I carefully examined the data on ILO website. Reply FilipLinkAugust 6, 2013, 7:38 am Slovakia – 1385 USD / month? Hardly ever… Oficial average is about 900 – 950 USD / month, but most of people earn about 500 – 600 USD / month. Who has the average of about 700 EURO is lucky man. Of course, managers, politicians and CEOs earn thousands of dollars a month, but most of people are hand-workers with about 300 – 350 EUR / month. Most of people work in the car industry. (source: Slovakian) Reply KarlenLinkAugust 20, 2013, 6:26 am There is no way salaries in Georgia are higher than in Azerbaijan or Armenia, since the % of population living below 2$ a day in Georgia is considerably higher than in Azerbaijan or Armenia (according to World Bank) Reply sijorajLinkAugust 23, 2013, 1:49 pm this is not true…average monthly salary of india is around 15000 ruppes.(300 dollars)…!!!!!!!..its only 100 dollars.. Reply GauravLinkMarch 3, 2014, 7:52 pm I agree with you. I India avg monthly income approx 5500 rs around 100-110 $ Reply ClaudiaLinkOctober 8, 2013, 8:28 am I totally agree with the first three places, but the 4th United States? I believe that those 9 million Swedish live better that most of US citizens. After living in Scandinavia, placing Finland, Sweden and Denmark under US it is just non sense for me. BUT if it is an average, then that 1% of billioners in the US “helped” to place this country in 4th place. Not fare knowing the non equal society and not to mention their huge economical bankruptcy. Reply MariLinkJanuary 16, 2014, 11:29 am I agree with your ” I believe that those 9 million Swedish live better that most of US citizens.”. However, the data seems like after taxation and it quite makes sense to me. Scandinavians are with higher gross income than the U.S. but the U.S. citizens get more net earning. Hope this article help you to understand a little: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_in_Europe_by_monthly_average_wage Reply GgLinkOctober 8, 2013, 9:45 pm Lithuania, it is 3 times less. It is nonsense your article. Reply arasLinkApril 28, 2014, 2:32 am minimum wage is 3 times lower, but this is about average wage and average wage in Lithuania is just about it. Reply Goran colicLinkDecember 25, 2013, 5:45 am This is totaly made up data. I live in Croatia,and i am a economist by proffesion. It has never been an average pay 1756 dollars… Please dont post totaly made up data Use wikipedia which is much better http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_in_Europe_by_monthly_average_wage Reply JassLinkApril 7, 2014, 4:10 am This is a Joke a big one …………….. salery in Slovakia is for worker whom work on post office about 400 EURO soooooooooo this is big Joke Reply ionut.mLinkApril 22, 2014, 6:45 pm Romania’s average salary is like $350+ Reply RomanLinkJune 21, 2014, 4:29 pm Maybe in cities like Bucharest and Timisoara, but as for the rest of the country it is more like $250 /month. Reply MartinLinkApril 26, 2014, 7:19 am Are you kidding me? Average salary in the Czech Republic is around 600 dollars!!! Not 1700!! I think that 1000 dollars per month is dream of 70% Czech population and believe it or not, some people earn only around 500 dollars and they must live with it for another one month (living, food, transportation etc.) Source: I am native Czech / 58 years!! Reply AliLinkJuly 20, 2014, 10:49 am Something is wrong with the figures. The average in Turkey should be 1000 usd. Malaysia and Turkey should be nearly the same. Reply TamaraLinkSeptember 2, 2014, 9:07 pm Average wage is a little complicated thing, because there can be 10 people with 100 dolar monthly wage, and only one who gets 10000 dollar per month, in this case average wage is 1000 dollar. Maybe in your country are people who get more wage than you know. ://///// There is one problem so is not the same as . Reply KadirLinkNovember 11, 2014, 5:46 am I think the average Turkish salary somewhere a little lower than the research. Maybe around 1350 USD.. It is just an opinion without any supporting research… Reply louiseLinkJanuary 25, 2015, 3:47 am Your figures are totally off the wall, i’m a British expat and i can tell you now that currently,and having been like this since we entered the euro and even before the average wage,it has never been what your suggesting. The average wage is 800 euro per month ‘roughly $900 per month, the amount your suggesting would amount to say 20% of the working population of Cyprus. You really need to make sure your facts are correct, also i can state there are a lot of Romanian immigrants here in Cyprus and the reason they are here is due to low earnings in their homeland,so they come here to send back money to familes in Romania to live off,they actually earn less than the average of 800 euro, they earn around 500-600 per month. In Romania i’ve been told they earn roughly 250-300 euro per month. Where did you get your data from !?!? Reply 1mdb.comLinkJanuary 25, 2015, 7:08 am Can you read it properly? In the first paragraph, I clearly state that the data were coming from United Nations’ International Labour Organization (ILO), a very credible organization. Further down, I state that the data was from year 2009 with PPP adjustment. Are you sure your data is correct? Where you get your data? Which year? Any PPP adjustment? Reply Don DiegoLinkMay 1, 2015, 6:15 am You must understand PPP conversion. this is an approximate explanation but a better one can be found online. Countries with very low salaries sometimes have very low costs of services and products, so living is less expensive. This means that their PPP will adjust up their actual wages based on purchasing power in their location to SEEM like they make more money. This is because 1,000 USD in USA will purchase 1,000 worth of goods (on average). However, 1,000 USD in Turkey may purchase $1,500 or $2,000+ worth of goods due to PPP. This is not the amount people get paid, it is the purchasing power of the money they make adjusted to the market they live in and then shown in approximate USD. This is an estimated value and it is very hard to compute because an apple iPhone may cost much more in turkey, but food, rent, haircut and other daily services may be much lower. Parking for 1 hour in New York is $30.00 USD. Parking in turkey may be free. So a dollar in Turkey is worth more than it is in NY. Reply Paulo AdrianoLinkJuly 7, 2015, 6:50 am The medium salary in Brazil, by up, is around US$ 654 Reply T-boneLinkJuly 27, 2016, 11:46 pm I think that all of these people complaining that the chart is incorrect do not understand what “average” means. There are a LOT of people in these countries that make MILLIONS of dollars and when you take the “AVERAGE” them AND the folks making “2 dollars a day” (or whatever the example may be), You get the average number you see listed. Reply Leave a Comment Name * Email * Website Comment Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. 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http://1.droppdf.com/files/UkwzK/the-rabbit-who-wants-to-fall-asleep-carl-johan-forssen-ehrlin.pdf
Copyright © Carl-Johan ISBN: 978-91-86749-06-4 Published by Ehrlin Förlag Author: Carl-Johan Forssén Illustrations: Irina Maununen Copyright © Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin, Ehrlin Förlag 2013 ISBN: 978-91-86749-06-4 Published by Ehrlin Förlag Author: Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin Illustrations: Irina Maununen Design: Linda Ehrlin Instructions to the reader Warning! Never read this book out loud close to someone driving any type of vehicle. The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep is intended to help children fall asleep more easily at home, in school or in a preschool. For best results the child should use up excess energy before listening to the story. Sometimes the child needs to hear the story a few times before he or she can relax completely and feel comfortable. Take your time to read this book and use your best fairytale voice, also make sure you are not disturbed while reading. By following these simple guidelines, you will create the best environment for the child to relax, feel calm and fall asleep. The content in this book is based on powerful psychological techniques for relaxation and it is recommended to read the story from the beginning to the end, even if the child falls asleep before you have finished reading. It is best if the child is lying down while listening, instead of looking at the pictures, so that he or she can relax even more. Feel free to read the story in a normal manner to get used to the text, before using the reading instructions recommended below, then use the different techniques and see how the child responds. • Bold text means you should emphasize that word or sentence. • Italic text means you should read the word or sentence with a slow and calm voice. • In some parts of the book you are asked to yawn or give a physical action. These parts are marked as [action] or [name], where you read the child's name. • The name of the rabbit, Roger, can be read as Rooo geeer with two yawns. This book contains specially constructed sentences and choices of words. Some can appear a bit unusual in the text, they are intended to be that way since they have a psychological purpose. If you find it difficult to read the story as recommended, The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep is also available as an audio book. This may be more beneficial for the child and you can also enjoy listening to this book together, while the child falls asleep and perhaps even you, if you desire to do so. Be well and sleep well! Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin Disclairner: Even if this book is harmless to use, the author and the publisher takes no responsibility for the outcome. I am going to tell you a story that can make you feel very sleepy, now some people can fall asleep straight away whilst others wait a little while until you drift off to dreamland, [yawn] [name], I'm wondering just when will be the best time for you to go to sleep now, or before the story ends... Once upon a time, there was a little rabbit called Roger who really wanted to fall asleep, and could not, right now. Roger The Rabbit was just your age. Not older, not younger, exactly as old as you are [name]. He enjoyed doing all the things you like doing, to play and have fun. He would rather stay up and play all evening instead of sleeping, now. All of his siblings easily fell asleep every evening when Mommy Rabbit tucked them into bed, but not Roger The Rabbit. He was just lying there thinking of all of the other things he wanted to do instead of going to sleep, now. How he could be outside, playing on the grass, and just run around, until he got so tired, so tired that he could not run around anymore. Roger could play in the park all day long until he fell asleep on the swings. Now. It allows him to swing back and forward, back and forward, slowly and relaxing. The Rabbit began feeling even more tired when he thought about all the games he would play and how tired that would make him now, before his mommy would say, Hush Roger and sleep, now. All the sounds he could hear made him and you [name] even more and more tired. He was about to fall asleep, he did not know how soon. Now. How close to sleeping he really is. How the picture of him and you sleeping, becomes clearer and closer with every breath, now. This very night Roger's siblings fell asleep quicker than usual, whilst he was lying there thinking about falling asleep, now. He was lying there thinking about all the things that can make him tired now, all those things that usually would make him tired and sleepy, so tired and sleepy. All the playing, all the sleeping and all the other things that would cause him and you to be tired, right now. These things did not help Roger The Rabbit, so he decided to do something about it. Daddy Rabbit was sleeping, but Mommy Rabbit was still awake, so Roger went to talk to her. She suggested that he and you should take all the thoughts that are lingering in your head and put them in a box by the bed. – Tomorrow when you wake up you will have the answers to all your thoughts and you will be filled with energy, but now, you will fall asleep, said Mommy Rabbit with certainty in her voice. – Sometimes it takes a little longer, but you will always receive an answer to the thoughts you put in your box, said Mommy Rabbit. Roger and you are doing this, now. It feels very relaxing and peaceful to be free in your mind and be ready to fall asleep. Afterwards she suggested they would go together with you to see Uncle Yawn, who was the world's kindest wizard and who lived just on the other side of the meadow. – This will, with all certainty, help you both to fall asleep, said Mommy Rabbit. Said and done, you went to see Uncle Yawn, who would help you fall asleep, now. On their way through the door Roger The Rabbit thought of all the times Uncle Yawn had helped him before. He had made Roger and you fall asleep using his magic spells and magic sleeping powder, so many times before, and this would happen even now. Since Roger was certain that he would fall asleep, he told you [name] it is ok to fall asleep now, before the story ends. Because he knows that it has a happy ending and that you will both fall asleep. Well on their way, Roger and you were getting even closer to falling asleep. You followed the little path down, down to Uncle Yawn. The path down that he knew so well. He had walked there many times before. Just walked down, down and down... That's right... Good. When Roger The Rabbit and Mommy Rabbit had walked for a while, they met the kind Sleepy Snail with his house on his back. – Where are you off to now? asked Sleepy Snail curiously. – I am going down to visit Uncle Yawn, said Roger The Rabbit, because he will help me fall asleep now. How do you, make yourself fall asleep? asked the Roger. After a pause with relaxation the kind Sleepy Snail said that the secret is to calm down and to do everything in a more slowly manner. Walk slowly, so slowly. Move slowly, so slowly. Think slowly, breathe slowly and calm, slow and calm, just slow down now. – It always works for me, said Sleepy Snail. – Thank you, I will try that, said Roger The Rabbit. The kind Sleepy Snail said to you [name], you will fall asleep to this story, so you can easily. Now. Allow yourself to fall asleep. Roger left Sleepy Snail and continued to walk into sleep. – The thing about lowering your tempo, as Sleepy Snail told us to do, seems like a good idea, Roger said. He started to walk slower and slower and took smaller steps. At the same time he started to breathe deeper and slower, he felt even more tired and felt how relaxing it is when things go slower. Roger got more tired and the more he relaxed and calmed down, the more tired he and you became now, and the more tired and the more he relaxed, the more tired he and you became, now [yawn]. That's right. Roger and Mommy Rabbit continued slowly on the little path down to Uncle Yawn on the other side of the meadow. After a while they met the beautiful and wise Heavy- Eyed Owl. She sat on a small branch next to the path that led down to Uncle Yawn. – Hello Heavy-Eyed Owl. Since you're a wise owl I would like to get help to sleep now, can you help me? said Roger. – Of course I can help you to fall asleep now, answered the wise Heavy-Eyed Owl. You don't even need to hear me finish talking, you can already see yourself fall asleep. You feel calm and relaxed and can do as I tell you. Now. Fall asleep. It's all about being able to relax. Now, lay down. In a little while, I want you to relax in different parts of your body. It's important that you do as I tell you and just relax, she said. Since Heavy-Eyed Owl is wise, I will do what she tells me to, thought Roger. Relax your feet [name]. Roger and you do as Heavy- Eyed Owl tells you and now you relax your feet. Relax your legs [name]. Roger and you do so, now. Relax your entire upper body [name]. Roger and you do so, now. Relax your arms [name]. Allow them to be heavy as stones. The Rabbit and you do so, now. You are relaxing your head and allowing your eyelids to be heavier [name], just letting them relax. Roger and you are relaxing deeply. Now. You are letting your eyelids be as heavy as they are, just before you fall asleep, now. Then Heavy-Eyed Owl said: – Let your whole body be heavy. So heavy that it feels like it falls down into the ground. Fall down, down, down. Just like a leaf, that falls down slowly down, down, down, slowly down from a tree, follows the wind and just let it make you fall down, slowly down to the ground. Slowly down, down, down. Now. Your eyelids are so heavy. – This was good, said Roger now feeling how tired he had become. Very tired. Now. So tired that you almost fall asleep [yawn] just as calm as it feels just before you fall asleep, now. Roger The Rabbit had decided to go down to Uncle Yawn, so he continued to go down, even though he was very tired, now. Roger thought about what Sleepy Snail taught you, to walk slowly and be calm to become even more tired. Roger noticed how tired he was and all he wanted to do was lay down and fall asleep. But I can't lay down here, now, and sleep, Roger The Rabbit thought. Besides, I have promised Mommy Rabbit that we will go down to Uncle Yawn and fall asleep, now. After walking for a while, they reached Uncle Yawn's garden. Outside the house there was a big sign that said "I can make anyone fall asleep". Yes, that's true, you now thought. I feel even more tired already. Now. He has made me sleepier with his spells, you thought. When they reached the door, there was a little sign, it said "Knock on the door when you, now, are ready to fall asleep". Roger felt tired and decided that you are ready to fall asleep, now. He knocked on the door. Uncle Yawn opened the door and was happy to see you, Roger and Mommy Rabbit. – Welcome my friend, said Uncle Yawn. Apparently, you would like some help to fall asleep now. – Yes, answered Roger [yawn], I would like us to fall asleep, now. Both me and you [name]. Uncle Yawn took out his big, thick book, that contained a lot of spells which can make both rabbits and humans fall asleep, be happy, be kind, be loved and feel that they are good enough just as they are. Just like you can, are, and can be right now, said Uncle Yawn. He also took out his powerful, magical and invisible sleeping powder that makes rabbits and children fall asleep when it is sprinkled over them. – When I now cast this spell and sprinkle the invisible sleeping powder over you, it is important that you will walk straight home and go to bed immediately. Now. You will fall asleep already on your way back or in bed. This spell and sleeping powder is powerful and always works and you will fall asleep quickly, now. – Finally, I can fall asleep and sleep well all night, said Roger with certainty. – Okay, I will now read to you, said Uncle Yawn and started to read the powerful spell that would make Roger and you fall asleep, now. [While you count, symbolically sprinkle the invisible sleeping powder over and around the child.] Three... Two... One... sleepy now, sleepy now, I am sleeping now... – Now it is best that you leave, said Uncle Yawn, because you can fall asleep very soon! Your eyelids will become heavier and heavier and you will get more and more tired with every breath you take on your way home and you will realize how easy it is to just let go and fall into sleep. You will also fall asleep faster and sleep better every night in the future. Fall asleep better every night, said Uncle Yawn to you. It doesn't matter if your eyes are open or, now, closed. It will only make you twice as tired. Both of you now yawned [yawn], thanked politely and walked home with Mommy Rabbit. He thought to himself, how will I be able to walk all the way home without falling asleep? I am so tired and want to go to sleep now [yawn], so tired I wish I was in bed now, listening whilst the sounds around me whisper sleep now. All the sounds slowly drift away. Now. When you fall asleep, Roger said. They started walking step by step, your legs got heavier and heavier. So tired, so tired, just like Uncle Yawn had told you, tired you become now, tired you become, now. After a while, they met the beautiful and wise Heavy- Eyed Owl again. Heavy-Eyed Owl told Roger The Rabbit, I can see that you are tired [name] and that both of you are very close to falling asleep, now. Roger was very tired and slowly nodded his head, said yes, and felt how right Heavy-Eyed Owl was. I am well on my way to falling asleep now, you thought. – Goodnight, says the wise Heavy–Eyed Owl, now, shutting your eyes and yawning yourself to sleep [yawn]. Roger The Rabbit continued home to his bed. Now. More and more tired with every step. He was longing for his warm comfortable bed and to be able to sleep there just as comfortably as you are doing right now, sleeping comfortably, now. The more Roger thinks about his bed, the more tired he becomes now and the more tired he is, the more he longs for his bed back home which makes him and you twice as tired. Now. You can fall asleep anytime. After a little while, they met the kind Sleepy Snail again, with his house on his back. Sleepy Snail had hardly gotten anywhere since last time they met. He is very slow, thought Roger, so he must fall asleep easily now. Sleepy Snail was sleeping, and barely noticed when Roger The Rabbit passed him. – You will also fall asleep soon, won't you? said Sleepy Snail. — Yes, I am so tired, all I want to do is, shut my eyes, now. I can see myself falling asleep, Roger answered to Sleepy Snail. Now. Continue to go deeper into sleep and also allow yourself to close your eyes again and fall asleep [yawn] Roger The Rabbit was now so tired he could barely lift his feet anymore, so tired, so tired. But still Roger and you [name] continued home and even deeper in to sleep, now. With every breath I am becoming more and more tired, said Roger to himself. More and more tired. Soon I am at home, so tired you cannot keep your eyes open anymore. With every breath the eyes get heavier and heavier and shutting them now [yawn]. The eyelids are heavy as stones, heavy, heavy, so heavy. Roger The Rabbit saw his home. Finally, thought the tired rabbit, who is twice as tired. Now. We will both fall asleep and sleep well all night [name]. Roger arrived at the door and was so tired that he could not open it. This is how tired we are now, thought Roger and yawned [yawn]. Once inside he saw his siblings and Daddy Rabbit lying in their beds sleeping well. Roger walked slowly to his bed to sleep. Now. So tired, so tired [yawn]. Once in bed he thought about what Uncle Yawn had said, tomorrow you will both fall asleep even faster and sleep even better, as you do now. Mommy Rabbit tucked him in gently and said goodnight to you [name], who is very tired now [yawn]. – Yes, tomorrow you will fall asleep even faster, what a relief, said Roger to you and again closing your eyes to sleep well. Now when Roger has fallen asleep, it is your time to sleep as well as he is doing right now. Since Roger The Rabbit can fall asleep, so can you, now. Goodnight About the book and the author You have read the book The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep. The book is the first one in a planned series of children's books. Its intention is to help them sleep well, understand their own value and be prepared to overcome obstacles in their lives. My goal with this book is to help all parents out there who are struggling with getting their children to sleep at night or at nap during the day. I want this book to help children relax and fall asleep faster every time they hear the story. – Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin The author of this book is Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin. He has studied psychology at Swedish universities and is a NLP Master Practitioner. He works as a writer, coach, public speaker and educator in personal development, mental training and leadership. Read more about the author and Ehrlin Publisher at www.ehrlinforlag.com/english Contact the publisher at info@ehrlinforlag.com Like The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep on Facebook to get tips from the author and share your good experience with others. Thanks to all of you who shared your knowledge and time to make this book a reality: Eva Hyllstam, Matt Hudson, Nadja Maununen, Irina Maununen, Lisa Sjöberg, Matina Rendahl, Siv Duvling, Kevin Shearman and my wife Linda Ehrlin. The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep This is an innovative and groundbreaking type of bedtime story that uses sophisticated psychological techniques. These are formed in a way to help the child relax, fall asleep faster and sleep calmer every night. The tale gives suggestions to the child's unconscious mind to sleep. The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep works perfectly either at naps during daytime or home at night. In this book you will follow Roger The Rabbit. He is tired and cannot fall asleep so Roger and Mommy Rabbit go to Uncle Yawn to get help. On their way they meet the kind Sleepy Snail and the wise Heavy-Eyed Owl who give him good advice on how to fall asleep faster. Even though he feels more tired they continue. Uncle Yawn sprinkles a magical sleeping powder over Roger The Rabbit. He becomes even more tired and barely gets home before he falls asleep and sleeps well in his bed all night. Use the story about The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep when exciting things are happening, or when something temporarily makes it difficult to for your child to fall asleep. – Mikael Odhage, Psychologist Have you ever struggled to help your child get to sleep and wished that you had a magical spell? Carl-Johan's enchanting book will soon have your young ones dreaming. – Matt Hudson, Author and psychotherapist The best part of the book is that you don't have to remind the children that they should lay down to sleep, because it's already in the book and I only have to read the story to them. The Rabbit who wants to fall asleep was also very enjoyable to read and filled its purpose very well. – Veronica Rydén, Preschool teacher This beautifully illustrated and charming book was recommended to us by a friend and quickly proved to be a very effective way of helping our child to sleep. – Christian Henwood, Marketing manager Title The Rabbit Who Wants To Fall Asleep Author Carl-Johan Forssén Ehrlin Created Date 8/18/2015 3:27:31 AM
msmarco_doc_00_376342
http://1.droppdf.com/files/n9eje/a-tree-grows-in-brooklyn-betty-smith.pdf
A tree grows in Brooklyn A Tree Grows in Brooklyn Betty Smith There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn . Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly ... survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it. AUTHOR'S NOTE BOOK ONE I II III IV V VI BOOK TWO VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV BOOK THREE XV XIX XX XXIV XXV XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVII AUTHOR'S NOTE AN OBSCURE PERSON WHO BECOMES A PUBLIC FIGURE overnight sometimes has minor legends grow up about his unknown years. It has been so with me. It is told that I had an eerie habit of walking through the dark village streets each night at midnight in the company of a big, black, spooky dog. It is said I worked up inspiration that way to write A Tree Grows in Brooklyn . I did walk through the village each midnight with a black dog. But I was only going to the post office to see if I had a letter in the last mail. The dog, a gentle Labrador retriever, was a friend who nightly waited for me at the corner because he enjoyed a companionable walk to town. I was lonesome in that time before I had a book published. Like Thomas Wolfe, who as an undergraduate here hung around this same Chapel Hill post office wishing he'd get some mail, I, too, went down to watch them put up the midnight mail hoping someone had written to me. There were seldom any letters-only bills. I don't take that walk any more because now, any time of the day, Box 405 is filled with letters from people who have read my book. The letters come in from the cities, towns, villages, and rural districts of America . They used to come from foxholes, battleships, hospitals, recreational centers, and from training camps. They still come from the zones of occupation. One came from a notorious gangster's death cell saying that my book was the last he was destined to read in this world. One came from a woman who had just given birth to a child; she wrote she was very poor but her newborn would not lack wealth of tenderness and understanding if she could help it. Most letters begin: "This is my first fan letter. I've just read your book and I must tell you …" They tell me: "I was a girl like Francie Nolan." Or: "My family had the same kind of struggle. My mother was like Katie." Or: "I've never lived in Brooklyn but someone must have told you the story of my life because that's what you wrote." And even: "I'm boiling mad. You wrote my book before I had a chance to get round to it." I shouldn't, really, answer all the letters. It takes the time I should be putting in on the next book. But I remember how once as a child I read a book which appealed to me deeply and I wrote my heart out in a letter to the famous author. He never answered. I was hurt and ashamed that my heart had been rejected. I vowed then to try to write a better book than he when I grew up and to answer any letters I got about it. So I answer each letter if only to say: "Thanks!" Sometimes it gets to be a chore and I want to give it up but then I worry that I may hurt someone the way this long-ago author did me. So I keep on answering the letters. My book wasn't dedicated to anyone because I couldn't decide which person was most helpful to me in the writing of it. I thought of the mother who gave me life. I owe a lot to her-and to my sister and brother who made my childhood a magical time. I am grateful to my children whose baby years made a life of pleasant contentment for me. There is something owing to a beloved friend and to an understanding husband; there is a debt to a loved teacher. The grocer who gave me affectionate credit during the lean writing years cannot be forgotten, nor the veterinarian who set my dog's broken leg and brushed aside my promise to "pay sometime," with a gallant, "Oh, forget it!" I am indebted to chance acquaintances on trains and in bus stations for exchanged confidences about the everlasting verities of life. I am deeply obligated to a person who caused me much anguish because the grief made me grow up emotionally and gave me a little more understanding. I am tenderly grateful to an employer of long ago who on a hot August afternoon told me that the job I was applying for had been filled but who urged me to sit down and rest a minute before I went on to answer the next ad. He brought me a paper cup of iced water. My cup flowed over, literally, when I added a couple of tired tears to the water. All of these people- hundreds more-in fact, everyone who touched my life for good or bad helped in the writing of my book. I could not dedicate it to one without being disloyal to the others. But I do want to dedicate this special edition- the edition gotten out solely because so many people were kind about The Tree. I want to dedicate it to you. I want to dedicate it to all of you who've read it and to you who are reading it now. And I want to say: "Thanks! Thanks a whole lot." BETTY SMITH Chapel Hill , North Carolina June 1947 BOOK ONE I SERENE was a word you could put to Brooklyn , New York . Especially in the summer of 1912. Somber, as a word, was better. But it did not apply to Williamsburg , Brooklyn . Prairie was lovely and Shenandoah had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into Brooklyn . Serene was the only word for it; especially on a Saturday afternoon in summer. Late in the afternoon the sun slanted down into the mossy yard belonging to Francie Nolan's house, and warmed the worn wooden fence. Looking at the shafted sun, Francie had that same fine feeling that came when she recalled the poem they recited in school. This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld. The one tree in Francie's yard was neither a pine nor a hemlock. It had pointed leaves which grew along green switches which radiated from the bough and made a tree which looked like a lot of opened green umbrellas. Some people called it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed fell, it made a tree which struggled to reach the sky. It grew in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps and it was the only tree that grew out of cement. It grew lushly, but only in the tenements districts. You took a walk on a Sunday afternoon and came to a nice neighborhood, very refined. You saw a small one of these trees through the iron gate leading to someone's yard and you knew that soon that section of Brooklyn would get to be a tenement district. The tree knew. It came there first. Afterwards, poor foreigners seeped in and the quiet old brownstone houses were hacked up into flats, feather beds were pushed out on the window sills to air and the Tree of Heaven flourished. That was the kind of tree it was. It liked poor people. That was the kind of tree in Francie's yard. Its umbrellas curled over, around and under her third-floor fire- escape. An eleven-year-old girl sitting on this fire-escape could imagine that she was living in a tree. That's what Francie imagined every Saturday afternoon in summer. Oh, what a wonderful day was Saturday in Brooklyn . Oh, how wonderful anywhere! People were paid on Saturday and it was a holiday without the rigidness of a Sunday. People had money to go out and buy things. They ate well for once, got drunk, had dates, made love and stayed up until all hours; singing, playing music, fighting and dancing because the morrow was their own free day. They could sleep late-until late mass anyhow. On Sunday, most people crowded into the eleven o'clock mass. Well, some people, a few, went to early six o'clock mass. They were given credit for this but they deserved none for they were the ones who had stayed out so late that it was morning when they got home. So they went to this early mass, got it over with and went home and slept all day with a free conscience. For Francie, Saturday started with the trip to the junkie. She and her brother, Neeley, like other Brooklyn kids, collected rags, paper, metal, rubber, and other junk and hoarded it in locked cellar bins or in boxes hidden under the bed. All week Francie walked home slowly from school with her eyes in the gutter looking for tin foil from cigarette packages or chewing gum wrappers. This was melted in the lid of a jar. The junkie wouldn't take an unmelted ball of foil because too many kids put iron washers in the middle to make it weigh heavier. Sometimes Neeley found a seltzer bottle. Francie helped him break the top off and melt it down for lead. The junkie wouldn't buy a complete top because he'd get into trouble with the soda water people. A seltzer bottle top was fine. Melted, it was worth a nickel. Francie and Neeley went down into the cellar each evening and emptied the dumbwaiter shelves of the day's accumulated trash. They owned this privilege because Francie's mother was the janitress. They looted the shelves of paper, rags and deposit bottles. Paper wasn't worth much. They got only a penny for ten pounds. Rags brought two cents a pound and iron, four. Copper was good-ten cents a pound. Sometimes Francie came across a bonanza: the bottom of a discarded wash boiler. She got it off with a can opener, folded it, pounded it, folded it and pounded it again. Soon after nine o'clock of a Saturday morning, kids began spraying out of all the side streets on to Manhattan Avenue , the main thoroughfare. They made their slow way up the Avenue to Scholes Street . Some carried their junk in their arms. Others had wagons made of a wooden soap box with solid wooden wheels. A few pushed loaded baby buggies. Francie and Neeley put all their junk into a burlap bag and each grabbed an end and dragged it along the street; up Manhattan Avenue , past Maujer, Ten Eyck, Stagg to Scholes Street . Beautiful names for ugly streets. From each side street hordes of little ragamuffins emerged to swell the main tide. On the way to Carney's, they met other kids coming back empty-handed. They had sold their junk and already, squandered the pennies. Now, swaggering back, they jeered at the other kids. "Rag picker! Rag picker!" Francie's face burned at the name. No comfort knowing that the taunters were rag pickers too. No matter that her brother would straggle back, empty-handed with his gang and taunt later comers the same way. Francie felt ashamed. Carney plied his junk business in a tumble-down stable. Turning the corner, Francie saw that both doors were hooked back hospitably and she imagined that the large, bland dial of the swinging scale blinked a welcome. She saw Carney, with his rusty hair, rusty mustache and rusty eyes presiding at the scale. Carney liked girls better than boys. He would give a girl an extra penny if she did not shrink when he pinched her cheek. Because of the possibility of this bonus, Neeley stepped aside and let Francie drag the bag into the stable. Carney jumped forward, dumped the contents of the bag on the floor and took a preliminary pinch out of her cheek. While he piled the stuff on to the scale, Francie blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkness and was aware of the mossy air and the odor of wetted rags. Carney slewed his eyes at the dial and spoke two words: his offer. Francie knew that no dickering was permitted. She nodded yes, and Carney flipped the junk off and made her wait while he piled the paper in one corner, threw the rags in another and sorted out the metals. Only then did he reach down in his pants pockets, haul up an old leather pouch tied with a wax string and count out old green pennies that looked like junk too. As she whispered, "thank you," Carney fixed a rusty junked look on her and pinched her cheek hard. She stood her ground. He smiled and added an extra penny. Then his manner changed and became loud and brisk. "Come on," he hollered to the next one in line, a boy. "Get the lead out!" He timed the laugh. "And I don't mean junk." The children laughed dutifully. The laughter sounded like the bleating of lost little lambs but Carney seemed satisfied. Francie went outside to report to her brother. "He gave me sixteen cents and a pinching penny." "That's your penny," he said, according to an old agreement. She put the penny in her dress pocket and turned the rest of the money over to him. Neeley was ten, a year younger than Francie. But he was the boy; he handled the money. He divided the pennies carefully. Eight cents for the bank." That was the rule; half of any money they got from anywhere went into the tin- can bank that was nailed to the floor in the darkest corner of the closet. "And four cents for you and four cents for me." Francie knotted the bank money in her handkerchief. She looked at her own five pennies realizing happily that they could be changed into a whole nickel. Neeley rolled up the burlap bag, tucked it under his arm and pushed his way in Cheap Charlie's with Francie right behind him. Cheap Charlie's was the penny candy store next to Carney's which catered to the junk trade. At the end of a Saturday, its cash box was filled with greenish pennies. By an unwritten law, it was a boys' store. So Francie did not go all the way in. She stood by the doorway. The boys, from eight to fourteen years of age, looked alike in straggling knickerbockers and broken- peaked caps. They stood around, hands in pockets and thin shoulders hunched forward tensely. They would grow up looking like that; standing the same way in other hangouts. The only difference would be the cigarette seemingly permanently fastened between their lips, rising and falling in accent as they spoke. Now the boys churned about nervously, their thin faces turning from Charlie to each other and back to Charlie again. Francie noticed that some already had their summer hair-cut: hair cropped so short that there were nicks in the scalp where the clippers had bitten too deeply. These fortunates had their caps crammed into their pockets or pushed back on the head. The unshorn ones whose hair curled gently and still babyishly at the nape of the neck, were ashamed and wore their caps pulled so far down over their ears that there was something girlish about them in spite of their jerky profanity. Cheap Charlie was not cheap and his name wasn't Charlie. He had taken that name and it said so on the store awning and Francie believed it. Charlie gave you a pick for your penny. A board with fifty numbered hooks and a prize hanging from each hook, hung behind the counter. There were a few fine prizes; roller skates, a catcher's mitt, a doll with real hair and so on. The other hooks held blotters, pencils and other penny articles. Francie watched as Neeley bought a pick. He removed the dirty card from the ragged envelope. Twenty-six! Hopefully Francie looked at the board. He had drawn a penny penwiper. "Prize or candy?" Charlie asked him. "Candy. What do you think?" It was always the same. Francie had never heard of anyone winning above a penny prize. Indeed the skate wheels were rusted and the doll's hair was dust filmed as though these things had waited there a long time like Little Boy Blue's toy dog and tin soldier. Someday, Francie resolved, when she had fifty cents, she would take all the picks and win everything on the board. She figured that would be a good business deal: skates, mitt, doll and all the other things for fifty cents. Why the skates alone were worth four times that much! Neeley would have to come along that great day because girls seldom patronized Charlie's. True, there were a few girls there that Saturday ... bold, brash ones, too developed for their age; girls who talked loud and horseplayed around with the boys-girls whom the neighbors prophesied would come to no good. Francie went across the street to Gimpy's candy store. Gimpy was lame. He was a gentle man, kind to little children ... or so everyone thought until that sunny afternoon when he inveigled a little girl into his dismal back room. Francie debated whether she should sacrifice one of her pennies for a Gimpy Special: the prize bag. Maudie Donavan, her once- in-awhile girl friend, was about to make a purchase. Francie pushed her way in until she was standing behind Maudie. She pretended that she was spending the penny. She held her breath as Maudie, after much speculation, pointed dramatically at a bulging bag in the showcase. Francie would have picked a smaller bag. She looked over her friend's shoulder; saw her take out a few pieces of stale candy and examine her prize- a coarse cambric handkerchief. Once Francie had gotten a small bottle of strong scent. She debated again whether to spend a penny on a prize bag. It was nice to be surprised even if you couldn't eat the candy. But she reasoned she had been surprised by being with Maudie when she made her purchase and that was almost as good. Francie walked up Manhattan Avenue reading aloud the fine-sounding names of the streets she passed: Scholes, Meserole, Montrose and then Johnson Avenue. These last two Avenues were where the Italians had settled. The district called Jew Town started at Seigel Street, took in Moore and McKibben and went past Broadway. Francie headed for Broadway. And what was on Broadway in Williamsburg, Brooklyn? Nothing-only the finest nickel and dime store in all the world! It was big and glittering and had everything in the world in it ... or so it seemed to an eleven year-old girl. Francie had a nickel. Francie had power. She could buy practically anything in that store! It was the only place in the world where that could be. Arriving at the store, she walked up and down the aisles handling any object her fancy favored. What a wonderful feeling to pick something up, hold it for a moment, feel its contour, run her hand over its surface and then replace it carefully. Her nickel gave her this privilege. If a floorwalker asked whether she intended buying anything, she could say, yes, buy it and show him a thing or two. Money was a wonderful thing, she decided. After an orgy of touching things, she made her planned purchase-five cents worth of pink-and-white peppermint wafers. She walked back home down Graham Avenue, the Ghetto street. She was excited by the filled pushcarts-each a little store in itself-the bargaining, emotional Jews and the peculiar smells of the neighborhood; baked stuffed fish, sour rye bread fresh from the oven, and something that smelled like honey boiling. She stared at the bearded men in their alpaca skull caps and silkolene coats and wondered what made their eyes so small and fierce. She looked into tiny hole-in- the-wall shops and smelled the dress fabrics arranged in disorder on the tables. She noticed the feather beds bellying out of windows, clothes of Oriental-bright colors drying on the fire- escapes and the half-naked children playing in the gutters. A woman, big with child, sat patiently at the curb in a stiff wooden chair. She sat in the hot sunshine watching the life on the street and guarding within herself, her own mystery of life. Francie remembered her surprise that time when mama told her that Jesus was a Jew. Francie had thought that He was a Catholic. But mama knew. Mama said that the Jews had never looked on Jesus as anything but a troublesome Yiddish boy who would not work at the carpentry trade, marry, settle down and raise a family. And the Jews believed that their Messiah was yet to come, mama said. Thinking of this, Francie stared at the Pregnant Jewess. "I guess that's why the Jews have so many babies," Francie thought. "And why they sit so quiet ... waiting. And why they aren't ashamed the way they are fat. Each one thinks that she might be making the real little Jesus. That's why they walk so proud when they're that way. Now the Irish women always look so ashamed. They know that they can never make a Jesus. It will be just another Mick . When I grow up and know that I am going to have a baby, I will remember to walk proud and slow even though I am not a Jew." It was twelve when Francie got home. Mama came in soon after with her broom and pail which she banged into a corner with that final bang which meant that they wouldn't be touched again until Monday. Mama was twenty- nine. She had black hair and brown eyes and was quick with her hands. She had a nice shape, too. She worked as a janitress and kept three tenement houses clean. Who would ever believe that mama scrubbed floors to make a living for the four of them? She was so pretty and slight and vivid and always bubbling over with intensity and fun. Even though her hands were red and cracked from the sodaed water, they were beautifully shaped with lovely, curved, oval nails. Everyone said it was a pity that a slight pretty woman like Katie Nolan had to go out scrubbing floors. But what else could she do considering the husband she had, they said. They admitted that, no matter which way you looked at it, Johnny Nolan was a handsome lovable fellow far superior to any man on the block. But he was a drunk. That's what they said and it was true. Francie made mama watch while she put the eight cents in the tin-can bank. They had a pleasant five minutes conjecturing about how much was in the bank. Francie thought there must be nearly a hundred dollars. Mama said eight dollars would be nearer right. Mama gave Francie instructions about going out to buy something for lunch. "Take eight cents from the cracked cup and get a quarter loaf of Jew rye bread and see that it's fresh. Then take a nickel, go to Sauerwein's and ask for the end-of-the-tongue for a nickel." "But you have to have a pull. with him to get it." "Tell him that your mother said," insisted Katie firmly. She thought something over. "I wonder whether we ought to buy five cents worth of sugar buns or put that money in the bank." "Oh, Mama, it's Saturday. All week you said we could have dessert on Saturday." "All right. Get the buns." The little Jewish delicatessen was full of Christians buying Jew rye bread. She watched the man push her quarter loaf into a paper bag. With its wonderful crisp yet tender crust and floury bottom, it was easily the most wonderful bread in the world, she thought, when it was fresh. She entered Sauerwein's store reluctantly. Sometimes he was agreeable about the tongue and sometimes he wasn't. Sliced tongue at seventy-five cents a pound was only for rich people. But when it was nearly all sold, you could get the square end for a nickel if you had a pull with Mr. Sauerwein. Of course there wasn't much tongue to the end. It was mostly soft, small bones and gristle with only the memory of meat. It happened to be one of Sauerwein's agreeable days. "The tongue came to an end, yesterday," he told Francie. "But I saved it for you because I know your mama likes tongue and I like your mama. You tell her that. Hear?" "Yes sir," whispered Francie. She looked down on the floor as she felt her face getting warm. She hated Mr. Sauerwein and would not tell mama what he had said. At the baker's, she picked out four buns, carefully choosing those with the most sugar. She met Neeley outside the store. He peeped into the bag and cut a caper of delight when he saw the buns. Although he had eaten four cents worth of candy that morning, he was very hungry and made Francie run all the way home. Papa did not come home for dinner. He was a free lance singing waiter which meant that he didn't work very often. Usually he spent Saturday morning at Union Headquarters waiting for a job to come in for him. Francie, Neeley, and mama had a very fine meal. Each had a thick slice of the "tongue," two pieces of sweet-smelling rye bread spread with unsalted butter, a sugar bun apiece and a mug of strong hot coffee with a teaspoon of sweetened condensed milk on the side. There was a special Nolan idea about the coffee. It was their one great luxury. Mama made a big potful each morning and reheated it for dinner and supper and it got stronger as the day wore on. It was an awful lot of water and very little coffee but mama put a lump of chicory in it which made it taste strong and bitter. Each one was allowed three cups a day with milk. Other times you could help yourself to a cup of black coffee anytime you felt like it. Sometimes when you had nothing at all and it was raining and you were alone in the flat, it was wonderful to know that you could have something even though it was only a cup of black and bitter coffee. Neeley and Francie loved coffee but seldom drank it. Today, as usual, Neeley let his coffee stand black and ate his condensed milk spread on bread. He sipped a little of the black coffee for the sake of formality. Mama poured out Francie's coffee and put the milk in it even though she knew that the child wouldn't drink it. Francie loved the smell of coffee and the way it was hot. As she ate her bread and meat, she kept one hand curved about the cup enjoying its warmth. From time to time, she'd smell the bitter sweetness of it. That was better than drinking it. At the end of the meal, it went down the sink. Mama had two sisters, Sissy and Evy, who came to the flat often. Every time they saw the coffee thrown away, they gave mama a lecture about wasting things. Mama explained: "Francie is entitled to one cup each meal like the rest. If it makes her feel better to throw it way rather than to drink it, all right. I think it's good that people like us can waste something once in a while and get the feeling of how it would be to have lots of money and not have to worry about scrounging." This queer point of view satisfied mama and pleased Francie. It was one of the links between the ground- down poor and the wasteful rich. The girl felt that even if she had less than anybody in Williamsburg, somehow she had more. She was richer because she had something to waste. She ate her sugar bun slowly, reluctant to have done with its sweet taste, while the coffee got ice-cold. Regally, she poured it down the sink drain feeling casually extravagant. After that, she was ready to go to Losher's for the family's semi-weekly supply of stale bread. Mama told her that she. could take a nickel and buy a stale pie if she could get one that wasn't mashed too much. Losher's bread factory supplied the neighborhood stores. The bread was not wrapped in wax paper and grew stale quickly. Losher's redeemed the stale bread from the dealers and sold it at half price to the poor. The outlet store adjoined the bakery. Its long narrow counter filled one side and long narrow benches ran along the other two sides. A huge double door opened behind the counter. The bakery wagons backed up to it and unloaded the bread right on to the counter. They sold two loaves for a nickel, and when it was dumped out, a pushing crowd fought for the privilege of buying it. There was never enough bread and some waited until three or four wagons had reported before they could buy bread. At that price, the customers had to supply their own wrappings. Most of the purchasers were children. Some kids tucked the bread under their arms and walked home brazenly letting all the world know that they were poor. The proud ones wrapped up the bread, some in old newspapers, others in clean or dirty flour sacks. Francie brought along a large paper bag. She didn't try to get her bread right away. She sat on a bench and watched. A dozen kids pushed and shouted at the counter. Four old men dozed on the opposite bench. The old men, pensioners on their families, were made to run errands and mind babies, the only work left for old worn-out men in Williamsburg. They waited as long as they could before buying because Losher's smelled kindly of baking bread, and the sun coming in the windows felt good on their old backs. They sat and dozed while the hours passed and felt that they were filling up time. The waiting gave them a purpose in life for a little while and, almost, they felt necessary again. Francie stared at the oldest man. She played her favorite game, figuring out about people. His thin tangled hair was the same dirty gray as the stubble standing on his sunken cheeks. Dried spittle caked the corners of his mouth. He yawned. He had no teeth. She watched, fascinated and revolted, as he closed his mouth, drew his lips inward until there was no mouth, and made his chin come up to almost meet his nose. She studied his old coat with the padding hanging out of the torn sleeve seam. His legs were sprawled wide in helpless relaxation and one of the buttons was missing from his grease-caked pants opening. She saw that his shoes were battered and broken open at the toes. One shoe was laced with a much- knotted shoe string, and the other with a bit of dirty twine. She saw two thick dirty toes with creased gray toenails. Her thoughts ran. ... "He is old. He must be past seventy. He was born about the time Abraham Lincoln was living and getting himself ready to be president. Williamsburg must have been a little country place then and maybe Indians were still living in Flatbush. That was so long ago." She kept staring at his feet. "He was a baby once. He must have been sweet and clean and his mother kissed his little pink toes. Maybe when it thundered at night she came to his crib and fixed his blanket better and whispered that he mustn't be afraid, that mother was there. Then she picked him up and put her cheek on his head and said that he was her own sweet baby. He might have been a boy like my brother, running in and out of the house and slamming the door. And while his mother scolded him she was thinking that maybe he'll be president some day. Then he was a young man, strong and happy. When he walked down the street, the girls smiled and turned to watch him. He smiled back and maybe he winked at the prettiest one. I guess he must have married and had children and they thought he was the most wonderful papa in the world the way he worked hard and bought them toys for Christmas. Now his children are getting old too, like him, and they have children and nobody wants the old man any more and they are waiting for him to die. But he don't want to die. He wants to keep on living even though he's so old and there's nothing to be happy about anymore." The place was quiet. The summer sun streamed in and made dusty, down- slanting roads from the window to the floor. A big green fly buzzed in and out of the sunny dust. Excepting for herself and the dozing old men, the place was empty. The children who waited for bread had gone to play outside. Their high screaming voices seemed to come from far away. Suddenly Francie jumped up. Her heart was beating fast. She was frightened. For no reason at all, she thought of an accordion pulled out full for a rich note. Then she had an idea that the accordion was closing ... closing ... closing. A terrible panic that had no name came over her as she realized that many of the sweet babies in the world were born to come to something like this old man some day. She had to get out of that place or it would happen to her. Suddenly she would be an old woman with toothless gums and feet that disgusted people. At that moment, the double doors behind the counter were banged open as a bread truck backed up. A man came to stand behind the counter. The truck driver started throwing bread to him which he piled up on the counter. The kids in the street who had heard the doors thrown open piled in and milled around Francie who had already reached the counter. "I want bread!" Francie called out. A big girl gave her a strong shove and wanted to know who she thought she was. "Never mind! Never mind!" Francie told her. "I want six loaves and a pie not too crushed," she screamed out. Impressed by her intensity, the counter man shoved six loaves and the least battered of the rejected pies at her and took her two dimes. She pushed her way out of the crowd dropping a loaf which she had trouble picking up as there was no room to stoop over in. Outside, she sat at the curb fitting the bread and the pie into the paper bag. A woman passed, wheeling a baby in a buggy. The baby was waving his feet in the air. Francie looked and saw, not the baby's foot, but a grotesque thing in a big, worn-out shoe. The panic came on her again and she ran all the way home. The flat was empty. Mama had dressed and gone off with Aunt Sissy to see a matinee from a ten-cent gallery seat. Francie put the bread and pie away and folded the bag neatly to be used the next time. She went into the tiny, windowless bedroom that she shared with Neeley and sat on her own cot in the dark waiting for the waves of panic to stop passing over her. After awhile Neeley came in, crawled under his cot and pulled out a ragged catcher's mitt. "Where you going?" she asked. "Play ball in the lots." "Can I come along?" "No." She followed him down to the street. Three of his gang were waiting for him. One had a bat, another a baseball and the third had nothing but wore a pair of baseball pants. They started out for an empty lot over towards Greenpoint. Neeley saw Francie following but said nothing. One of the boys nudged him and said, "Hey! Your sister's followin' us." "Yeah," agreed Neeley. The boy turned around and yelled at Francie: "Go chase yourself!" "It's a free country," Francie stated. "It's a free country," Neeley repeated to the boy. They took no notice of Francie after that. She continued to follow them. She had nothing to do until two o'clock when the neighborhood library opened up again. It was a slow, horseplaying walk. The boys stopped to look for tin foil in the gutter and to pick up cigarette butts which they would save and smoke in the cellar on the next rainy afternoon. They took time out to bedevil a little Jew boy on his way to the temple. They detained him while they debated what to do with him. The boy waited, smiling humbly. The Christians released him finally with detailed instructions as to his course of conduct for the coming week. "Don't show your puss on Devoe Street," he was ordered. "I won't," he promised. The boys were disappointed. They had expected more fight. One of them took out a bit of chalk from his pocket and drew a wavy line on the sidewalk. He commanded, "Don't you even step over that line." The little boy, knowing that he had offended them by giving in too easily, decided to play their way. "Can't I even put one foot in the gutter, fellers?" "You can't even spit in the gutter," he was told. "All right." He sighed in pretended resignation. One of the bigger boys had an inspiration. "And keep away from Christian girls. Get me?" They walked away leaving him staring after them. "Gol-lee!" he whispered rolling his big brown Jewish eyes. The idea that those Goyem thought him man enough to be capable of thinking about any girl, Gentile or Jew, staggered him and he went his way saying gol-lee over and over. The boys walked on slowly, looking slyly at the big boy who had made the remark about the girls, and wondering whether he would lead off into a dirty talk session. But before this could start, Francie heard her brother say, "I know that kid. He's a white Jew." Neeley had heard papa speak so of a Jewish bartender that he liked. "They ain't no such thing as a white Jew," said the big boy. "Well, if there was such a thing as a white Jew," said Neeley with that combination of agreeing with others, and still sticking to his own opinions, which made him so amiable, "he would be it." "There never could be a white Jew," said the big boy, "even in supposing." "Our Lord was a Jew." Neeley was quoting mama. "And other Jews turned right around and killed him," clinched the big boy. Before they could go deeper in theology, they saw another little boy turn on to Ainslie Street from Humboldt Street carrying a basket on his arm. The basket was covered with a clean ragged cloth. A stick stuck up from one corner of the basket, and, on it, like a sluggish flag stood six pretzels. The big boy of Neeley's gang gave a command and they made a tightly-packed run on the pretzel seller. He stood his ground, opened his mouth and bawled, "Mama!" A second story window flew open and a woman clutching a crepe-paperish kimono around her sprawling breasts, yelled out, "Leave him alone and get off this block, you lousy bastards." Francie's hands flew to cover her ears so that at confession she would not have to tell the priest that she had stood and listened to a bad word. "We ain't doing nothing, Lady," said Neeley with that ingratiating smile which always won over his mother. "You bet your life, you ain't. Not while I'm around." Then without changing her tone she called to her son, "And get upstairs here, you. I'll learn you to bother me when I'm taking a nap." The pretzel boy went upstairs and the gang ambled on. "That lady's tough." The big boy jerked his head back at the window. "Yeah," the others agreed. "My old man's tough," offered a smaller boy. "Who the hell cares?" inquired the big boy languidly. "I was just saying," apologized the smaller boy. "My old man ain't tough," said Neeley. The boys laughed. They ambled along, stopping now and then to breathe, deeply of the smell of Newtown Creek which flowed its narrow tormented way a few blocks up Grand Street. "God, she stinks," commented the big boy. "Yeah!" Neeley sounded deeply satisfied. "I bet that's the worst stink in the world," bragged another boy. "Yeah." And Francie whispered yeah in agreement. She was proud of that smell. It let her knew that nearby was a waterway, which, dirty though it was, joined a river that flowed out to the sea. To her, the stupendous stench suggested far-sailing ships and adventure and she was pleased with the smell. Just as the boys reached the lot in which there was a ragged diamond tramped out, a little yellow butterfly flew across the weeds. With man's instinct to capture anything running, flying, swimming or crawling, they gave chase, throwing their ragged caps at it in advance of their coming. Neeley caught it. The boys looked at it briefly, quickly lost interest in it and started up a four-man baseball game of their own devising. They played furiously, cursing, sweating and punching each other. Every time a stumble bum passed and loitered for a moment, they clowned and showed off. There was a rumor that the Brooklyn's had a hundred scouts roaming the streets of a Saturday afternoon watching lot games and spotting promising players. And there wasn't a Brooklyn boy who wouldn't rather play on the Brooklyn's team than be president of the United States. After awhile, Francie got tired of watching them. She knew that they would play and fight and show off until it was time to drift home for supper. It was two o'clock. The librarian should be back from lunch by now. With pleasant anticipation, Francie walked back towards the library. II THE library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the combined smell of worn leather bindings, library paste and freshly- inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass. Francie thought that all the books in the world were in that library and she had a plan about reading all the books in the world. She was reading a book a day in alphabetical order and not skipping the dry ones. She remembered that the first author had been Abbott. She had been reading a book a day for a long time now and she was still in the B's. Already she had read about bees and buffaloes, Bermuda vacations and Byzantine architecture. For all of her enthusiasm, she had to admit that some of the B's had been hard going. But Francie was a reader. She read everything she could find: trash, classics, time tables and the grocer's price list. Some of the reading had been wonderful; the Louisa Alcott books for example. She planned to read all the books over again when she had finished with the Z's. Saturdays were different. She treated herself by reading a book not in the alphabetical sequence. On that day she asked the librarian to recommend a book. After Francie had come in and closed the door quietly behind her-the way you were supposed to do in the library- she looked quickly at the little golden-brown pottery jug which stood at the end of the librarian's desk. It was a season indicator. In the fall it held a few sprigs of bittersweet and at Christmas time it held holly. She knew spring was coming, even if there was snow on the ground, when she saw pussy willow in the bowl. And today, on this summer Saturday of 1912, what was the bowl holding? She moved her eyes slowly up the jug past the thin green stems and little round leaves and saw ... nasturtiums! Red, yellow, gold and ivory-white. A head pain caught her between the eyes at the taking in of such a wonderful sight. It was something to be remembered all her life. "When I get big," she thought, "I will have such a brown bowl and in hot August there will be nasturtiums in it." She put her hand on the edge of the polished desk liking the way it felt. She looked at the neat row of freshly-sharpened pencils, the clean green square of blotter, the fat white jar of creamy paste, the precise stack of cards and the returned books waiting to be put back on the shelves. The remarkable pencil with the date slug above its point was by itself near the blotter's edge. "Yes, when I get big and have my own home, no plush chairs and lace curtains for me. And no rubber plants. I'll have a desk like this in my parlor and white walls and a clean green blotter every Saturday night and a row of shining yellow pencils always sharpened for writing and a golden-brown bowl with a flower or some leaves or berries always in it and books ... books ... books. ..." She chose her book for Sunday; something by an author named Brown. Francie figured she had been reading on the Brown's for months. When she thought she was nearly finished, she noticed that the next shelf started up again with Browne. After that came Browning. She groaned, anxious to get into the C's where there was a book by Marie Corelli that she had peeped into and found thrilling. Would she ever get to that? Maybe she ought to read two books a day. Maybe. ... She stood at the desk a long time before the librarian deigned to attend to her. "Yes?" inquired that lady pettishly. "This book. I want it:" Francie pushed the book forward opened at the back with the little card pushed out of the envelope. The librarians had trained the children to present the books that way. It saved them the trouble of opening several hundred books a day and pulling several hundred cards from as many envelopes. She took the card, stamped it, pushed it down a slot in the desk. She stamped Francie's card and pushed it at her. Francie picked it up but she did not go away. "Yes?" The librarian did not bother to look up. "Could you recommend a good book for a girl?" "How old?" "She is eleven." Each week Francie made the same request and each week the librarian asked the same question. A name on a card meant nothing to her and since she never looked up into a child's face, she never did get to know the little girl who took a book out every day and two on Saturday. A smile would have meant a lot to Francie and a friendly comment would have made her so happy. She loved the library and was anxious to worship the lady in charge. But the librarian had other things on her mind. She hated children anyhow. Francie trembled in anticipation as the woman reached under the desk. She saw the title as the book came up: If I Were King by McCarthy. Wonderful! Last week it had been Beverly of Graustark and the same two weeks before that. She had had the McCarthy book only twice. The librarian recommended these two books over and over again. Maybe they were the only ones she herself had read; maybe they were on a recommended list; maybe she had discovered that they were sure fire as far as eleven-year- old girls were concerned. Francie held the books close and hurried home, resisting the temptation to sit on the first stoop she came to, to start reading. Home at last and now it was the time she had been looking forward to all week: fire-escape-sitting time. She put a small rug on the fire- escape and got the pillow from her bed and propped it against the bars. Luckily there was ice in the icebox. She chipped off a small piece and put it in a glass of water. The pink-and-white peppermint wafers bought that morning were arrange in a little bowl, cracked, but of a pretty blue color. She arranged glass, bowl and book on the window sill and climbed out on the fire-escape. Once out there, she was living in a tree. No one upstairs, downstairs or across the way could see her. But she could look out through the leaves and see everything. It was a sunny afternoon. A lazy warm wind carried a warm sea smell. The leaves of the tree made fugitive patterns on the white pillow-case. Nobody was in the yard and that was nice. Usually it was pre-empted by the boy whose father rented the store on the ground floor. The boy played an interminable game of graveyard. He dug miniature graves, put live captured caterpillars into little match boxes, buried them with informal ceremony and erected little pebble headstones over the tiny earth mounds. The whole game was accompanied by fake sobbings and heavings of his chest. But today the dismal boy was away visiting an aunt in Bensonhurst. To know that he was away was almost as good as getting a birthday present. Francie breathed the warm air, watched the dancing leaf shadows, ate the candy and took sips of the cooled water in-between reading the book. If I were King, Love, Ah, if I were King. ... The story of François Villon was more wonderful each time she read it. Sometimes she worried for fear the book would be lost in the library and she'd never be able to read it again. She had once started copying the book in a two-cent notebook. She wanted to own a book so badly and she had thought the copying would do it. But the penciled sheets did not seem like nor smell like the library book so she had given it up, consoling herself with the vow that when she grew up, she would work hard, save money and buy every single book that she liked. As she read, at peace with the world and happy as only a little girl could be with a fine book and a little bowl of candy, and all alone in the house, the leaf shadows shifted and the afternoon passed. About four o'clock, the flats in the tenements across from Francie's yard came to life. Through the leaves, she looked into the open uncurtained windows and saw growlers being rushed out and returned overflowing with cool foaming beer. Kids ran in and out, going to and returning from the butcher's, the grocer's and the baker's. Women came in with bulky hock-shop bundles. The man's Sunday suit was home again. On Monday, it would go back to the pawnbroker's for another week. The hock- shop prospered on the weekly interest money and the suit benefited by being brushed and hung away in camphor where the moths couldn't get at it. In on Monday, out on Saturday. Ten cents' interest paid to Uncle Timmy. That was the cycle. Francie saw Young girls making preparations to go out with their fellers. Since none of the flats had bathrooms, the girls stood before the kitchen sinks in their camisoles and petticoats, and the line the arm made, curved over the head while they washed under the arm, was very beautiful. There were so many girls in so many windows washing this way that it seemed a kind of hushed and expectant ritual. She stopped reading when Fraber's horse and wagon came into the yard next door because watching the beautiful horse was almost as good as reading. The next-door yard was cobblestoned and had a goodlooking stable at the end of it. A wrought-iron double gate separated the yard from the street. At the edge of the cobblestones was a bit of well-manured earth where a lovely rose bush grew and a row of bright red geraniums. The stable was finer than any house in the neighborhood and the yard was the prettiest in Williamsburg. Francie heard the gate click shut. The horse, a shining brown gelding with a black mane and tail, came into view first. He pulled a small maroon wagon that had Dr. Fraber, Dentist and the address painted on the sides in golden letters. This trim wagon delivered nothing and carried nothing. It was driven slowly through the streets all day as an advertisement. It was a dreamily-moving billboard. Frank, a nice young man with rosy cheeks-like the fabulous youth in the children's song-took the wagon out every morning and brought it back every afternoon. He had a fine life and all the girls flirted with him. All he had to do was to drive the wagon around slowly so that people could read the name and address on it. When it came to a set of plates or the pulling of a tooth, the people would remember the address on the wagon and come to Dr. Fraber. Frank leisurely removed his coat and donned a leather apron while Bob, the horse, patiently shifted from one foot to the other. Frank then unharnessed him, wiped off the leather and hung the harness up in the stable. Next he washed the horse with a great wet yellow sponge. The horse enjoyed it. He stood there with the sunshine dappling him over and sometimes his hooves struck a spark from the stones as he pawed the ground. Frank squeezed water out on to the brown back and rubbed it down talking to the big horse all the while. "Steady now, Bob. That's a good boy. Back up there. Whoa now!" Bob was not the only horse in Francie's life. Her Aunt Evy's husband, Uncle Willie Flittman, also drove a horse. His horse was named Drummer and pulled a milk wagon. Willie and Drummer were not friends the way Frank and his horse were friends. Willie and Drummer lay in wait for each other figuring out injuries to do the other. Uncle Willie reviled Drummer by the hour. To hear him talk, you would think that the horse never slept at night but stood awake in the milk company stable figuring out new torments for his driver. Francie liked to play a game in which she imagined that people looked like their pets and vice versa. Little white poodles were favorite pets in Brooklyn. The woman who owned a poodle was usually small, plump, white, soiled and with rheumy eyes just like a poodle. Miss Tynmore, the tiny, bright chirping old maid who gave mama music lessons, was just like the canary whose cage hung in her kitchen. If Frank could turn into a horse, he'd look like Bob. Francie had never seen Uncle Willie's horse but she knew what he looked like. Drummer, like Willie, would be small and thin and dark with nervous eyes which showed too much white. He'd be whimpery too, like Aunt Evy's husband. She let her thought go away from Uncle Flittman. Out on the street, a dozen small boys clung to the iron gate watching the neighborhood's only horse being washed. Francie couldn't see them but she heard them talking. They made up fearful stories about the gentle animal. "Don't he look still and easy," a boy said. "But that's only a fake. He's layin' his chance for when Frank ain't lookin' then he'll bite him and kick him to death." "Yeah," said another boy. "I seen him run over a little baby yesterday." A third boy had an inspiration. "I seen him do number one on a old lady sittin' by the gutter sellin' apples. All over the apples, too," he added as an afterthought. "They put them blinkers on him so's he can't see how little people is. If he could see how small they is, he would kill them all." "Them blinkers make him think people is little?" "Little like pee-wees." "Gee!" Each boy as he spoke knew that he was lying. Yet he believed what the other boys said about the horse. Eventually the boys tired of watching gentle Bob just stand there. One of them picked up a stone and threw it at the horse. Bob's skin rippled where it struck him and the boys shivered in anticipation of his going berserk. Frank looked up and spoke to them in a gentle Brooklyn voice. "You don't want to go and do that now. The horse didn't do nothin' to you." "Oh, no?" shouted a boy indignantly. "No," answered Frank. "Aw, go-yourself," came the inevitable coup de grace from the smallest boy. Still gently spoke Frank as he let a rill of water run over the horse's rump: "Do you want to go away from here or do I have to break a couple of your asses?" "You and who else?" "I'll show you who else!" Suddenly Frank swooped down and picked up a loose cobblestone and squared off as if to throw it. The boys backed away hollering out offended retorts. "I guess this is a free country." "Yeah. You don't own the streets." "I'm gonna tell my uncle, the cop, on you "Beat it now," said Frank indifferently. He replaced the cobblestone carefully. The big boys drifted away, tired of the game. But the little boys seeped back. They wanted to see Frank give Bob his oats. Frank finished washing the horse and stood him under the tree where his head was in the shade. He hung a filled feed bag on his neck, then he went to work washing the wagon, whistling, "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." As if this was a signal, Flossie Gaddis who lived below the Nolans, stuck her head out of the window. "Hello, there," she called vivaciously. Frank knew who called. He waited a long time and then answered "Hello" without looking up. He walked around to the other side of the wagon where Floss couldn't see him but her persistent voice followed. "Done for the day?" she asked brightly. "Soon. Yeah." "I guess you're going out sporting, beings it's a Saturday night tonight." No answer. "Don't tell me a goodlooking feller like you ain't got no girl." No answer. "They're running a racket tonight at the Shamrock Club." "Yeah?" He didn't sound interested. "Yeah. I got a ticket admitting lady and gent." "Sorry. I'm all tied up." "Staying home to keep your old lady company?" "Maybe." "Aw, go to hell!" She slammed the window down and Frank breathed a sigh of relief. That was over. Francie felt sorry for Flossie. She never gave up hope no matter how many times she lost out with Frank. Flossie was always running after men and they were always running away from her. Francie's Aunt Sissy ran after men, too. But somehow they ran to meet her halfway. The difference was that Flossie Gaddis was starved about men and Sissy was healthily hungry about them. And what a difference that made. III PAPA came home at five o'clock. By that time, the horse and wagon had been locked up in Fraber's stable, Francie had finished her book and her candy and had noted how pale and thin the late afternoon sun was on the worn fence boards. She held the sun-warmed, wind- freshened pillow to her cheek a moment before she replaced it on her cot. Papa came in singing his favorite ballad, "Molly Malone." He always sang it coming up the stairs so that everyone would know he was home. In Dublin's fair city, The girls are so pretty, Twas there that I first met ... Francie, smilingly happy, had the door open before he could sing the next line. "Where's your mother?" he asked. He always asked that when he came in. "She went to the show with Sissy." "Oh!" He sounded disappointed. He was always disappointed if Katie wasn't there. "I work at Klommer's tonight. Big wedding party." He brushed his derby with his coat sleeve before he hung it up. "Waiting or singing?" Francie asked. "Both. Have I got a clean waiter's apron, Francie?" "There's one clean but not ironed. I'll iron it for you." She set up the ironing board on two chairs and put the iron to heat. She got a square of thick wrinkled duck material with linen tape ties and sprinkled it. While she waited for the iron to get hot, she heated the coffee and poured him a cup. He drank it and ate the sugar bun that they had saved for him. He was very happy because he had a job that night and because it was a nice day. "A day like' this is like somebody giving you a present," he said. "Yes, Papa." "Isn't hot coffee a wonderful thing? How did people get along before it was invented?" "I like the way it smells." "Where did you buy these buns?" "Winkler's. Why?" "They make them better every day." "There's some Jew bread left, a piece." "Fine!" He took the slice of bread and turned it over. The Union sticker was on that piece. "Good bread, well made by Union bakers." He pulled the sticker off. A thought struck him. "The Union label on my apron!" "It's right here, sewn in the seam. I'll iron it out." "That label is like an ornament," he explained, "like a rose that you wear. Look at my Waiters' Union button." The pale green-and- white button was fastened in his lapel. He polished it with his sleeve. "Before I joined the Union the bosses paid me what they felt like. Sometimes they paid me nothing. The tips, they said, would take care of me. Some places even charged me for the privilege of working. The tips were so big, they said, that they could sell the waiting concession. Then I joined the Union. Your mother shouldn't begrudge the dues. The Union gets me jobs where the boss has to pay me certain wages, regardless of tips. All trades should be unionized." "Yes, Papa." By now, Francie was ironing away. She loved to hear him talk. Francie thought of the Union Headquarters. One time she had gone there to bring him an apron and carfare to go to a job. She saw him sitting with some men. He wore his tuxedo all the time. It was the only suit he had. His black derby was cocked jauntily and he was smoking a cigar. He took his hat off and threw the cigar away when he saw Francie come in. "My daughter," he said proudly. The waiters looked at the thin child in her ragged dress and then exchanged glances. They were different from Johnny Nolan. They had regular waiter jobs during the week and picked up extra money on Saturday night jobs. Johnny had no regular job. He worked at one-night places here and there. "I want to tell you fellows," he said, "that I got a couple of fine children home and a pretty wife. And I want to tell you that I'm not good enough for them." "Take it easy," said a friend and patted him on the shoulder. Francie overheard two men outside the group talking about her father. The short man said. "I want you to hear this fellow talk about his wife and his kids. It's rich. He's a funny duck. He brings his wages home to his wife but keeps his tips for booze. He's got a funny arrangement at McGarrity's. He turns all his tips over to him and McGarrity supplies him with drinks. He don't know whether McGarrity owes him money or whether he owes McGarrity. The system must work out pretty good for him, though. He's always carrying a load." The risen walked away. There was a pain around Francie's heart but when she saw how the men standing around her father liked him, how they smiled and laughed at what he said and how eagerly they listened to him, the pain lessened. Those two men were exceptions. She knew that everyone loved her father. Yes, everyone loved Johnny Nolan. He was a sweet singer of sweet songs. Since the beginning of time, everyone, especially the Irish, had loved and cared for the singer in their midst. His brother waiters really loved him. The men he worked for loved him. His wife and children loved him. He was still gay and young and handsome. His wife had not turned bitter against him and his children did not know that they were supposed to be ashamed of him. Francie pulled her thoughts away from that day when she had visited the Union Headquarters. She listened to her father again. He was reminiscing. "Take me. I'm nobody." Placidly, he lit up a nickel cigar. "My folks over from Ireland the year the potatoes gave out. Fellow ran a steamship company said he'd take my father to America- had a job waiting for him. Said he'd take the boat fare from his wages. So my father and mother came over. "My father was like me- never held the one job long." He smoked in silence for awhile. Francie ironed quietly. She knew that he was just thinking out loud. He did not expect her to understand. He just wanted someone to listen to him. He said practically the same things every Saturday. The rest of the week when he was drinking, he would come and go and say little. But today was Saturday. It was his day to talk. "My folks never knew how to read or write. I only got to the sixth grade myself- had to leave school when the old man died. You kids are lucky. I'm going to see to it that you get through school." "Yes, Papa." "I was a boy of twelve then. I sang in saloons for the drunks and they threw pennies at me. Then I started working around saloons and restaurants ... waiting on people. ..." He was quiet awhile with his thoughts. "I always wanted to be a real singer, the kind that comes out on the stage all dressed up. But I didn't have no education and I didn't know the first way about how to start in being a stage singer. Mind your job, my mother told me. You don't know how lucky you are to have work, she said. So I drifted into the singing waiter business. It's not steady work. I'd be better off if I was just a plain waiter. That's why I drink," he finished up illogically. She looked up at him as though she were going to ask a question. But she said nothing. "I drink because I don't stand a chance and I know it. I couldn't drive a truck like other men and I couldn't get on the cops with my build. I got to sling beer and sing when I just want to sing. I drink because I got responsibilities that I can't handle." There was another long pause. Then he whispered, "I am not a happy man. I got a wife and children and I don't happen to be a hardworking man. I never wanted a family." Again that hurt around Francie's heart. He didn't want her or Neeley? "What does a man like me want a family for? But I fell in love with Katie Rommely. Oh, I'm not blaming your mother," he said quickly. "If it hadn't been her, it would have been Hildy O'Dair. You know, I think your mother is still jealous of her. But when I met Katie, I said to Hildy, 'You go your way and I'll go mine.' So I married your mother. We had children. Your mother is a good woman, Francie. Don't you ever forget that." Francie knew that mama was a good woman. She knew. And papa said so. Then why did she like her father better than her mother? Why did she? Papa was no good. He said so himself. But she liked papa better. "Yes, your mother works hard. I love my wife and I love my children." Francie was happy again. "But shouldn't a man have a better life? Maybe someday it will be that the Unions will arrange for a man to work and to have time for himself too. But that won't be in my time. Now, it's work hard all the time or be a bum ... no in- between. When I die, nobody will remember me for long. No one will say, 'He was a man who loved his family and believed in the Union.' All they will say is, 'Too bad. But he was nothing but a drunk no matter which way you look at it.' Yes, they'll say that." The room was very quiet. Johnny Nolan threw his half-smoked cigar out of the unscreened window with a bitter gesture. He had a premonition that he was running his life out too fast. He looked at the little girl ironing away so quietly with her head bent over the board and he was stabbed by the soft sadness on the child's thin face. "Listen!" He went to her and put an arm around her thin shoulders. "If I get a lot of tips tonight, I'll put the money on a good horse that I know is running Monday. I'll put a couple of dollars on him and win ten. Then I'll put the ten on another horse I know and win a hundred. If I use my head and have any kind of luck at all, I'll run it up to five hundred." Pipe dreams he thought to himself, even while he was telling her about his dream winnings. But oh, how wonderful, he thought, if everything you talked about could come true! He went on talking. "Then do you know what I'm going to do, Prima Donna?" Francie smiled happily, pleased at his using the nickname he had given her when as a baby, he swore that her crying was as varied and as tuneful as an opera singer's range. "No. What are you going to do?" "I'm going to take you on a trip. Just you and me, Prima Donna. We'll go way down south where the cotton blossoms blow." He was delighted with the sentence. He said it again. "Down where the cotton blossoms blow." Then he remembered that the sentence was a line in a song that he knew. He jammed his hands in his pockets, whistled, and started to do a waltz clog like Pat Rooney. Then he went into the song. ... a field of snowy white. Hear the darkies singing soft and low. I long there to be, for someone waits for me, Down where the cotton blossoms blow. Francie kissed his cheek softly. "Oh, Papa, I love you so much," she whispered. He held her tight. Again the stab-wound feeling. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" he repeated to himself in almost unendurable agony. "What a hell of a father I am." But when he spoke to her again, it was quietly enough. "All this isn't getting my apron ironed, though." "It's all done, Papa." She folded it into a careful square. "Is there any money in the house, Baby?" She looked into the cracked cup on the shelf. "A nickel and some pennies." "Would you take seven cents and go out and get me a dicky and a paper collar?" Francie went over to the dry-goods store to get her father's Saturday night linen. A dicky was a shirt front made of stiffly starched muslin. It fastened around the neck with a collar button and the vest held it in place. It was used instead of a shirt. It was worn once and then thrown away. A paper collar was not exactly made out of paper. It was called that to differentiate it from a celluloid collar which was what poor men wore because it could be laundered simply by being wiped with a wet rag. A paper collar was made out of thin cambric stiffly starched. It could be used only once. When Francie got back, papa had shaved, wetted his hair down, shined his shoes and put on a clean undershirt. It was unironed and had a big hole in the back but it smelled nice and clean. He stood on a chair and took down a little box from the top cupboard shelf. It contained the pearl studs that Katie had given him for a wedding present. They had cost her a month's salary. Johnny was very proud of them. No matter how hard up the Nolans were, the studs were never pawned. Francie helped him put the studs in the dicky. He fastened the wing collar on with a golden collar button, a present that Hildy O'Dair had given him before he became engaged to Katie. He wouldn't part with that either. His tie was a piece of heavy black silk and he tied an expert bow with it. Other waiters wore readymade bows attached to elastics. But not Johnny Nolan. Other waiters wore soiled white shirts or clean shirts indifferently ironed and celluloid collars. But not Johnny. His linen was immaculate, if temporary. He was dressed at last. His wavy blond hair gleamed and he smelled clean and fresh from washing and shaving. He put his coat on and buttoned it up jauntily. The satin lapels of the tuxedo were threadbare but who would look at that when the suit fitted him so beautifully and the crease in his trousers was so perfect? Francie looked at his well-polished black shoes and noticed how the cuffless trousers came down in the back over the heel, and what a nice break they made across his instep. No other father's pants hung just that way. Francie was proud of her father. She wrapped up his ironed apron carefully in a piece of clean paper saved for that purpose. She walked with him to the trolley car. Women smiled at him until they noticed the little girl clinging to his hand. Johnny looked like a handsome, devil-may- care Irish boy instead of the husband of a scrubwoman and the father of two children who were always hungry. They passed Gabriel's Hardware Store and stopped to look at the skates in the window. Mama never had time to do this. Papa talked as though he would buy Francie a pair someday. They walked to the corner. When a Graham Avenue trolley came along, he swung up on to the platform suiting his rhythm to the car's slowing down. As the car started up again, he stood on the back platform holding on to the bar while he leaned way out to wave to Francie. No man had ever looked so gallant as her father, she thought. IV AFTER she had seen papa off, Francie went up to see what kind of costume Floss Gaddis had for the dance that night. Flossie supported her mother and brother by working as a turner in a kid glove factory. The gloves were stitched on the wrong side and it was her job to turn them right side out. Often she brought work home to do at night. They needed every cent they could get on account of her brother not being able to work. He had consumption. Francie had been told that Henny Gaddis was dying but she didn't believe it. He didn't look it. In fact, he looked wonderful. He had clear skin with a beautiful pink color in his cheeks. His eyes were large and dark and burned steadily like a lamp protected from the wind. But he knew. He was nineteen and avid for life and he couldn't understand why he was doomed. Mrs. Gaddis was glad to see Francie. Company took Henny's thoughts off himself. "Henny, here's Francie," she called out cheerfully. "Hello, Francie." "Hello, Henny." "Don't you think Henny's looking good, Francie? Tell him that he's looking good." "You're looking good, Henny." Henny addressed an unseen companion. "She tells a dying man that he's looking good." "I mean it." "No, you don't. You're just saying that." "How you talk, Henny. Look at me-how skinny I am and I never think about dying." "You won't die, Francie. You were born to lick this rotten life." "Still and all, I wish I had nice red cheeks like you." "No you don't. Not if you know where they come from." "Henny, you should sit on the roof more," said his mother. "She tells a dying man he should sit on the roof," reported Henny to his invisible companion. "Fresh air is what you need, and sunshine." "Leave me alone, Mama." "For your own good." "Mama, Mama, leave me alone! Leave me alone!" Suddenly he put his head down on his arms and pulled tormented coughing sobs out of his body. Flossie and her mother looked at each other and silently agreed to let him alone. They left him coughing and sobbing in the kitchen and went into the front room to show Francie the costumes. Flossie did three things each week. She worked on the gloves, she worked on her costumes, and she worked on Frank. She went to a masquerade ball every Saturday night, wearing a different costume each time. The costumes were especially designed to hide her disfigured right arm. As a child, she had fallen into a wash boiler of scalding hot water carelessly left standing on the kitchen floor. Her right arm had been horribly burned and she grew up with its skin withered and purple. She always wore long sleeves. Since it was essential that a masquerade costume be décolleté, she had devised a backless costume, the front cut to display her over-full bust and with one long sleeve to cover that right arm. The judges thought that the one flowing sleeve symbolized something. Invariably, she won first prize. Flossie got into the costume she was going to wear that night. It resembled the popular conception of what a Klondike dance hall girl wore. It was made of a purple satin sheath with layers of cerise tarleton underskirts. There was a black sequin butterfly stitched over the place where her left breast came to a blunt point. The one sleeve was made of pea green chiffon. Francie admired the costume. Flossie's mother threw open the closet door and Francie looked at the row of brilliantly colored garments. Flossie had six sheaths of various colors and the same number of tarleton underskirts and at least twenty chiffon sleeves of every color that a person could imagine. Each week, Flossie switched the combinations to make a new costume. Next week the cerise underskirt might froth out from beneath a sky-blue sheath with one black chiffon sleeve. And so on. There were two dozen tightly- rolled, never-used silk umbrellas in that closet; prizes she had won. Flossie collected them for display the way an athlete collects cups. Francie felt happy looking at all the umbrellas. Poor people have a great passion for huge quantities of things. While Francie was admiring the costumes, she began to grow uneasy. While looking at the brilliant frothing colors, cerise, orange, bright blue, red and yellow, she had a feeling that something was stealthily concealed behind those costumes. It was something wrapped in a long somber cloak with a grinning skull, and bones for hands. And it was hiding behind these brilliant colors waiting for Henny. V MAMA came home at six with Aunt Sissy. Francie was very glad to see Sissy. She was her favorite aunt. Francie loved her and was fascinated by her. So far, Sissy had led a very exciting life. She was thirty-five now, had been married three times, and had given birth to ten children, all of whom had died soon after being born. Sissy often said that Francie was all of her ten children. Sissy worked in a rubber factory and was very wild as far as men were concerned. She had roving black eyes, black curling hair, and a high clear color. She liked to wear a cherry-colored bow in her hair. Mama was wearing her jade green hat which made her skin look like cream off the top of the bottle. The roughness of her pretty hands was hidden by a pair of white cotton gloves. She and Sissy came in talking excitedly and laughing as they recalled to each other the jokes they had heard at the show. Sissy brought Francie a present, a corn cob pipe that you blew into and a rubber hen popped up and swelled over the pipe bowl. The pipe came from Sissy's factory. The factory made a few rubber toys as a blind. It made its big profits from other rubber articles which were bought in whispers. Francie hoped that Sissy would stay for supper. When Sissy was around, everything was gay and glamorous. Francie felt that Sissy understood how it was with little girls. Other people treated children like lovable but necessary evils. Sissy treated them like important human beings. But although mama urged her, Sissy wouldn't stay. She had to go home, she said, and see if her husband still loved her. This made mama laugh. Francie laughed too, although she didn't understand what Sissy meant. Sissy left after promising that she would come back on the first of the month with the magazines. Sissy's current husband worked for a pulp magazine house. Each month he received copies of all their publications: love stories, wild west stories, detective stories, supernatural stories and what not. They had shiny colorful covers and he received them from the stock room tied up in a length of new yellow twine. Sissy brought them over to Francie just as they came. Francie read them all avidly, then sold them at half price to the neighborhood stationery store and put the money in mama's tin-can bank. After Sissy left, Francie told mama about the old man at Losher's with the obscene feet. "Nonsense," said mama. "Old age isn't such a tragedy. If he was the only old man in the world-yes. But he has other old men to keep him company. Old people are not unhappy. They don't long for the things we want. They just want to be warm and have soft food to eat and remember things with each other. Stop being so foolish. If there's one thing certain, it's that we all have to get old someday. So get used to the idea as quickly as you can." Francie knew that mama was right. Still ... she was glad when mama spoke of something else. She and mama planned what meals they'd make from the stale bread in the week to come. The Nolans practically lived on that stale bread and what amazing things Katie could make from it! She'd take a loaf of stale bread, pour boiling water over it, work it up into a paste, flavor it with salt, pepper, thyme, minced onion and an egg (if eggs were cheap), and bake it in the oven. When it was good and brown, she made a sauce from half a cup of ketchup, two cups of boiling water, seasoning, a dash of strong coffee, thickened it with flour and poured it over the baked stuff. It was good, hot, tasty and staying. What was left over, was sliced thin the next day and fried in hot bacon fat. Mama made a very fine bread pudding from slices of stale bread, sugar, cinnamon and a penny apple sliced thin. When this was baked brown, sugar was melted and poured over the top. Sometimes she made what she had named Weg Geschnissen, which laboriously translated meant something made with bread bits that usually would be thrown away. Bits of bread were dipped into a batter made from flour, water, salt and an egg and then fried in deep hot fat. While they were frying, Francie ran down to the candy store and bought a penny's worth of brown rock candy. This was crushed with a rolling pin and sprinkled on top of the fried bits just before eating. The crystals didn't quite melt and that made it wonderful. Saturday supper was a red letter meal. The Nolans had fried meat! A loaf of stale bread was made into pulp with hot water and mixed with a dime's worth of chopped meat into which an onion had been cleavered. Salt and a penny's worth of minced parsley were added for flavor. This was made up into little balls, fried and served with hot ketchup. These meat bails had a name, fricadellen, which was a great joke with Francie and Neeley. They lived mostly on these things made from stale bread, and condensed milk and coffee, onions, potatoes, and always the penny's worth of something bought at the last minute, added for fillip. Once in a while, they had a banana. But Francie always longed for oranges and pineapple and especially tangerines which she got only at Christmas. Sometimes when she had a spare penny, she bought broken crackers. The groceryman would make a toot, which was a poke made of a bit of twisted paper, and fill it with bits of sweet crackers that had been broken in the box and could no longer be sold as whole crackers. Mama's rule was: don't buy candy or cake if you have a penny. Buy an apple. But what was an apple? Francie found that a raw potato tasted just as good and this she could have for free. There were times though, especially towards the end of a long cold dark winter, when, no matter how hungry Francie was, nothing tasted good. That was big pickle time. She'd take a penny and go down to a store on Moore Street that had nothing in it but fat Jew pickles floating around in a heavy spiced brine. A patriarch with a long white beard, black skull cap and toothless gums presided over the vats with a big forked wooden stick. Francie ordered the same as the other kids did. "Gimme a penny sheeny pickle." The Hebrew looked at the Irish child with his fierce red-rimmed eyes, small, tortured and fiery. "Goyem! Goyem!" he spat at her, hating the word "sheeny." Francie meant no harm. She didn't know what the word meant really. It was a term applied to something alien, yet beloved. The Jew of course did not know this. Francie had been told that he had one vat from which he sold only to Gentiles. It was said that he spat or did worse in this vat once a day. That was his revenge. But this was never proven against the poor old Jew and Francie for one did not believe it. As he stirred with his stick, muttering curses into his stained white beard, he was thrown into a hysterical passion by Francie asking for a pickle from the bottom of the vat. This brought on eye rollings and clutchings of the beard. Eventually a fine fat pickle, greenish yellow and hard at the ends was fished out and laid on a scrap of brown paper. Still cursing, the Jew received her penny in his vinegar-scarred palm and retired to the rear of his store where his temper cooled as he sat nodding in his beard dreaming of old days in the old country. The pickle lasted all day. Francie sucked and nibbled on it. She didn't exactly eat it. She just had it. When they had just bread and potatoes too many times at home, Francie's thoughts went to dripping sour pickles. She didn't know why, but after a day of the pickle, the bread and potatoes tasted good again. Yes, pickle day was something to look forward to. VI NEELEY came home and he and Francie were sent out for the weekend meat. This was an important ritual and called for detailed instructions by mama. "Get a five-cent soup bone off of Hassler's. But don't get the chopped meat there. Go to Werner's for that. Get round steak chopped, ten cents worth, and don't let him give it to you off the plate. Take an onion with you, too." Francie and her brother stood at the counter a long time before the butcher noticed them. "What's yours?" he asked finally. Francie started the negotiations. "Ten cents worth of round steak." "Ground?" "No." "Lady was just in. Bought a quarters worth of round steak ground. Only I ground too much and here's the rest on the plate. Just ten cents' worth. Honestly. I only just ground it." This was the pitfall Francie had been told to watch against. Don't buy it off the plate no matter what the butcher says. "No. My mother said ten cents worth of round steak." Furiously the butcher hacked off a bit of meat and slammed it down on the paper after weighing it. He was just about to wrap it up when Francie said in a trembling voice. "Oh, I forgot. My mother wants it ground." "God-damn it to hell!" He hacked up the meat and shoved it into the chopper. Tricked again, he thought bitterly. The meat came out in fresh red spirals. He gathered it up in his hand and was just about to slam it down on the paper when. ... "And mama said to chop up this onion in it." Timidly, she pushed the peeled onion that she had brought from home across the counter. Neeley stood by and said nothing. His function was to come along for moral support. "Jesus!" the butcher said explosively. But he went to work with two cleavers chopping the onion up into the meat. Francie watched, loving the drumbeat rhythm of the cleavers. Again the butcher gathered up the meat, slammed it down on the paper and glared at Francie. She gulped. The last order would be hardest of all. The butcher had an idea of what was coming. He stood there trembling inwardly. Francie said all on one breath, "And-a-piece-of-suet-to- fry-it-with." "Son-of-a-bitchin' bastard," whispered the butcher bitterly. He slashed off a piece of white fat, let it fall to the floor in revenge, picked it up and slammed it on the mound of meat. He wrapped it furiously, snatched the dime, and as he turned it over to the boss for ringing up, he cursed the destiny that had made him a butcher. After the chopped meat deal they went to Hassler's for the soup bone. Hassler was a fine butcher for bones but a bad butcher for chopped meat because he ground it behind closed doors and God knows what you got. Neeley waited outside with the package because if Hassler noticed you had bought meat elsewhere, he'd proudly tell you to go get your bone where you got your other meat. Francie ordered a nice bone with some meat on it for Sunday soup for five cents. Hassler made her wait while he told the stale joke: how a man had bought two cents' worth of dog meat and how Hassler had asked, should he wrap it up or do you want to eat it here? Francie smiled shyly. The pleased butcher went into the icebox and returned holding up a gleaming white bone with creamy marrow in it and shreds of red meat clinging to the ends. He made Francie admire it. "After your mama cooks this," he said, "tell her to take the marrow out, spread it on a piece of bread with pepper, salt, and make a nice samwish for you." "I'll tell mama." "You eat it and get some meat on your bones, ha, ha." After the bone was wrapped and paid for, he sliced off a thick piece of liver wurst and gave it to her. Francie was sorry that she deceived that kind man by buying the other meat elsewhere. Too bad mama didn't trust him about chopped meat. It was still early in the evening and the street lights had not yet come on. But already, the horse-radish lady was sitting in front of Hassler's grinding away at her pungent roots. Francie held out the cup that she had brought from home. The old mother filled it halfway up for two cents. Happy that the meat business was over, Francie bought two cents worth of soup greens from the green grocer's. She got an emasculated carrot, a droopy leaf of celery, a soft tomato and a fresh sprig of parsley. These would be boiled with the bone to make a rich soup with shreds of meat floating in it. Fat, homemade noodles would be added. This, with the seasoned marrow spread on bread, would make a good Sunday dinner. After a supper of fried fricadellen, potatoes, smashed pie, and coffee, Neeley went down on the street to play with his friends. Although there was no signal nor agreement, the boys always gathered on the corner after supper where they stood the whole evening, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched forward, arguing, laughing, pushing each other around and jigging in time to whistled tunes. Maudie Donavan came around to go to confession with Francie. Maudie was an orphan who lived with two maiden aunts who worked at home. They made ladies' shrouds for a living at so much per dozen for a casket company. They made satin tufted shrouds: white ones for dead virgins, pale lavender for the young married, purple for the middle-aged and black for the old. Maudie brought some pieces. She thought Francie might like to make something out of them. Francie pretended to be glad but shuddered as she put the gleaming scraps away. The church was smoky with incense and guttering candles. The nuns had put fresh flowers on the altars. The Blessed Mother's altar had the nicest flowers. She was more popular with the sisters than either Jesus or Joseph. People were lined up outside the confessionals. The girls and fellows wanted to get it over with before they went out on their dates. The line was longest at Father O'Flynn's cubicle. He was young, kind, tolerant and easy on the penances. When her turn came, Francie pushed aside the heavy curtain and knelt in the confessional. The old, old mystery took hold as the priest slid open the tiny door that separated him from the sinner and made the sign of the cross before the grilled window. He started whispering rapidly and monotonously in Latin with his eyes closed. She caught the mingled odors of incense, candle wax, flowers, and the good black cloth and shaving lotion of the priest. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. ..." Quickly were her sins confessed and quickly absolved. She came out with her head bowed over her clasped hands. She genuflected before the altar, then knelt at the rail. She said her penance using her mother-of-pearl rosary to keep count of the prayers. Maudie, who lived a less complicated life, had had fewer sins to confess and had gotten out sooner. She was sitting outside on the steps waiting when Francie came out. They walked up and down the block, arms about each other's waists, the way girl friends did in Brooklyn. Maudie had a penny. She bought an ice cream sandwich and treated Francie to a bite. Soon Maudie had to go in. She wasn't allowed out on the street after eight at night. The girls parted after mutual promises were asked and given to go to confession together the following Saturday. "Don't forget," called Maudie, walking backwards away from Francie, "I called for you this time and it's your turn to call for me next time." "I won't forget," promised Francie. There was company in the front room when Francie got home. Aunt Evy was there with her husband, Willie Flittman. Francie liked Aunt Evy. She looked a lot like mama. She was full of fun and said things to make you laugh like people did in a show and she could mimic anybody in the world. Uncle Flittman had brought his guitar along. He was playing it and all were singing. Flittman was a thin dark man with smooth black hair and a silky mustache. He played the guitar pretty well considering that the middle finger of his right hand wasn't there. When he came to where he was supposed to use that finger, he'd give the guitar a thumping whack to do for the time when the note should be played. This gave a queer rhythm to his songs. He had nearly reached the end of his repertoire when Francie came in. She was just in time to hear his last selection. After the music, he went out and got a pitcher of beer. Aunt Evy treated to a loaf of pumpernickel bread and a dime's worth of limburger cheese and they had sandwiches and beer. Uncle Flittman got confidential after the beer. "Look on me, Kate," he said to mama, "and you look on a man that's a failure." Aunt Evy rolled her eyes up and sighed, pulling in her lower lip. "My children don't respect me," he said. "My wife has no use for me and Drummer, my milk wagon horse, is got it in for me. Do you know what he did to me just the other day?" He leaned forward and Francie saw his eyes brighten with unshed tears. "I was washing him in the stable and I was washing under his belly and he went and wet on me." Katie and Evy looked at each other. Their eyes were dancing with hidden laughter. Katie looked suddenly at Francie. The laughter was still in her eyes but her mouth was stern. Francie looked down on the floor and frowned although she was laughing inside. "That's what he did. And all the men in the stable laughed at me. Everyone laughs at me." He drank another glass of beer. "Don't talk like that, Will," said his wife. "Evy doesn't love me," he said to mama. "I love you, Will," Evy assured him in her soft tender voice that was a caress in itself. "You loved me when you married me but you don't love me now, do you?" He waited. Evy said nothing. "You see, she don't love me "anymore," he said to mama. "It's time we went home," said Evy. Before they went to bed, Francie and Neeley had to read a page of the Bible and a page from Shakespeare. That was a rule. Mama used to read the two pages to them each night until they were old enough to read for themselves. To save time, Neeley read the Bible page and Francie read from Shakespeare. They had been at this reading for six years and were halfway through the Bible and up to Macbeth in Shakespeare's Complete Works. They raced through the reading and by eleven, all the Nolans, excepting Johnny, who was working, were in bed. On Saturday nights Francie was allowed to sleep in the front room. She made a bed by pushing two chairs together in front of the window where she could watch the people on the street. Lying there, she was aware of the nighttime noises in the house. People came in and went to their flats. Some were tired and dragged their feet. Others ran up the stairs lightly. One stumbled, cursing the torn linoleum in the hall. A baby cried half- heartedly and a drunken man in one of the downstairs flats synopsized the wicked life he claimed his wife had led. At two in the morning, Francie heard papa singing softly as he came up the stairs. … sweet Molly Malone. She drove her wheel barrow, Through streets wide and narrow, Crying ... Mama had the door open on "crying." It was a game papa had. If they got the door opened before he finished the verse, they won. If he was able to finish it out in the hall, he won. Francie and Neeley got out of bed and they all sat around the table and ate after papa had put three dollars down on the table and given the children each a nickel which mama made them put in the tin-can bank explaining they had already received money that day from the junk. Papa had brought home a paper bagful of food not used at the wedding because some of the guests hadn't come. The bride had divided the unconsumed food among the waiters. There was half of a cold broiled lobster, five stone-cold fried oysters, an inch jar of caviar and a wedge of Roquefort cheese. The children didn't like the lobster and the cold oysters had no taste and the caviar seemed too salty. But they were so hungry that they ate everything on the table and digested it too, during the night. They could have digested nails had they been able to chew them. After she had eaten, Francie at last faced the fact that she had broken the fast which started at midnight and was to have lasted until after mass next morning. Now she could not receive communion. Here was a real sin to confess to the priest next week. Neeley went back to bed and resumed his sound sleep. Francie went into the dark front room and sat by the window. She didn't feel like sleeping. Mama and papa sat in the kitchen. They would sit there and talk until daybreak. Papa was telling about the night's work; the people he had seen, what they had looked like and how they spoke. The Nolans just couldn't get enough of life. They lived their own lives up to the hilt but that wasn't enough. They had to fill in on the lives of all the people they made contact with. So Johnny and Katie talked away the night and the rise and fall of their voices was a safe and soothing sound in the dark. Now it was three in the morning and the street was very quiet. Francie saw a girl who lived in a flat across the street come home from a dance with her feller. They stood pressed close together in her vestibule. They stood embracing without talking until the girl leaned back and unknowingly pressed the bells. Then her father came down in his long underdrawers and, with quiet but intense profanity, told the fellow what he could go and do to himself. The girl ran upstairs giggling hysterically while the boy friend walked away down the street whistling, "When I Get You Alone, Tonight." Mr. Tomony who owned the pawnshop came home in a hansom cab from his spendthrift evening in New York. He had never set foot inside his pawnshop which he had inherited along with an efficient manager. No one knew why Mr. Tomony lived in the rooms above the shop-a man with his money. He lived the life of an aristocratic New Yorker in the squalor of Williamsburg. A plasterer who had been in his rooms reported them furnished with statues, oil paintings, and white fur rugs. Mr. Tomony was a bachelor. No one saw him all week. No one saw him leave Saturday evenings. Only Francie and the cop on the beat saw him come home. Francie watched him, feeling like a spectator in a theater box. His high silk hat was tipped over an ear. The street light picked up the gleam of his silver-knobbed cane as he tucked it under his arm. He swung back his white satin Inverness cape to get some money. The driver took the bill, touched the butt of his whip to the rim of his plug hat and shook the horse's reins. Mr. Tomony watched him drive away as though the cab were the last link in a life that he had found good. Then he went upstairs to his fabulous apartment. He was supposed to frequent such legendary places as Reisenweber's and the Waldorf. Francie decided to see these places some day. Some day she would go across Williamsburg Bridge, which was only a few blocks away and find her way uptown in New York to where these fine places were and take a good look at the outside. Then she'd be able to place Mr. Tomony more accurately. A fresh breeze blew in over Brooklyn from the sea. From far away on the north side where the Italians lived and kept chickens in their yards, came the crowing of a rooster. It was answered by the distant barking of a dog and an inquiring whinny from the horse, Bob, comfortably bedded in his stable. Francie was glad for Saturday and hated to end it by going to sleep. Already the dread of the week to come made her uneasy. She fixed the memory of this Saturday in her mind. It was without fault except for the old man waiting for bread. Other nights in the week she would have to lie on her cot and from the airshaft hear the indistinct voices of the childlike bride who lived in one of the other flats with her ape-like truck- driver husband. The bride's voice would be soft and pleading, his, rough and demanding. Then there would be a short silence. Then he would start snoring and the wife would cry piteously until nearly morning. Recalling the sobs, Francie trembled and instinctively her hands flew to cover her ears. Then she remembered it was Saturday; she was in the front room where she couldn't hear sounds from the airshaft. Yes, it was still Saturday and it was wonderful. Monday was a long time away. Peaceful Sunday would come in- between when she would think long thoughts about the nasturtiums in the brown bowl and the way the horse had looked being washed while standing in sunshine and shadow. She was growing drowsy. She listened a moment to Katie and Johnny talking in the kitchen. They were reminiscing. "I was seventeen when I first met you," Katie was saying, "and I was working in the Castle Braid Factory." "I was nineteen then," recalled Johnny, "and keeping company with your best friend, Hildy O'Dair." "Oh, her," sniffed Katie. The sweet-smelling warm wind moved gently in Francie's hair. She folded her arms on the window sill and laid her cheek on them. She could look up and see the stars high above the tenement roofs. After awhile she went to sleep. BOOK TWO VII IT was in another Brooklyn summer but twelve years earlier in nineteen hundred, that Johnny Nolan first met Katie Rommely. He was nineteen and she was seventeen. Katie worked in the Castle Braid Factory. So did Hildy O'Dair, her best friend. They got along well although Hildy was Irish and Katie came from parents who had been born in Austria. Katie was prettier but Hildy was bolder. Hildy had brassy blond hair, wore a garnet- colored chiffon bow around her neck, chewed sen-sen, knew all the latest songs and was a good dancer. Hildy had a feller, a beau who took her dancing Saturday nights. His name was Johnny Nolan. Sometimes he waited for Hildy outside the factory. He always brought some of the boys along to wait with him. They stood loafing on the corner, telling jokes and laughing. One day, Hildy asked Johnny to bring someone for Katie, her girl friend, the next time they went dancing. Johnny obliged. The four of them rode out to Canarsie on the trolley. The boys wore straw katies with a cord attached to the brim and the other end to their coat lapel. The stiff ocean breeze blew the hats off and there was much laughter when the boys pulled the skimmers back by the cords. Johnny danced with his girl, Hildy. Katie refused to dance with the feller provided for her, a vacuous vulgar boy given to remarks like: "I thought you musta fallen in," when Katie returned from a trip to the ladies' room. However, she let him buy her a beer, and she sat at the table watching Johnny dancing with Hildy and thinking that in all the world, there was nobody like Johnny. Johnny's feet were long and slender and his shoes were shiny. He danced with his toes pointed in and rocked from heel to toe with beautiful rhythm. It was hot, dancing. Johnny hung his coat over the back of his chair. His trousers settled well on his hips and his white shirt bloused over his belt. He wore a high stiff collar and a polka-dotted tie (which matched the band on his straw hat), baby-blue sleeve garters of satin ribbon shirred on to elastic which Katie jealously suspected Hildy had made for him. So jealous was she that for the rest of her life she hated that color. Katie couldn't stop looking at him. He was young, slender and shining with blond curly hair and deep blue eyes. His nose was straight and his shoulders broad and square. She heard the girls at the next table say that he was a nifty dresser. Their escorts said he was a nifty dancer, too. Although he did not belong to her, Katie was proud of him. Johnny gave her a courtesy dance when the orchestra played "Sweet Rosie O'Grady." Feeling his arms around her and instinctively adjusting herself to his rhythm, Katie knew that he was the man she wanted. She'd ask nothing more than to look at him and to listen to him for the rest of her life. Then and there, she decided that those privileges were worth slaving for all her life. Maybe that decision was her great mistake. She should have waited until some man came along who felt that way about her. Then her children would not have gone hungry; she would not have had to scrub floors for their living and her memory of him would have remained a tender shining thing. But she wanted Johnny Nolan and no one else and she set out to get him. Her campaign started the following Monday. When the whistle blew dismissal, she ran out of the factory, reached the corner before Hildy did and sang out, "Hello, Johnny Nolan." "Hello, Katie, dear," he answered. After that, she'd manage to get a few words with him each day. Johnny found that he was waiting around on the corner for those few words. One day Katie, falling back on a woman's always- respected excuse, told her forelady that it was the time of the month; she didn't feel so good. She got out fifteen minutes before closing time. Johnny was waiting on the corner with his friends. They were whistling "Annie Rooney" to pass the time away. Johnny cocked his skimmer over one eye, put his hands in his pockets and did a waltz clog there on the sidewalk. Passers-by stopped to admire. The cop, walking his beat, called out, "You're losing time, Sport. You ought to be on the stage." Johnny saw Katie coming along and stopped performing and grinned at her. She looked mighty fetching in a tight-fitting gray suit, trimmed with black braid from the factory. Intricately whorled and squirled, the braid trimming was designed to call attention to her modest bust already helped out by two rows of ruffles pinned to her corset cover. With the gray suit, she wore a cherry- colored tam pulled over one eye and vici-kid high buttoned shoes with spool heels. Her brown eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed with excitement and shame as she thought how fresh she must look-running after a feller like that. Johnny hailed her. The other boys drifted away. What Katie and Johnny said to each other on that special day, they never remembered. Somehow during their aimless but oh-so-significant conversation with its delicious pauses and thrilling undercurrents of emotion, they came to know that they loved each other passionately. The factory whistle blew and the girls streamed out of the Castle Braid. Hildy came along in a mud-colored brown suit and a black sailor skewered on to her ratted brassy pompadour with an evil-looking hatpin. She smiled possessively when she saw Johnny. But the smile changed to a spasm of hurt, fear and then hate when she saw Katie with him. She rushed down on them pulling her long hatpin from her sailor. "He's my feller, Katie Rommely," she screamed, "and you can't steal him away." "Hildy, Hildy," said Johnny in his soft unhurried voice. "I guess this is a free country," said Katie tossing her head. "Not free for robbers," yelled Hildy as she lunged at Katie with her hatpin. Johnny stepped between the girls and got the scratch down his cheek. By this time, a crowd of Castle Braid girls had gathered and were watching them with delighted cluckings. Johnny took each girl by the arm and steered them around the corner. He crowded them into a doorway and imprisoned them there with his arm while he talked to them. "Hildy," he said, "I'm not much good. I shouldn't have led you on because I see now that I can't marry you." "It's all her fault," wet Hildy. "Mine," acknowledged Johnny handsomely. "I never knew what true love was till I met Katie." "But she's my best friend," said Hildy piteously as though Johnny were committing a kind of incest. "She's my best girl now and there's nothing more to say about it." Hildy wept and argued. Finally Johnny quieted her down and explained how it was with him and Katie. He ended by saying that Hildy was to go her way and he'd go his. He liked the sound of his words. He repeated them again, enjoying the drama of the moment. "So you go your way and I'll go mine." "You mean, I go my way and you go her way," said Hildy bitterly. Finally Hildy went her way. She walked down the street with her shoulders sagging. Johnny ran after her, and there on the street he put his arms about her and kissed her tenderly in farewell. "I wish it could have been different with us," he said sadly. You wish no such thing," snapped Hildy. "If you did"-she started crying again- "you'd just give her the gate and start going out with me again." Katie was crying too. After all, Hildy O'Dair had been her best friend. She too kissed Hildy. She looked away when she saw Hildy's tear-wetted eyes so close to hers, grow small with hate. So Hildy went her way and Johnny went Katie's way. They kept company for a little while, became engaged, and were married in Katie's church on New Year's Day, nineteen hundred and one. They had known each other not quite four months when they married. Thomas Rommely never forgave his daughter. In fact he never forgave any of his daughters for marrying. His philosophy about children was simple and profitable: a man enjoyed himself begetting them, put in as little money and effort into their upbringing as was possible, and then put them to work earning money for the father as soon as they got into their teens. Katie, at seventeen, had only been working four years when she married. He figured that she owed him money. Rommely hated everybody and everything. No one ever found out why. He was a massive handsome man with iron-gray curly hair covering a leonine head. He had run away from Austria with his bride to avoid being conscripted into the army. Although he hated the old country, he stubbornly refused to like the new country. He understood and could speak English if he wanted to. But he refused to answer when addressed in English and forbade the speaking of English in his home. His daughters understood very little German. (Their mother insisted that the girls speak only English in the home. She reasoned that the less they understood German, the less they would find out about the cruelty of their father.) Consequently, the four daughters grew up having little communion with their father. He never spoke to them except to curse them. His Gott verdammte came to be regarded as hello and goodbye. When very angry, he'd call the object of his temper, Du Russe! This he considered his most obscene expletive. He hated Austria. He hated America. Most of all he hated Russia. He had never been to that country and had never laid eyes on a Russian. No one understood his hatred of that dimly- known country and its vaguely-known people. This was the man who was Francie's maternal grandfather. She hated him the way his daughters hated him. Mary Rommely, his wife and Francie's grandmother, was a saint. She had no education; she could not read or write her own name, but she had in her memory over a thousand stories and legends. Some she had invented to entertain her children; others were old folk tales told to her by her own mother and her grandmother. She knew many old-country songs and understood all the wise sayings. She was intensely religious and knew the life story of every Catholic saint. She believed in ghosts and fairies and all supernatural folk. She knew all about herbs and could brew you either a medicine or a charm- provided you intended no evil with the charm. Back in the old country she had been honored for her wisdom and much sought out for advice. She was a blameless sinless woman, yet she understood how it was with people who sinned. Inflexibly rigid in her own moral conduct, she condoned weaknesses in others. She revered God and loved Jesus, but she understood why people often turned away from these Two. She had been virgin when she married and had humbly submitted to her husband's brutal love. His brutality early killed all of her latent desires. Yet she could understand the fierce love hunger that made girls-as people put it-go wrong. She understood how a boy who had been driven from the neighborhood for rape could still be a good boy at heart. She understood why people had to lie and steal and harm one another. She knew of all pitiful human weaknesses and of many cruel strengths. Yet she could not read or write. Her eyes were soft brown, limpid and innocent. She wore her shining brown hair parted in the middle and drawn down over her ears. Her skin was pale and translucent and her mouth was tender. She spoke in a low, soft, warmly melodious voice that soothed those who listened. All of her daughters and granddaughters inherited this quality of voice from her. Mary was convinced that because of some sin she had unwittingly committed in her life, she was mated with the devil himself. She really believed this because her husband told her so. "I am the devil, himself," he told her frequently. She often looked at him-the way two locks of his hair stood up on either side of his head, the way his cold gray eyes slanted upward at the outer corners, and she sighed and said to herself, "Yes, he is the devil." He had a way of looking full into her saintly, face and in a falsely caressing tone he would accuse Christ of unspeakable things. This always terrified her so much that she'd take her shawl from the nail behind the door, throw it over her head and rush forth into the street where she would walk and walk until concern for her children drove her back into the house. She went to the public school that the three youngest girls attended and in halting English told the teacher that the children must be encouraged to speak only English; they were not to use a German word or phrase ever. In that way, she protected them against their father. She grieved when her children had to leave school after the sixth grade and go out working. She grieved when they married no- account men. She wept when they gave birth to daughters, knowing that to be born a woman meant a life of humble hardship. Each time Francie began the prayer, Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, her grandmother's face came before her. Sissy was the oldest child of Thomas and Mary Rommely. She had been born three months after her parents landed in America. She had never gone to school. At the time when she should have started, Mary did not understand that free education was available for people like them. There were laws about sending children to school but no one sought out these ignorant people in order to enforce the law. By the time the other girls reached school age, Mary had learned about free education. But Sissy was then too big to start in with the six-year-olds. She stayed home and helped her mother. At ten, Sissy was as fully developed as a woman of thirty and all the boys were after Sissy and Sissy was after all the boys. At twelve, she started keeping steady company with a lad of twenty. Her father nipped that romance by beating up the boy. At fourteen, she was going with a fireman of twenty-five. Because he licked her father, instead of the other way around, this romance ended in the fireman marrying Sissy. They went to City Hall, where Sissy swore that she was eighteen and were married by one of the clerks. The neighbors were shocked but Mary knew that marriage was the best thing that could happen to her highly sexed daughter. Jim, the fireman, was a good man. He was considered educated, having graduated from grammar school. He made good money and wasn't home much. He was an ideal husband. They were very happy. Sissy demanded little from him except a lot of love- making, which made him very happy. Sometimes he was a little ashamed because his wife couldn't read or write. But she was so witty and clever and warmhearted that she made of living a high joyous thing and in time he began to overlook her illiteracy. Sissy was very good to her mother and her younger sisters. Jim gave her a fair household allowance. She was very careful with it and usually had money left over to give her mother. She became pregnant a month after marriage. She was still a hoyden girl of fourteen in spite of her womanly status. The neighbors were horrified when they watched her skipping rope on the street with other children, heedless of the yet-to-be-born baby who was now an almost unwieldy bulge. In the hours not devoted to cooking, cleaning, lovemaking, rope skipping and trying to get into the baseball game with the boys, Sissy made plans for the coming baby. If it were a girl, she was going to call it Mary after her mother. If a boy, it would be named John. For some unknown reason, she had a great affection for the name John. She began calling Jim by the name of John. She said she wanted to name him after the baby. At first, it was an affectionate nickname but soon everyone got to calling him John and many people believed that that was his real name. The baby was born. It was a girl and a very easy birth. The midwife down the block was called in. Everything went fine. Sissy was in labor only twenty-five minutes. It was a wonderful delivery. The only thing wrong with the whole business was that the baby was born dead. Coincidently, the baby was born and died on Sissy's fifteenth birthday. She grieved awhile and her grief changed her. She worked harder at keeping her house spotless and clean. She became even more thoughtful of her mother. She stopped being a tomboy. She was convinced that the rope skipping had cost her the child. As she quieted down, she seemed younger and more child-like. By the time she was twenty, she had had four children, all born dead. Finally she came to the conclusion that her husband was at fault. It wasn't her fault. Hadn't she stopped skipping rope after the first child? She told Jim that she didn't care for him any more since nothing but death grew out of their love-making. She told him to leave her. He argued a little but went finally. At first he sent her money from time to time. Sometimes when Sissy got lonesome for a man, she'd walk past the firehouse where Jim would be sitting outside with his chair tilted against the brick wall. She'd walk slow, smiling and swaying her hips, and Jim would take unauthorized leave, run up to the flat and they'd be very happy together for a half hour or so. Eventually Sissy met another man who wanted to marry her. What his real name was nobody in her family knew, because she began calling him John right away. Her second marriage was arranged very simply. Divorce was complicated and expensive. Besides she was a Catholic and didn't believe in divorce. She and Jim had been married by a clerk in City Hall. She reasoned that it hadn't been a church, or a real marriage so why let it stand in her way? Using her marriage name and saying nothing about her previous marriage, she was married again in City Hall but by a different clerk. Mary, her mother, was distressed because Sissy hadn't married in the church. This second marriage provided Thomas with a new implement of torture for his wife. He often told her that he was going to tell a policeman and have Sissy arrested for bigamy. But before he could get around to it, Sissy and her second John had been married four years, she had given birth to four more children, all born dead, and she had decided that this second John wasn't her man either. She dissolved the marriage very simply by telling her husband, a Protestant, that since the Catholic Church didn't recognize her marriage, she didn't recognize it either and she now announced her freedom. John Two took it in his stride. He liked Sissy and had been fairly happy with her. But she was like quicksilver. In spite of her terrifying frankness and overwhelming naïveté, he really knew nothing about her and he was tired of living with an enigma. He didn't feel too bad about going away. Sissy at twenty-four had borne eight children, none of whom had lived. She decided that God was against her marrying. She got a job in a rubber factory where she told everyone she was an old maid (which no one believed), and went home to live with her mother. Between her second and third marriage, she had a succession of lovers all of whom she called John. After each futile birth, her love of children grew stronger. She had dark moods in which she thought she would go crazy if she didn't have a child to love. She poured out her frustrated maternity on the men she slept with, on her two sisters, Evy and Katie, and on their children. Francie adored her. She had heard it whispered that Sissy was a bad girl but she loved her fiercely just the same. Evy and Katie tried to be mad at their erring sister but she was so good to them that they couldn't hold out against her. Soon after Francie was eleven, Sissy married for the third time at City Hall. The third John was the one who worked in the magazine company and through him Francie had those fine, new magazines each month. She hoped the third marriage would endure because of the magazines. Eliza, the second daughter of Mary and Thomas lacked the prettiness and fire of her three sisters. She was plain and dull and indifferent to life. Mary, wanting to give one of her daughters to the church, decided that Eliza was the one. Eliza entered a convent at sixteen. She chose a very rigid order of nuns. She was never permitted to leave the convent walls except on the occasion of her parents' death. She took the name of Ursula and as Sister Ursula she became an unreal legend to Francie. Francie saw her once when she came out of the convent to attend Thomas Rommely's funeral. Francie was nine at the time. She had just made her first communion and had given herself so whole-heartedly to the church that she thought she might like to be a nun when she grew up. She awaited Sister Ursula's coming with excitement. Just think of it! An aunt who was a nun! What an honor. But when Sister Ursula stooped to kiss her, Francie saw that she had a fine fringe of hair on her upper lip and chin. This frightened Francie into believing that hair grew on the faces of all nuns who entered the convent at a tender age. Francie decided against sisterhood. Evy was the third Rommely girl. She, too, had married young. She married Willie Flittman, a handsome, black-haired man with a silky mustache and liquid eyes like an Italian. Francie thought that he had a very comical name and she laughed to herself every time she thought of it. Flittman wasn't much good. He wasn't exactly a bum, he was just a weak man who whined all the time. But he played the guitar. Those Rommely women had a weakness for any kind of man who was by way of being a creator or a performer. Any kind of musical, artistic or story-telling talent was wonderful to them and they felt it their duty to nurture and guard these things. Evy was the refined one of the family. She lived in a cheap basement flat on the fringes of a very refined neighborhood and studied her betters. She wanted to be somebody; wanted her children to have advantages she had never had. She had three children; a boy named after his father, a girl named Blossom and another boy called Paul Jones. Her first step towards refinement was to take her children out of the Catholic Sunday School and put them in the Episcopal Sunday School. She had gotten it into her head that the Protestants were more refined than the Catholics. Evy, loving talent in music and lacking it herself, sought for it avidly in her children. She hoped that Blossom would like to sing and that Paul Jones would want to play the fiddle and Little Willie the piano. But there was no music in the children. Evy took the bull by the horns. They would have to love music whether they wanted to or not. If talent wasn't born in them, maybe it could be shoved in at so much per hour. She bought a second-hand fiddle for Paul Jones and negotiated lessons for him at fifty cents an hour from a man who called himself Professor Allegretto. He taught little Flittman fearsome scrapings and at the end of the year gave him the piece called "Humoresque." Evy thought it was wonderful when he got a piece to play. It was better than playing the scales all the time ... well, a little better. Then Evy got more ambitious. "Beings, she said to her husband, "that we've got the fiddle for Paul Jones, little Blossom could take lessons too and both could practice on the same fiddle." "At different times, I hope," replied her husband sourly. "What do you think," she answered indignantly. So fifty cents more a week was scraped up and folded into Blossom's reluctant hand and she was sent off to take fiddle lessons, too. It so happened that Professor Allegretto had a very slight peculiarity concerning his girl pupils. He made them take off their shoes and stockings and stand in their bare feet on his green carpet while they sawed away. Instead of beating time or correcting their fingering, he spent the hour in a reverie staring at their feet. Evy was watching Blossom getting ready for a lesson one day. She noticed that the child removed her shoes and stockings and washed her feet carefully. Evy thought that commendable but a little strange. "And why do you wash your feet now?" "For my fiddle lessons." "You play with your hands, not your feet." "I feel ashamed standing in front of the professor with dirty feet." "He can see through your shoes maybe?" "I don't think so because he always makes me take my shoes and stockings off." This made Evy jump. She knew nothing of Freud and her scanty knowledge of sex did not include any of its deviations. But her common sense told her that Professor Allegretto should not charge fifty cents an hour and not attend to his work. Blossom's musical education was terminated then and there. Upon being questioned, Paul Jones said that he had never been asked to take anything off but his hat when he went for a lesson. He was allowed to continue. In five years, he could play the fiddle almost as well as his father, who had never taken a lesson in his life, could play the guitar. Aside from his music, Uncle Flittman was a dull man. At home, his only topic of conversation was the way Drummer, the milk wagon horse, treated him. Flittman and the horse had been feuding for five years and Evy hoped that one of them would get the decision soon. Evy really loved her husband although she could not resist mimicking him. She'd stand in the Nolan kitchen and pretend that she was the horse, Drummer, and she'd give a good imitation of Uncle Flittman trying to put the feedbag on the horse. "The horse is standing at the curb like this," Evy leaned over until her head was dangling at her knees. "Will comes along with the feedbag. He's just about to put it on, when up goes the horse's head." Here Evy would jerk her head high and whinny like a horse. "Will waits. The horse's head goes down again. You'd think he never could get it up in the air. The horse makes out like he's got no bones." Evy's head lolled alarmingly. "Comes Will with the feedbag, up goes the head." "Then what happens?" asked Francie. "I go down and put the feedbag on the horse. That's what happens." "Does he let you?" "Does he let me," Evy reported to Katie, then turned to Francie. "Why he runs up on the sidewalk to meet me and sticks his head in the feedbag before I can lift it up, even. Does he let me," she murmured indignantly. She turned again to Katie. "You know, Kate, sometimes I think my man is jealous the way the horse, Drummer, likes me." Katie stared at her a moment with her mouth open. Then she started to laugh. Evy laughed and Francie laughed. The two Rommely girls and Francie who was half a Rommely stood there laughing about a secret they shared concerning the weakness of a man. Those were the Rommely women: Mary, the mother, Evy, Sissy, and Katie, her daughters, and Francie, who would grow up to be a Rommely woman even though her name was Nolan. They were all slender, frail creatures with wondering eyes and soft fluttery voices. But they were made out of thin invisible steel. VIII THE Rommelys ran to women of strong personalities. The Nolans ran to weak and talented men. Johnny's family was dying out. The Nolan men grew handsomer, weaker and more beguiling with each generation. They had a way of falling in love but of ducking marriage. That was the main reason why they were dying out. Ruthie Nolan had come from Ireland with her handsome young husband soon after their marriage. They had four sons born a year apart. Then Mick ey died at thirty and Ruthie carried on. She managed to get Andy. Georgie, Frankie, and Johnny through the sixth grade. As each boy reached the age of twelve, he had to leave school to go out to earn a few pennies. The boys grew up, handsome, able to play music, to dance and to sing and with all the girls crazy for them. Though the Nolans lived in the shabbiest house in Irish Town, the boys were the dressiest in the neighborhood. The ironing board was kept set up in the kitchen. One or the other was always pressing pants, smoothing out a tie or ironing a shirt. They were the pride of Shantytown, the tall, blond, good-looking Nolan lads. They had quick feet in shoes that were kept highly polished. Their trousers hung just so and their hats set jauntily on their head. But they were all dead before they were thirty-five-all dead, and of the four, only Johnny left children. Andy was the eldest and the handsomest. He had red-gold wavy hair and finely molded features. He had consumption, too. He was engaged to a girl named Francie Melaney. They kept putting off the marriage waiting for him to get better, only he never did get better. The Nolan boys were singing waiters. They had been the Nolan Quartette until Andy got too sick to work. They became the Nolan Trio then. They didn't earn much and spent most of that on liquor and horse-racing bets. When Andy took to his bed for the last time, the boys bought him a genuine swansdown pillow that cost seven dollars. They wanted him to have a luxury before he died. Andy thought it was a wonderful pillow. Andy used it two days, then there was a last great gush of blood which stained the fine new pillow a rusty brown and Andy died. His mother keened over the body for three days. Francie Melaney made a vow that she would never marry. The three remaining Nolan boys swore that they would never leave their mother. Six months later, Johnny married Katie. Ruthie hated Katie. She had hoped to keep all of her fine boys home with her until either she or they died. So far all had avoided marriage. But that girl-that girl, Katie Rommely! She did it! Ruthie was sure that Johnny had been tricked into marriage. Georgie and Frankie liked Katie but thought it was a dirty trick for Johnny to skip out and leave them to take care of their mother. They made the best of it, however. They looked around for a wedding present and decided to give Katie the fine pillow they had bought for Andy and which he had used so briefly. The mother sewed a new ticking over it to hide the ugly stain that had been the past part of Andy's life. The pillow thus passed on to Johnny and Katie. It was considered too good for ordinary use and only brought out when one of them was sick. Francie called it "the sick pillow." Neither Katie nor Francie knew that it had been a death pillow. About a year after Johnny's marriage, Frankie, whom many thought even handsomer than Andy, wavered home after a drinking party one night and stumbled over some taut wire that a bucolic Brooklynite had strung around a square foot of grass before his house stoop. The wire was held up by sharp little sticks. As Frankie stumbled, one of the sticks pierced his stomach. He got up somehow and went home. He died during the night. He died alone and without the priest's last absolution for all of his sins. For the rest of her days, his mother had a mass said once a month for the repose of his soul which she knew wandered about in Purgatory. In little more than a year, Ruthie Nolan had lost three sons; two by death and one by marriage. She grieved for the three. Georgie, who never left her, died three years later when he was twenty-eight. Johnny, twenty- three, was the only Nolan boy left at the time. These were the Nolan boys. All died young. All died sudden or violent deaths brought on by their own recklessness or their own bad way of living. Johnny was the only one who lived past his thirtieth birthday. And the child, Francie Nolan, was of all the Rommelys and all the Nolans. She had the violent weaknesses and passion for beauty of the shanty Nolans. She was a mosaic of her grandmother Rommely's mysticism, her tale-telling, her great belief in everything and her compassion for the weak ones. She had a lot of her grandfather Rommely's cruel will. She had some of her Aunt Evy's talent for mimicking, some of Ruthie Nolan's possessiveness. She had Aunt Sissy's love for life and her love for children. She had Johnny's sentimentality without his good looks. She had all of Katie's soft ways and only half of the invisible steel of Katie. She was made up of all of these good and these bad things. She was made up of more, too. She was the books she read in the library. She was of the flower in the brown bowl. Part of her life was made from the tree growing rankly in the yard. She was the bitter quarrels she had with her brother whom she loved dearly. She was Katie's secret, despairing weeping. She was the shame of her father staggering home drunk. She was all of these things and of something more that did not come from the Rommelys nor the Nolans, the reading, the observing, the living from day to day. It was something that had been born into her and her only-the something different from anyone else in the two families. It was what God or whatever is His equivalent puts into each soul that is given life-the one different thing such as that which makes no two fingerprints on the face of the earth alike. IX JOHNNY and Katie were married and went to live on a quiet side street in Williamsburg called Bogart Street. Johnny chose the street because its name had a thrilling dark sound. They were very happy there the first year of their marriage. Katie had married Johnny because she liked the way he sang and danced and dressed. Womanlike, she set about changing all those things in him after marriage. She persuaded him to give up the singing waiter business. He did so, since he was in love and anxious to please her. They got a job together taking care of a public school and they loved it. Their day started when the rest of the world went to bed. After supper, Katie put on her black coat with the big leg-o- mutton sleeves, lavishly trimmed with braid-her last loot from the factory-and threw a cherry wool fascinator over her head (a "noobie" she called it), and she and Johnny set off for work. The school was old and small and warm. They looked forward to spending the night there. They walked arm-in- arm; he in his patent leather dancing shoes and she in her high laced kid boots. Sometimes when the night was frosty and full of stars, they ran a little, skipped a little and laughed a lot. They felt very important using their private key to get into the school. The school was their world for a night. They played games while they worked. Johnny sat at one of the desks and Katie pretended she was a teacher. They wrote messages to each other on the blackboards. They pulled down the maps which rolled up like shades and pointed out foreign countries with the rubber-tipped pointer. They were filled with wonder at the thought of strange lands and unknown languages. (He was nineteen and she was seventeen.) They liked best to clean the assembly room. Johnny dusted the piano and, while doing so, ran his fingers over the keys. He picked out some cords. Katie sat in the front row and asked him to sing. He sang to her; sentimental songs of the time: "She May Have Seen Better Days," or "I'm Wearin' My Heart Away For You." People living nearby would be coaxed out of their midnight sleep by the singing. They'd lie in their warm beds, listening drowsily and murmur to each other, "That feller, whoever he is, is losing time. He's losing time. He ought to be in a show." Sometimes Johnny went into one of his dances on the little platform that he pretended was a stage. He was so graceful and handsome, so loving, so full of the grandness of just living, that Katie, watching him, thought she would die of being happy. At two, they went into the teachers' lunch room where there was a gas plate. They made coffee. They kept a can of condensed milk in the cupboard. They enjoyed the boiling hot coffee which filled the room with a wonderful smell. Their rye bread and bologna sandwiches tasted good. Sometimes after supper, they'd go into the teachers' rest room where there was a chintz-covered couch and lie there for awhile with their arms about each other. They emptied the wastebaskets, last thing, and Katie salvaged the longer bits of discarded chalk and the pencils that were not too stubby. She took them home and saved them in a box. Later when Francie was growing up, she felt very rich having so much chalk and so many pencils to use. At dawn, they left the school scrubbed, shiny, warm and ready for the daytime janitor. They walked home watching the stars fade from the sky. They passed the baker's where the smell of freshly-baked rolls came up to them from the baking room in the basement. Johnny ran down and bought a nickel's worth of buns hot from the oven. Arriving home, they had a breakfast of hot coffee and warm sweet buns. Then Johnny ran out and got the morning American and read the news to her, with running comments, while she cleaned up their rooms. At noon, they had a hot dinner of pot roast and noodles or something good like that. After dinner they slept until it was time to get up for work. They earned fifty dollars a month which was good pay for people of their class in those days. They lived comfortably and it was a good life they had ... happy and full of small adventures. And they were so young and loved each other so much. In a few months, to their innocent amazement and consternation, Katie found out that she was pregnant. She told Johnny that she was "that way." Johnny was bewildered and confused at first. He didn't want her to work at the school. She told him she had been that way for quite a while without being sure and had been working and had not suffered. When she convinced him that it was good for her to work, he gave in. She continued working until she got too unwieldy to dust under the desks. Soon she could do little more than go along with him for company and lie on the gay couch no longer used for love-making. He did all the work now. At two in the morning, he made clumsy sandwiches and over-boiled coffee for her. They were still very happy although Johnny was getting more and more worried as the time wore on. Towards the end of a frosty December night, her pains started. She lay on the couch, holding them back not wanting to tell Johnny until the work was finished. On the way home, there was a tearing pain that she couldn't keep back. She moaned and Johnny knew that the baby was on the way. He got her home and put her to bed without undressing her, and covered her warmly. He ran down the block to Mrs. Gindler, the midwife and begged her to hurry. That good woman drove him crazy by taking her time. She had to take dozens of curlers out of her hair. She couldn't find her teeth and refused to officiate without them. Johnny helped her search and they found them at last in a glass of water on the ledge outside the window. The water had frozen around the teeth and they had to be thawed before she could put them in. That done, she had to go about making a charm out of a piece of blessed palm taken from the altar on Palm Sunday. To this, she added a medal of the Blessed Mother, a small blue bird feather, a broken blade from a penknife and a sprig of some herb. These things were tied together with a bit of dirty string from the corset of a woman who had given birth to twins after only ten minutes of labor. She sprinkled the whole business with holy water that was supposed to have come from a well in Jerusalem from which it was said that Jesus had once quenched His thirst. She explained to the frantic boy that this charm would cut the pains and assure him of a fine, well-born baby. Lastly she grabbed her crocodile satchel-familiar to everyone in the neighborhood and believed by all the youngsters to be the satchel in which they had been delivered, kicking, to their mothers-and she was ready to go. Katie was screaming in pain when they got to her. The flat was filled with neighbor women who stood around praying and reminiscing about their own child-bed experiences. "When I had my Wincent," said one, "I …" "I was even smaller than her," said another, "and when …" "They didn't expect me to come through it," proudly declared a third, "but ..." They welcomed the midwife and shooed Johnny out of the place. He sat on the stoop and trembled each time Katie cried out. He was confused, it had happened so suddenly. It was now seven in the morning. Her screams kept coming to him even though the windows were closed. Men passed on their way to work, looked at the window from behind which the screams were coming and then looked at Johnny huddled on the stoop and a somber look came over their faces. Katie was in labor all that day and there was nothing that Johnny could do- nothing that he could do. Towards night, he couldn't stand it any longer. He went to his mother's house for comforting. When he told her that Katie was having a baby, she nearly raised the roof with her lamentations. "Now she's got you good," she wailed. "You'll never be able to come back to me." She would not be consoled. Johnny hunted up his brother, Georgie, who was working a dance. He sat drinking, waiting for Georgie to finish, forgetting that he was supposed to be at the school. When Georgie was free for the night, they went to several all-night saloons, had a drink or two at each place and told everyone what Johnny was going through. The men listened sympathetically, treated Johnny to drinks and assured him that they had been through the same mill. Towards dawn, the boys went to their mother's house where Johnny fell into a troubled sleep. At nine, he woke up with a feeling of coming trouble. He remembered Katie and, too late, he remembered the school. He washed and dressed and started for home. He passed a fruit stand which displayed avocados. He bought two for Katie. He had no way of knowing that during the night, his wife in great pain, and after nearly twenty-four hours of labor, gave bloody birth to a fragile baby girl. The only notable thing about the birth was that the infant was born with a caul which was supposed to indicate that the child was set apart to do great things in the world. The midwife surreptitiously confiscated the caul and later sold it to a sailor from the Brooklyn Navy Yard for two dollars. Whoever wore a caul would never. die by drowning, it was said. The sailor wore it in a flannel bag around his neck. While he drank and slept the night away, Johnny did not know that the night had turned cold and the school fires which he was supposed to tend had gone out and the water pipes had burst and flooded the school basement and the first floor. When he got home, he found Katie lying in the dark bedroom. The baby was beside her on Andy's pillow. The flat was scrupulously clean;, the neighbor women had attended to that. There was a faint odor of carbolic acid mixed with Mennen's talcum powder. The midwife had gone after saying, "That will be five dollars and your husband knows where I live." She left and Katie turned her face to the wall and tried not to cry. During the night, she assured herself that Johnny was working at the school. She had hoped that he would run home for a moment during the two o'clock eating period. Now it was late morning and he should be home. Maybe he had gone to his mother's to snatch some sleep after the night's work. She made herself believe that no matter what Johnny was doing, it was all right and that his explanation would set her mind at ease. Soon after the midwife left, Evy came over. A neighbor's boy had been sent for her. Evy brought along some sweet butter and a package of soda crackers and made tea. It tasted so good to Katie. Evy examined the baby and thought it didn't look like much but she said nothing to Katie. When Johnny got home, Evy started to lecture him. But when she saw how pale and frightened he looked and when she considered his age-just twenty years old, she choked up inside, kissed his cheek, told him not to worry and made fresh coffee for him. Johnny hardly looked at the baby. Still clutching the avocados, he knelt by Katie's bed and sobbed out his fear and worry. Katie cried with him. During the night, she had wanted him with her. Now she wished she could have had that baby secretly and gone away somewhere and when it was over come back and tell him that everything was fine. She had had the pain; it had been like being boiled alive in scalding oil and not being able to die to get free of it. She had had the pain. Dear God! Wasn't that enough? Why did he have to suffer? He wasn't put together for suffering but she was. She had borne a child but two hours ago. She was so weak that she couldn't lift her head an inch from the pillow, yet it was she who comforted him and told him not to worry, that she would take care of him. Johnny began to feel better. He told her that after all it was nothing; that he had learned that a lot of husbands had been "through the mill." "I've been through the mill, now, too," he said. "And now I'm a man." He made a big fuss over the baby then. At his suggestion, Katie agreed to name her Francie, after the girl, Francie Melaney, who had never married his brother, Andy. They thought it would help to mend her broken heart if she were made godmother. The child would have the name she would have carried had Andy lived: Francie Nolan. He fixed the avocados with sweet oil and pickled vinegar and brought the salad in to Katie. She was disappointed at the flat taste. Johnny said you had to get used to it, like olives. For his sake and because she was touched by his thinking of her, Katie ate the salad. Evy was urged to try some. She did and said that she'd sooner have tomatoes. While Johnny was in the kitchen drinking coffee, a boy came from the school with a note from the principal which said that Johnny was fired because of neglect. He was told to come around and get what money was due him. The note ended by telling Johnny not to ask for a recommendation. Johnny's face got pale as he read it. He gave the kid a nickel for bringing the note and a message saying he would be around. He destroyed the note and said nothing about it to Katie. Johnny saw the principal and tried to explain. The principal told Johnny that since he knew the baby was coming, he should have been more careful of his job. As a kindly afterthought, he told the boy that he wouldn't have to pay the damage caused by the burst pipes; the Board of Education would see to that. Johnny thanked him. The principal paid him from his own pocket after Johnny had signed a voucher turning over the coming pay check to the principal. All in all, the principal did the best he could according to the way he saw things. Johnny paid the midwife and gave the landlord the next month's rent. He got a little frightened when he realized that now there was a baby and that Katie wouldn't be strong enough to do much for quite some time, and that they were out of a job. He consoled himself finally with the thought that the rent was paid and that they were safe for thirty days. Surely something would turn up in that time. In the afternoon, he walked over to tell Mary Rommely about the new baby. On the way there, he stopped at the rubber factory and asked for Sissy's foreman. He asked the man to tell her about the baby and would she stop over after work? The foreman said he would, winked, poked Johnny in the ribs and said, "Good for you, Mac." Johnny grinned and gave him ten cents with instructions: "Buy a good cigar and smoke it on me." "I'll do that, Mac," promised the foreman. He pumped Johnny's hand and again promised to tell Sissy. Mary Rommely wept when she heard the news. "The poor child! The poor little one," she lamented. "Born into this world of sorrow; born for suffering and hardship. Ai, there'll be a little happiness, but more of hard work. Ai, ai." Johnny was all for telling Thomas Rommely but Mary begged him not to just yet. Thomas hated Johnny Nolan because he was Irish. He hated the Germans, he hated Americans, he hated the Russians, but he just couldn't stand the Irish. He was fiercely racial in spite of his stupendous hatred of his race and he had a theory that marriage between two of alien races would result in mongrel children. "What would I get if I mated a canary with a crow?" was his argument. After Johnny had escorted his mother-in-law over to his house, he went out looking for work. Katie was glad to see her mother. With the memory of her own birth pangs still lingering, she had knowledge now of what her mother had suffered when she, Katie, was born. She thought of her mother bearing seven children, bringing them up, watching three of them die, and knowing that those who lived were doomed to hunger and hardship. She had a vision that the same cycle was destined for her less than day-old child. She became frantic with worry. "What do I know?" Katie asked her mother. "I can't teach her anything more than I, myself, know and I know so little. You are poor, Mother. Johnny and I are poor. The baby will grow up to be poor. We can't be any more than we are this day. Sometimes I think that the year past was the best we will ever know. As the years go by and Johnny and I get older, nothing will grow better. All we have now is that we are young and strong enough to work and that will go from us as time passes." Then the real truth came to her. "I mean," she thought, "that I can work. I can't count on Johnny. I'll always have to look after him. Oh, God, don't send me any more children or I won't be able to look after Johnny and I've got to look after Johnny. He can't look after himself." Her mother interrupted her thoughts. Mary was saying: "What did we have in the old country? Nothing. We were peasants. We starved. Well, then, we came over here. It wasn't so much better except that they didn't take your father for the military the way they would do in the old country. But otherwise, it's been harder. I miss the homeland, the trees and broad fields, the familiar way of living, the old friends." "If you could expect nothing better, why did you come to America?" "For the sake of my children whom I wished to be born in a free land." "Your children haven't done so well, Mother." Katie smiled bitterly. "There is here, what is not in the old country. In spite of hard unfamiliar things, there is here-hope. In the old country, a man can be no more than his father, providing he works hard. If his father was a carpenter, he may be a carpenter. He may not be a teacher or a priest. He may rise-but only to his father's state. In the old country, a man is given to the past. Here he belongs to the future. In this land, he may be what he will, if he has the good heart and the way of working honestly at the right things." "That is not so. Your children have not done better than you." Mary Rommely sighed. "That may be my fault. I knew not how to teach my daughters because I have nothing behind me excepting that for hundreds of years, my family has worked on the land of some overlord. I did not send my first child to the school. I was ignorant and did not know at first that the children of folk like us were allowed the free education of this land. Thus, Sissy had no chance to do better than me. But the other three ... you went to school." "I finished the sixth grade, if that is what is called education." "And your Yohnny" (she could not pronounce "j"), "did too. Don't you see?" Excitement came into her voice. "Already, it is starting- the getting better." She picked up the baby and held it high in, her arms. "This child was born of parents who can read and write," she said simply. "To me, this is a great wonder." "Mother, I am young. Mother, I am just eighteen. I am strong. I will work hard, Mother. But I do not want this child to grow up just to work hard. What must I do, Mother, what must I do to make a different world for her? How do I start?" "The secret lies in the reading and the writing. You are able to read. Every day you must read one page from some good book to your child. Every day this must be until the child learns to read. Then she must read every day, I know this is the secret." "I will read," promised Katie. "What is a good book?" "There are two great books. Shakespeare is a great book. I have heard tell that all the wonder of life is in that book; all that man has learned of beauty, all that he may know of wisdom and living are on those pages. It is said that these stories are plays to be acted out on the stage. I have never spoken to anyone who has seen this great thing. But I heard the lord of our land back in Austria say that some of the pages sing themselves like songs." "Is Shakespeare a book in the German?" "It is of the English. I so heard our lord of the land tell his young son who was setting out for the great university of Heidelberg long ago." "And what is the other great book?" "It is the Bible that the Protestant people read." "We have our own Bible, the Catholic one." Mary looked around the room furtively. "It is not fitting for a good Catholic to say so but I believe that the Protestant Bible contains more of the loveliness of the greatest story on this earth and beyond it. A much-loved Protestant friend once read some of her Bible to me and I found it as I have said. "That is the book, then, and the book of Shakespeare. And every day you must read a page of each to your child- even though you yourself do not understand what is written down and cannot sound the words properly. You must do this that the child will grow up knowing of what is great-knowing that these tenements of Williamsburg are not the whole world." "The Protestant Bible and Shakespeare." "And you must tell the child the legends I told you-as my mother told them to me and her mother to her. You must tell the fairy tales of the old country. You must tell of those not of the earth who live forever in the hearts of people-fairies, elves, dwarfs and such. You must tell of the great ghosts that haunted your father's people and of the evil eye which a hex put on your aunt. You must teach the child of the signs that come to the women of our family when there is trouble and death to be. And the child must believe in the Lord God and Jesus, His Only Son." She crossed herself. "Oh, and you must not forget the Kris Kringle. The child must believe in him until she reaches the age of six." "Mother, I know there are no ghosts or fairies. I would be teaching the child foolish lies." Mary spoke sharply. "You do not know whether there are not ghosts on earth or angels in heaven." "I know there is no Santa Claus." "Yet you must teach the child that these things are so." "Why? When I, myself, do not believe?" "Because," explained Mary Rommely simply, "the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out by believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. I, myself, even in this day and at my age, have great need of recalling the miraculous lives of the Saints and the great miracles that have come to pass on earth. Only by having these things in my mind can I live beyond what I have to live for." "The child will grow up and find out things for herself. She will know that I lied. She will be disappointed." "That is what is called learning the truth. It is a good thing to learn the truth one's self. To first believe with all your heart, and then not to believe, is good too. It fattens the emotions and makes them to stretch. When as a woman life and people disappoint her, she will have had practice in disappointment and it will not come so hard. In teaching your child, do not forget that suffering is good too. It makes a person rich in character." "If that is so," commented Katie bitterly, "then we Rommelys are rich." "We are poor, yes. We suffer. Our way is very hard. But we are better people because we know of the things I have told you. I could not read but I told you of all of the things I learned from living. You must tell them to your child and add on to them such things as you will learn as you grow older." "What more must I teach the child?" "The child must be made to believe in heaven. A heaven, not filled with flying angels with God on a throne"- Mary articulated her thoughts painfully, half in German and half in English-"but a heaven which means a wondrous place that people may dream of-as of a place where desires come true. This is probably a different kind of a religion. I do not know." "And then, what else?" "Before you die, you must own a bit of land-maybe with a house on it that your child or your children may inherit." Katie laughed. "Me own land? A house? We're lucky if we can pay our rent." "Even so." Mary spoke firmly. "Yet you must do that. For thousands of years, our people have been peasants working the land of others. This was in the old country. Here we do better working with our hands in the factory. There is a part of each day that does not belong to the master but which the worker owns himself. That is good. But to own a bit of land is better; a bit of land that we may hand down to our children … that will raise us up on the face of the earth." "How can we ever get to own land? Johnny and I work and we earn so little. Sometimes after the rent is paid and the insurance there is hardly enough left for food. How could we save for land?" "You must take an empty condensed milk can and wash it well." "A can ... ?" "Cut off the top neatly. Cut strips down into the can the length of your finger. Let each strip be so wide." She measured two inches with her fingers. "Bend the strips backward. The can will look like a clumsy star. Make a slit in the top. Then nail the can, a nail in each strip, in the darkest corner of your closet. Each day put five cents in it. In three years there will be a small fortune, fifty dollars. Take the money and buy a lot in the country. Get the papers that say it is yours. Thus you become a landowner. Once one has owned land, there is no going back to being a serf." "Five cents a day. It seems a little. But where is it to come from? We haven't enough now and with another mouth' to feed. ..." "You must do it thus: You go to the green grocer's and ask how much are carrots the bunch. The man will say three cents. Then look about until you see another bunch, not so fresh, not so large. You will say: May I have this damaged bunch for two cents? Speak strongly and it shall be yours for two cents. That is a saved penny that you put in the star bank. It is winter, say. You bought a bushel of coal for twenty-five cents. It is cold. You would start a fire in the stove. But wait! Wait one hour more. Suffer the cold for an hour. Put a shawl around you. Say, I am cold because I am saving to buy land. That hour will save you three cents' worth of coal. That is three cents for the bank. When you are alone at night, do not light the lamp. Sit in the darkness and dream awhile. Reckon out how much oil you saved and put its value in pennies in the bank. The money will grow. Someday there will be fifty dollars and somewhere on this long island is a piece of land that you may buy for that money." "Will it work, this saving?" "I swear by the Holy Mother it will." "Then why haven't you ever saved enough money to buy land?" "I did. When we first landed, I had a star bank. It took me ten years to save that first fifty dollars. I took the money in my hand and went to a man in the neighborhood of whom it was said that he dealt fairly with people who bought land. He showed me a beautiful piece of earth and told me in my own language; 'This is thine!' He took my money and gave me a paper. I could not read. Later, I saw men building the house of another on my land. I showed them my paper. They laughed at me with pity in their eyes. It was that the land had not been the man's to sell. It was ... how do you say it in the English ... a schwindle." "Swindle." "Ai. People like us, known as greenhorns from the old country, were often robbed by men such as he because we could not read. But you have education. First you will read on the paper that the land is yours. Only then will you pay." "And you never saved again, Mother?" "I did. All over again. The second time it was harder because there were the many children. I saved, but when we moved your father found the bank and took the money. He would not buy land with it. He was always one for birds so he bought a rooster and many hens with the money and put them in the back yard." "I seem to remember those chickens," said Katie, "a long, long time ago." "He said the eggs would bring much money in the neighborhood. Ah, what dreams men have! The first night twenty starving cats came over the fence and killed and ate many chickens. The second night, the Italians climbed the fence and stole more. The third day the policeman came and said it was against the law to keep chickens in a yard in Brooklyn. We had to pay him five dollars not to take your father to the station house. Your father sold the few chickens that were left and bought canary birds which he could own without fear. Thus I lost the second savings. But I am saving again. Maybe sometime ..." She sat in silence for awhile. Then she got up and put on her shawl. "It grows dark. Your father will be coming home from his work. Holy Mary watch over thee and the child." Sissy came over right from work. She didn't even take time to brush the gray rubber powder from her hair bow. She went into choking hysterics over the baby, pronouncing it the most beautiful baby in the world. Johnny looked skeptical. The baby looked blue and wizened to him and he felt that there must be something wrong with it. Sissy washed the baby. (It must have been bathed a dozen times the first day.) She rushed out to the delicatessen store and beguiled the man into letting her open a charge account until Saturday payday. She bought two dollars' worth of delicacies: sliced tongue, smoked salmon, creamy- white slices of smoked sturgeon and crisp rolls. She bought a sack of charcoal and made the fire roar. She brought a tray of supper into Katie, then she and Johnny sat in the kitchen and ate together. The house smelled of warmth, good food, sweet powder and stronger candy- like smell that came from a hard chalkish disc that Sissy wore in an imitation-silver filigree heart on a chain around her neck. Johnny studied Sissy as he smoked an after-supper cigar. He wondered what criterion people used when they applied the tags "good" and "bad" to their fellowmen. Take Sissy. She was bad. But she was good. She was bad where the men were concerned. But she was good because wherever she was, there was life, good, tender, overwhelming, fun-loving and strong-scented life. He hoped that his newly-born daughter would be a little like Sissy. When Sissy announced that she was going to stay the night, Katie looked worried and said there was but the one bed which she and Johnny shared. Sissy declared that she was willing to sleep with Johnny if he could guarantee her a fine baby like Francie. Katie frowned. She knew Sissy was joking of course. Yet there was something true and direct about Sissy. She started to give her a lecture. Johnny cut the whole thing short by saying he had to get over to the school. He couldn't bring himself to tell Katie that he had lost their job. He hunted up his brother, Georgie, who was working that night. Fortunately, they needed another man to wait on table and sing in-between. Johnny got the job and was promised another for the following week. He drifted back into the singing waiter business and from that time on never worked at any other job. Sissy got into bed with Katie and they talked most of the night away. Katie told of her worry about Johnny and her fears of the future. They talked about Mary Rommely; what a good mother she was to Evy and Sissy and Katie. They spoke of their father, Thomas Rommely. Sissy said he was an old rip and Katie said Sissy ought to show more respect. Sissy said, "Oh, fudge!" and Katie laughed. Katie told Sissy of the talk she had had with their mother that day. The idea of the bank so fascinated Sissy, that she got up-even though it was the middle of the night- emptied out a can of milk into a bowl and made the bank then and there. She tried to crawl into the narrow crowded closet to nail it down but her voluminous nightgown got her tangled up. She pulled it off and crawled naked into the closet. All of her couldn't fit into the closet. The large luminous naked back end of her stuck out as she crouched on her knees hammering the bank to the floor. Katie had such a fit of giggling that she was afraid she'd bring on a hemorrhage. The loud banging at three o'clock in the morning woke the other tenants. They pounded on the ceiling from below and on the floor from above. Sissy threw Katie into another spasm of giggles by mumbling from the closet that the tenants had a nerve raising such a racket when there was a sick woman in the house. "How can anybody sleep?" she asked, giving the last nail a terrific bang. The bank in place, she put on her nightgown again, started off the land account by putting a nickel in the bank and got back into bed. She listened excitedly while Katie told her about the two books: She promised that she would get the two books; they would be her christening present to the baby. Francie spent her first night on earth sleeping snugly between her mother and Sissy. The next day, Sissy set about getting the two books. She went to a public library and asked the librarian how she could get a Shakespeare and a Bible for keeps. The librarian couldn't help her out on the Bible but said there was a worn-out copy of Shapespeare in the files, about to be discarded which Sissy could have. She bought it. It was a tattered old volume containing all the plays and sonnets. It had intricate footnotes and detailed explanations as to the playwright's meaning. There was a biography and picture of the author and steel-cut engravings illustrating scenes from each play. It was printed in small type, two columns to the page on thin paper. It cost Sissy twenty-five cents. The Bible, while a little harder to come by, was cheaper in the long run. In fact, it cost Sissy nothing. It had a name, Gideon, on the front. A few days after buying the volume of Shakespeare, Sissy woke up one morning and nudged her current lover, with whom she was spending the night in a quiet family hotel. "John," (she called him John although his name was Charlie), "what's that book on the dresser?" "A Bible." "A Protestant Bible?" "That's right." "I'm going to hook it." "Go ahead. That's why they put it there." "No!" "Yeah!" "No kidding!" "People swipe it, read it, reform and repent. They bring it back and buy another one, too, so that other people can swipe, read and reform. In that way, the firm that puts out the books loses nothing." "Well, here's one they're not going to get back." She wrapped it up in a hotel towel that she was also swiping. "Say!" A cold fear enveloped her John. "You might read it and reform and then I'd have to go back to my wife." He shuddered and put his arms around her. "Promise me that you won't reform." "I won't." "How do you know you won't?" "I never listen to what people tell me and I can't read. The only way I know what is right and wrong is the way I feel about things. If I feel bad, it's wrong. If I feel good, it's right. And I feel good being here with you." She threw her arm across his chest and exploded a kiss in his ear. "I sure wish we could get married, Sissy." "So do I, John. I know we could hit it off. For awhile, anyhow," she added honestly. "But I'm married and that's the hell of the Catholic religion. No divorce." "I don't believe in divorce anyhow," said Sissy who always remarried without the benefit of a divorce. "You know what, Sissy?" "What?" "You got a heart of gold." "No kidding?" "No kidding." He watched her snap a red silk garter over the sheer lisle stocking she had pulled up over her shapely leg. "Give us a kiss," he begged suddenly. "Have we time?" she asked in a practical way. But she pulled the stocking off again. That's how the library of Francie Nolan was started. X FRANCIE wasn't much of a baby. She was skinny and had a blue look and didn't thrive. Katie nursed her doggedly although the neighbor women told her that her milk was bad for the child. Francie was put on the bottle soon enough because Katie's milk stopped suddenly when the child was three months old. Katie worried. She consulted her mother. Mary Rommely looked at her, sighed but said nothing. Katie went to the midwife for advice. The woman asked her a foolish question. "Where do you buy your fish of a Friday?" "Paddy's market. Why?" "You wouldn't be after seeing an old woman in there buying a codfish head for her cat, would you now?" "Yes. I see her every week." "She did it! She dried up your milk on you." "Oh, no!" "She put the eye on you." "But why?" "Jealous she is because you're too happy with that pretty Irish lad of yours." "Jealous? An old woman like that?" "A witch she is. I knew her back in the old country. Sure and didn't she come over on the same boat as meself. When she was young she was in love with a wild County Kerry boy. And didn't he go and get her that way and he wouldn't go to the priest with her when her old father went after him. He slipped away on a boat for America in the dead of the night. Her baby died when it was born. Then she sold her soul to the devil and he did give her the power of drying up the milk of cows and nanny goats and of girls married to young boys." "I remember she looked at me in a funny way." " 'Twas then she put the eye on you." "How can I get my milk back?" "I'll tell you what you must do. Wait until the moon is full. Then make a little image out of a lock of your curling hair, a cutting from your finer nail and a bit of rag sprinkled with holy water. Christen it Nelly Grogan, and that's the witch's name and stick three rusty pins in it. That will soil her power over you and sure your milk will be flowing again like the River Shannon. That will be a quarter." Katie paid her. When the moon was full, she made the little doll and stabbed it and stabbed it. She remained dry. Francie sickened on the bottle. In desperation, Katie called Sissy in for advice. Sissy listened to the witch story. "A witch my foot," she said scornfully. "It was Johnny who did it and it wasn't with an eye." In that way Katie knew that she was pregnant again. She told Johnny and he started to worry. He had been fairly happy back in the singing waiter business and he worked pretty often, was steady, didn't drink too much and brought home most of his money. The news that a second child was on the way made him feel trapped. He was only twenty and Katie was eighteen. He felt that they were both so young and so defeated already. He went out and got drunk after he heard the news. The midwife came around later to see how the charm had worked. Katie told her that the charm had failed since she was pregnant and the witch was not to blame. The midwife lifted her skirt and dug down into a capacious pocket made in her petticoat. She brought up a bottle of evil-looking dark brown stuff. "Sure and there is nothing to worry about," she said. "A good dose of this night and morning for three days and you'll come around again." Katie shook her head negatively. "You're not afraid of what the priest would be saying to you if you did it?" "No. It's just that I couldn't kill anything." "It wouldn't be killing. It don't count until you've felt life. You're not after feeling it move, are you?" "No." "There!" she slammed her fist on the table triumphantly. "I'll only be charging you a dollar for the bottle." "Thank you, I don't want it." "Don't be foolish. You're just a bit of a girl and have trouble enough with the one you do be having already. And your man is pretty but not the steadiest boy in the world." "The way my man is, is my own business and my baby is no trouble." "I'm only after trying to help you out" "Thank you and goodbye." The midwife returned the bottle to her petticoat pocket and got up to go. "When your time comes, you know where I live." At the door, she gave a last bit of optimistic advice. "If you keep running up and down the stairs, maybe you'll have a miscarriage." That fall in the false warmth of a Brooklyn Indian summer, Katie sat on the stoop and held her sickly baby against the bigness which was another child soon to be born. Pitying neighbors stopped to commiserate over Francie. "You'll never raise that one," they told her. "Her color ain't good. If the good Lord takes her, it will be for the best. What good is a sickly baby in a poor family? There is too many children on this earth already and no room for the weak ones." "Don't say that," Katie held her baby tightly. "It's not better to die. Who wants to die? Everything struggles to live. Look at that tree growing up there out of that grating. It gets no sun, and water only when it rains. It's growing out of sour earth. And it's strong because its hard struggle to live is making it strong. My children will be strong that way." "Aw, somebody ought to cut that tree down, the homely thing." If there was only one tree like that in the world, you would think it was beautiful," said Katie. "But because there are so many, you just can't see how beautiful it really is. Look at those children." She pointed to a swarm of dirty children playing in the gutter. You could take any one of them and wash him good and dress him up and sit him in a fine house and you would think he was beautiful." "You've got fine ideas but a very sick baby, Katie," they told her. "This baby will live," said Katie fiercely. "I'll make it live." And Francie lived, choking and whimpering her way through that first year. Francie's brother was born a week after her first birthday. This time Katie was not working when the pains came. This time she bit her lip and did not scream out in her agony. Helpless in her pain, she was capable still of laying the foundation for bitterness and capability. When the strong healthy boy, howling at the indignity of the birth process, was put to her breast. she felt a wild tenderness for him. The other baby, Francie, in the crib next her bed, began to whimper. Katie had a flash of contempt for the weak child she had borne a year ago, when she compared her to this new handsome son. She was quickly ashamed of her contempt. She knew it wasn't the little girl's fault. "I must watch myself carefully," she thought. "I am going to love this boy more than the girl but I mustn't ever let her know. It is wrong to love one child more than the other but this is something that I cannot help." Sissy begged her to call the boy after Johnny but Katie insisted that the boy had a right to a name all his own. Sissy got very angry and told Katie a thing or two. Finally Katie, more in anger than in truth, accused Sissy of being in love with Johnny. Sissy answered, "maybe," and Katie shut up. She was a little afraid that if they quarreled further, she would find out that it was so about Sissy loving Johnny. Katie called the boy Cornelius after a noble character she had seen a handsome actor represent on the stage. As the boy grew up, the name was changed into Brooklynese and he was known as Neeley. Without devious reasoning or complicated emotional processes, the boy became Katie's whole world. Johnny took second place and Francie went to the back of her mother's heart. Katie loved the boy because he was more completely hers than either Johnny or Francie. Neeley looked exactly like Johnny. Katie would make him into the kind of man Johnny should have been. He would have everything that was good about Johnny; she would encourage that. She would stamp out all of the things that were bad about Johnny as they came up in the boy, Neeley. He would grow up and she would be proud of him and he would take care of her all of her days. He was the one that she had to see through. Francie and Johnny would get by somehow, but she would take no chances with the boy. She'd see to it that he more than got by. Gradually, as the children grew up, Katie lost all of her tenderness although she gained in what people call character. She became capable, hard and far-seeing. She loved Johnny dearly but all the old wild worship faded away. She loved her little girl because she felt sorry for her. It was pity and obligation towards her that she felt rather than love. Johnny and Francie felt the growing change in Katie. As the boy grew stronger and handsomer, Johnny grew in weakness and went further and further down hill. Francie felt the way her mother thought about her. She grew an answering hardness against her mother and this hardness, paradoxically enough, brought them a little closer together because it made them more alike. By the time Neeley was a year old, Katie had stopped depending on Johnny. Johnny was drinking heavily. He worked when he was offered one-night jobs. He brought home his wages but kept his tips for liquor. Life was going too swiftly for Johnny. He had a wife and two babies before he was old enough to vote. His life was finished before it had a chance to begin. He was doomed and no one knew it better than Johnny Nolan. Katie had the same hardships as Johnny and she was nineteen, two years younger. It might be said that she, too, was doomed. Her life, too, was over before it began. But there the similarity ended. Johnny knew he was doomed and accepted it. Katie wouldn't accept it. She started a new life where her old one left off. She exchanged her tenderness for capability. She gave up her dreams and took over hard realities in their place. Katie had a fierce desire for survival which made her a fighter. Johnny had a hankering after immortality which made him a useless dreamer. And that was the great difference between these two who loved each other so well. XI JOHNNY celebrated his voting birthday by getting drunk for three days. When he was coming out of it, Katie locked him in the bedroom where he couldn't get anything more to drink. Instead of sobering up, he started to get delirium tremens. He wept and begged by turns for a drink. He said he was suffering. She told him it was a good thing, that suffering would harden him, would teach him such a lesson that he'd stop drinking. But poor Johnny just wouldn't harden. He softened into a wailing, screaming banshee. Neighbors banged on her door and told her to do something for the poor man. Katie's mouth set in a hard cold line and she called out to them to mind their own business. But even as she defied the neighbors, she knew that they would have to move as soon as the month was up. They couldn't live in the neighborhood after the way Johnny was disgracing them. In the late afternoon, his tortured cries unnerved Katie. Crowding the two babies in the buggy she went over to the factory and had Sissy's long-suffering foreman get her away from her machine. She told Sissy about Johnny, and Sissy said she'd come over and fix him up as soon as she could get away. Sissy consulted a gentleman friend about Johnny. The friend gave her instructions. Accordingly, she bought a half pint of good whiskey, concealed it between her full breasts and laced her corset cover and buttoned her dress over it. She went over to Katie's and told her that if she could be left alone with Johnny she'd get him out of it. Katie locked Sissy in the bedroom with Johnny. She went back into the kitchen and spent the night with her head on her arms on the table, waiting. When Johnny saw Sissy, his poor mixed-up brain unscrambled for a minute and he grabbed her arm. "You're my friend, Sissy. You're my sister. For God's sake give me a drink." "Take it slow, Johnny," she said in her soft comforting voice. "I've got a drink right here for you." She unbuttoned her waist releasing a cascade of foaming white embroidered ruffles and dark pink ribbon. The room filled up with the sweet scent of the warm strong sachet she used. Johnny stared as she undid an intricate bow and loosened her corset cover. The poor fellow remembered her reputation and misunderstood. "No, no, Sissy. Please!" he moaned. "Don't be a dockle, Johnny. There's a time and a place for everything and this isn't the time." She pulled out the bottle. He grabbed it. It was warm from her. She let him take a long drink, then she dug the bottle out of his clutching fingers. He quieted down after the drink; got sleepy and begged her not to go away. She promised. Without bothering to tie up her ribbons or button her waist, she lay on the bed beside him. She put her arm under his shoulders and he rested his cheek on her bare warm-scented breast. He slept and tears came from under his closed lids and they were warmer than the flesh they fell on. She lay awake, holding him in her arms and staring into the darkness. She felt towards him as she would have felt towards her babies had they only lived to know her warm love. She stroked his curling hair and smoothed his cheek gently. When he moaned in his sleep, she soothed him with the kind of words she would have spoken to her babies. Her arm cramped and she tried to move it. He woke up for a moment, clutched her tightly and begged her not to leave him. When he spoke to her, he called her mother. Whenever he woke up and got afraid, she gave him a swallow of whiskey. Towards morning he woke. His head was clearer but he said it hurt. He jerked away from her and moaned. "Come back to mama," she said in her soft fluttering voice. She opened her arms wide and once more he crept into them and rested his cheek on her generous breast. He wept quietly. He sobbed out his fears and his worries and his bewilderment at the way things were in the world. She let him talk, she let him weep. She held him the way his mother should have held him as a child (which she never did). Sometimes Sissy wept with him. When he had talked himself out, she gave him what was left of the whiskey and at last he fell into a deep exhausted sleep. She lay very still for a long time not wanting him to feel her withdrawing from him. Towards dawn, his tight holding of her hand relaxed; peace came into his face and made it boyish again. Sissy put his head on the pillow, expertly undressed him and put him under the covers. She threw the empty whiskey bottle down the airshaft. She figured that what Katie didn't know couldn't possibly bother her. She tied her pink ribbons carelessly and adjusted her waist. She closed the door very softly when she went out. Sissy had two great failings. She was a great lover and a great mother. She had so much of tenderness in her, so much of wanting to give of herself to whoever needed what she had, whether it was her money, her time, the clothes off her back, her pity, her understanding, her friendship or her companionship and love. She was mother to everything that came her way. She loved men, yes. She loved women too, and old people and especially children. How she loved children! She loved the down-and-outers. She wanted to make everybody happy. She had tried to seduce the good priest who heard her infrequent confessions because she felt sorry for him. She thought he was missing the greatest joy on earth by being committed to a life of celibacy. She loved all the scratching curs on the street and wept for the gaunt scavenging cats who slunk around Brooklyn corners with their sides swollen looking for a hole in which they might bring forth their young. She loved the sooty sparrows and thought that the very grass that grew in the lots was beautiful. She picked bouquets of white clover in the lots believing they, were the most beautiful flowers God ever made. Once she saw a mouse in her room. The next night she set out a tiny box for him with cheese crumbs in it. Yes, she listened to everybody's troubles but no one listened to hers. But that was right because Sissy was a giver and never a taker. When Sissy came into the kitchen, Katie looked at Sissy's disordered clothing with swollen and suspicious eyes. "I'm not forgetting," she said with pitiful dignity, "that you are my sister. And I hope you remembered that, too." "Don't be such a heimdickischer ass," said Sissy, knowing what Katie meant. But she smiled deeply into Katie's eyes. Katie was suddenly reassured. "How's Johnny?" "Johnny will be fine when he wakes up. But for Christ's sweet sake, don't nag him when he wakes up. Don't nag him, Katie." "But he's got to be told. ..." "If I hear that you nag him, I'll get him away from you. I swear it. Even though I am your sister." Katie knew that she meant it and was a little frightened. "I won't then," she mumbled. "Not this time." "Now you're growing up into a woman," approved Sissy as she kissed Katie's cheek. She felt sorry for Katie as well as for Johnny. Katie broke down then and cried. She made hard ugly noises because she hated herself for crying, yet couldn't help it. Sissy had to listen, to go through again all she had gone through with Johnny, only this time from Katie's angle. Sissy handled Katie differently than she had handled Johnny. She had been gentle and maternal with Johnny because he needed that. Sissy acknowledged the steeliness that was in Katie. She hardened to that steeliness as Katie finished her story. "And now you know it all, Sissy. Johnny's a drunk." "Well everybody's something. We all got a tag of some kind. Take me now: I never took a drink in my life. But do you know," she stated with honest and consummate ignorance, "that there are some people who talk about me and call me a bad woman? Can you imagine that? I admit that I smoke a Sweet Caporal once in awhile. But bad. …" "Well, Sissy, the way you carry on with men makes people ..." Katie! Don't nag! All of us are what we have to be and everyone lives the kind of life it's in him to live. You've got a good man, Katie." "But he drinks." "And he always will until he dies. There it is. He drinks. You must take that along with the rest." "What rest? You mean the not working, the staying out all night, the bums he has for friends?" "You married him. There was something about him that caught your heart. Hang on to that and forget the rest." "Sometimes, I don't know why I married him." "You lie! You know why you married him. You married him because you wanted him to sleep with you but you were too religious to take a chance without a church wedding." "How you talk. The whole thing was that I wanted to get him away from someone else." "It was the sleeping. It always is. If it is good, the marriage is good. If it is bad, the marriage is bad." "No. There are other things." "What other things? Well, maybe there are," conceded Sissy. "If there are other good things too, that's so much velvet." "You're wrong. That might be important to you, but …" "It's important to everybody or should be. Then all marriages would be happy." "Oh, I admit that I liked the way he danced, how he sang a song ... the way he looked ..." "You're saying what I'm saying but you're using your own words." How can you win out with a person like Sissy, thought Katie. She's got everything figured out her way. Maybe her way is a good way to figure things out. I don't know. She is my own sister but people talk about her. She is a bad girl and there is no getting around that. When she dies, her soul will wander through Purgatory through all eternity. I have often told her that and she always answered that it wouldn't wander alone. If Sissy dies before I do, I must have masses said for the repose of her soul. Maybe after awhile she'll get out of Purgatory because even if they say she is bad, she is good to all the people in the world who are lucky enough to run across her. God will have to take that into consideration. Suddenly Katie leaned over and kissed Sissy on the cheek. Sissy was astonished because she could not know Katie's thoughts. "Maybe you're right, Sissy, maybe you're wrong. With me it comes down to this: Aside from his drinking, I love everything else about Johnny and I will try to be good to him. I will try to overlook ..." She said no more. In her heart, Katie knew that she was not the overlooking kind. Francie lay awake in the wash basket set up near the kitchen range. She lay sucking her thumb and listening to the conversation. But she learned nothing from it being but two years old at the time. XII KATIE was ashamed to stay in the neighborhood after Johnny's great spree. A good many of the neighbors' husbands were no better than Johnny, of course, but that was no standard for Katie. She wanted the Nolans to be better and not as good as anybody. Too, there was the question of money. Although it was no question because they had very little and now there were two children. Katie looked around for a place where she could work for their rent. At least, they'd have a roof over their heads. She found a house where she would get rent free in return for keeping it clean. Johnny swore that he wouldn't have his wife a janitress. Katie told him in her new crisp hard way that it was janitor or no home, as it was harder and harder each month to get the rent money together. Johnny finally gave in after promising that he would do all the janitor work until he got a steady job when they would move again. Katie packed their few belongings; a double bed, the babies' crib, a busted-down baby buggy, a green plush parlor suit, a carpet with pink roses, a pair of parlor lace curtains, a rubber plant and a rose geranium, a yellow canary in a gilt cage, a plush picture album, a kitchen table and some chairs, a box of dishes and pots and pans, a gilt crucifix with a music box in its base that played "Ave Maria" when you wound it up, a plain wooden crucifix that her mother had given her, a wash basket full of clothes, a roll of bedding, a pile of Johnny's sheet music and two books, the Bible and the Complete Works of Wm. Shakespeare. There was such a little bit of stuff that the ice man could load it all on his wagon and his one shaggy horse could pull it. The four Nolans rode along on the ice wagon to their new home. The last thing Katie did in their old home after it had been stripped bare and had that look of a near-sighted man with his glasses off, was to rip up the tin-can bank. It had three dollars and eighty cents in it. Out of that she knew regretfully, she would have to give the ice man a dollar for moving them. The first thing she did in the new home, while Johnny was helping the ice man carry in the furniture, was to nail down the bank in a closet. She put two dollars and eighty cents back in it. She added a dime from the few pennies in her worn purse. That was the dime she wasn't going to give to the ice man. In Williamsburg, it was the custom to treat the movers to a pint of beer when they had completed their job. But Katie reasoned: "We'll never see him again. Besides, the dollar is enough. Think of all the ice he'd have to sell to make a dollar." While Katie was putting up the lace curtains, Mary Rommely came over and sprinkled the rooms with holy water to drive out any devils that might be lurking in the corners. Who knows? Protestants might have been living there before. A Catholic might have died in the rooms without the last absolution of the church. The holy water would purify the home again so, that God might come in if He chose. The baby Francie crowed with delight as her grandmother held up the cruet and the sun shone through it and made a small fat rainbow on the opposite wall. Mary smiled with the child and made the rainbow dance. "Schoen! Schoen!" she said. "Shame! Shame!" repeated Francie and held out her two hands. Mary let her hold the half-filled cruet while she went to help Katie. Francie was disappointed because the rainbow went away. She thought it must be hidden in the bottle. She poured the holy water out into her lap expecting a rainbow to come slithering from the bottle. Later Katie noticed that she was wet and paddled her softly telling her that she was too big to wet her pants. Mary explained about the holy water. "Ai, the child has but blessed herself and a spanking comes from the blessing." Katie laughed then. Francie laughed because her mama wasn't mad anymore. Neeley exposed his three teeth in a baby laugh. Mary smiled at them all and said it was good luck to start life in a new home with laughter. They were settled by supper time. Johnny stayed with the children while Katie went to the grocery store to establish credit. She told the grocer she had just moved into the neighborhood and would he trust her with a few groceries until Saturday payday? The grocer obliged. He gave her a bag of groceries and a little book in which he jotted down her indebtedness. He told her she was to bring the book along each time she came to "trust." With that little ceremony, Katie's family was assured of food until the next money came in. After supper, Katie read the babies to sleep. She read a page of the introduction to Shakespeare and a page of begats from the Bible. That was as far as she had gotten to date. Neither the babies nor Katie understood what it was all about. The reading made Katie very drowsy but doggedly she finished the two pages. She covered the babies carefully, then she and Johnny went to bed too. It was only eight o'clock but they were tired out from moving. The Nolans slept in their new home on Lorimer Street which was still in Williamsburg but almost near where Greenpoint began. XIII LORIMER STREET was more refined than Bogart Street. It was peopled by letter carriers, firemen and those store owners who were affluent enough not to have to live in the rooms in back of the store. The flat had a bathroom. The tub was an oblong wooden box lined with zinc. Francie couldn't get over the wonder of it when it was filled with water. It was the largest body of water she had seen up to that time. To her baby eyes, it seemed like an ocean. They liked the new home. Katie and Johnny kept the cellar, halls, the roof, and the sidewalk before the house spotlessly clean in return for their rent. There was no airshafts. There was a window in each bedroom and three each in the kitchen and front room. The first autumn there was pleasant. The sun came in all day long. They were warm that first winter, too. Johnny worked fairly steadily, did not drink much and there was money for coal. When summer came, the children spent most of the day outdoors on the stoop. They were the only children in the house, so there was always room on the stoop. Francie, was going on four, had to mind Neeley, who was going on three. She sat for long hours on the stoop with her thin arms hugging her thin legs and with her straight brown hair blowing in the slow breeze that came laden with the salt smell of the sea, the sea which was so near-by and which she had never seen. She kept an eye on Neeley as he scrambled up and down the steps. She sat, rocking to and fro, wondering about many things: what made the wind blow and what was grass and why Neeley was a boy instead of a girl like her. Sometimes Francie and Neeley sat regarding each other with steady eyes. His eyes were the same as hers in shape and depth but his were a bright clear blue and hers a dark clear gray. There was steady unbroken communication between the two children. Neeley spoke very little and Francie spoke a lot. Sometimes Francie talked and talked until the genial little boy fell asleep sitting upright on the steps with his head against the iron rail. Francie did "stitching" that summer. Katie bought her a square of goods for a penny. It was the size of a lady's handkerchief and had a design outlined on it: a sitting Newfoundland dog with his tongue lolling out. Another penny bought a small reel of red embroidery cotton and two cents went for a pair of small hoops. Francie's grandmother taught her how to work the running stitches. The child became adept at stitching. Women passing would stop and cluck in pitying admiration at the tiny girl, a deep line already showing at the inner edge of her right eyebrow, pushing the needle in and out of the taut material while Neeley hung over her to watch the bright sliver of steel disappear like magic and then come back up again through the cloth. Sissy gave her a fat little cloth strawberry for cleaning the needle. When Neeley got restless, Francie let him push the needle through the strawberry for awhile. You were supposed to stitch a hundred or so of these squares and then sew them together to make a bedspread. Francie heard that some ladies had actually made a bedspread that way and that was Francie's great ambition. But though she worked intermittently on the square all summer, autumn found it only half done. The bedspread had to be saved for the future. The fall came again, winter, spring and summer. Francie and Neeley kept getting bigger, Katie kept working harder and Johnny worked a little less and drank a little more with each season. The reading went on. Sometimes Katie skipped a page when she was tired at night, but most of the time she stuck with it. They were in "Julius Caesar" now and the stage direction "Alarum" confused Katie. She thought it had something to do with fire engines and whenever she came to that word, she shouted out "clang-clang." The children thought it was wonderful. Pennies accumulated in the tin-can bank. Once it had to be ripped open and two dollars taken out to pay the druggist the time Francie ran a rusty nail into her knee. A dozen times one prong was unfastened and a nickel fished out with a knife to provide Johnny with car-fare to get to a job. But the rule was that he had to put ten cents back out of his tip money. So the bank profited. On the warm days, Francie played alone on the streets or on the stoop. She yearned for playmates but did not know how to make friends with the other little girls. The other youngsters avoided her because she talked funny. Owing to Katie's nightly reading, Francie had a queer way of saying things. Once, when taunted by a youngster she had retorted, "Aw, you don't know what you're saying. You're jus' full of soun' 'n' furry siggaflying nothing." Once, trying to make friends with a little girl she said, "Wait here and I'll go in and begat my rope and we'll play "jumping." "You mean you'll git your rope," the little girl corrected. "No. I'll begat my rope. You don't git things. You begat things." "What's that-begat?" asked the little girl who was just five years old. "Begat. Like Eve begat Cain." "You're buggy. Ladies don't git canes. Only men git canes when they can't walk good." "Eve begat. She begat Abel too." "She gits or she don't git. You know what?" "What." "You talk just like a Wop." "I do not talk like no Wop," cried Francie. "I talk like ... like ... God talks." "You'll be struck down dead saying a thing like that." "I won't neither." "Nobody home upstairs in your house." The little girl tapped her forehead. "There is so." "Why do you talk like that then?" "My mother reads those things to me." "Nobody home upstairs in your mother's house," corrected the little girl. "Well anyhow, my mother ain't a dirty slob like your mother." That was the only reply Francie could think of. The little girl had heard this many times. She was shrewd enough not to debate it. "Well, I'd sooner have a dirty slob for a mother than a crazy woman. And I'd rather have no father than a drunken man for my father." "Slob! Slob! Slob!" shouted Francie passionately. "Crazy, crazy, crazy," chanted the little girl. "Slob! Dirty slob," screamed Francie sobbing in her impotence. The little girl skipped away, her fat curls bouncing in the sun and sang in a clear high voice: "Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me. When I die, you will cry for all the names you called me." And Francie did cry. Not for all the names called but because she was lonesome and nobody wanted to play with her. The rougher children found Francie too quiet and the better behaved ones seemed to shun her. Dimly, Francie felt that it wasn't all her fault. It had something to do with Aunt Sissy who came to the house so often, the way Sissy looked and the way the men in the neighborhood looked after Sissy when she passed. It had something to do with the way papa couldn't walk straight sometimes and walked sideways down the street when he came home. It had something to do with the way neighbor women asked her questions about papa and mama and Sissy. Their wheedling offhand questions did not deceive Francie. Had not mama warned her: "Don't let the neighbors pick on you." So in the warm summer days the lonesome child sat on her stoop and pretended disdain for the group of children playing on the sidewalk. Francie played with imaginary companions and made believe that they were better than real children. But all the while her heart beat in rhythm to the poignant sadness of the song the children sang while walking around in a ring with hands joined. Walter, Walter Wildflower. Growing up so high. As we are all young ladies And very sure to die. Excepting Lizzie Wehner Who is the finest flower. Hide, hide, hide for shame. Turn your back and Tell your beau's name. They paused while the chosen girl, after much coaxing, finally whispered a boy's name. Francie wondered what name she'd give if they ever asked her to play. Would they laugh if she whispered Johnny Nolan? The little girls whooped when Lizzie whispered a name. Again they joined hands and walked around in a circle genially advertising the boy. Hermy Bachmeier Is a fine young man. He comes to the door With his hat in his hand. Down comes she All dressed in silk. Tomorrow, tomorrow, The wedding shall begin. The girls stopped and clapped their hands joyously. Then without motivation, there was a change in mood. The girls went around the ring slower and with lowered heads. Mother, Mother, I am sick. Send for the doctor, Quick, quick, quick! Doctor, Doctor, shall I die? Yes, my darling, By and by. How many coaches shall I have? Enough for you and Your family, too. In other neighborhoods there were different words to the song but essentially it was the same game. No one knew where the words had come from. Little girls learned them from other little girls and it was the most frequently played game in Brooklyn. There were other games. There were jacks that two little girls could play together sitting on the steps of a stoop. Francie played jacks by herself, first being Francie and then her opponent. She'd talk to the imaginary player. "I'm for threesies and you're for twosies," she'd say. Potsy was a game that the boys started and the girls finished. A couple of boys would put a tin can on the car track and sit along the curb and watch with a professional eye as the trolley wheels flattened the can. They'd fold it and put it on the track again. Again it was flattened, folded and flattened again. Soon there was a flat heavy square of metal. Numbered squares were marked off on the sidewalk and the game was turned over to the girls who hopped on one foot pushing the potsy from square to square. Who ever got through the squares with the least number of hops won the game. Francie made a potsy. She put a can on the tracks. She watched with a professional frown as the car ran over it. She shuddered in delighted horror when she heard the scrunch. Would the motorman be mad, she wondered, if he knew that she was making his trolley car work for her? She made the squares but could only write one and seven. She hopped through a game ardently wishing someone were playing with her as she was sure she won with less hops than any other little girl in the world. Sometimes there was music in the streets. This was something that Francie could enjoy without companions. A three-piece band came around once a week. They wore ordinary suits but funny hats, like a motorman's hat only the top was squashed in. When Francie heard the children shouting, "Here comes the Bettelbubbers," she'd run out on the street, sometimes dragging Neeley with her. The band consisted of a fiddle, drum and cornet. The men played old Viennese airs and if they didn't play well, they at least played loud. Little girls waltzed with each other, round and round on the warm summer sidewalks. There were always two boys who did a grotesque dance together, mimicking the girls and bumping into them rudely. When the girls got angry, the boys would bow with great exaggeration (being sure their buttocks would bump another dancing couple), and apologize in flowery language. Francie wished she could be one of the brave ones who took no part in the dancing but stood close to the horn-blower sucking noisily on big dripping pickles. This made saliva flow, into the horn which made the cornet player very angry. If provoked enough, he'd let out a string of oaths in German ending up with something that sounded like Gott verdammte Ehrlandiger Jude. Most Brooklyn Germans had a habit of calling everyone who annoyed them a Jew. Francie was fascinated by the money angle. After two songs, the fiddle and horn carried on alone while the drummer went around hat in hand ungraciously accepting the pennies doled out to him. After canvassing the street, he'd stand on the curb's edge and look up at the house windows. Women wrapped two pennies in a bit of newspaper and tossed them down. The newspaper was essential. Any pennies thrown loose were considered fair game by the boys and they scrambled for them, picked them up and ran off down the street with an angry musician after them. For some reason, they wouldn't try to get the wrapped pennies. They'd pick them up sometimes and hand them to the musicians. It was some sort of code that made them agree as to whose pennies were whose. If the musicians got enough, they'd play another song. If the take was meager, they'd move on hoping for greener fields. Francie, usually dragging Neeley along, often followed the musicians from stop to stop, street to street, until it got dark and time for the musicians to disband. Francie was but one of a crowd as many children followed the band Pied Piper fashion. Many of the little girls towed baby brothers and sisters along, some in homemade wagons, others in busted- down baby buggies. The music cast such a spell over them that they forgot about home and eating. And the little babies cried, wet their pants, slept, woke to cry again, wet their pants again and to sleep again. And "The Beautiful Blue Danube" played on and on. Francie thought the musicians had a fine life. She made plans. When Neeley got bigger, he would play the hot- hot (his name for an accordion) and she would bang a tambourine on the street and people would throw them pennies and they'd get rich and mama wouldn't have to work anymore. Although she followed the band, Francie liked the organ grinder better. Every once in a while a man came around lugging a small organ with a monkey perched atop it. The monkey wore a red jacket with gold braid and a red pill box hat strapped under his chin. His red pants had a convenient hole in them so that his tail could stick out. Francie loved that monkey. She'd give him her precious penny-for-candy just for the happiness of seeing him tip his hat to her. If mama was around, she'd come out with a penny that should have gone into the tin-can bank and give it to the man with sharp instructions not to mistreat his monkey; and if he did and she found out, she would report him. The Italian never understood a word she said and always made the same answer. He pulled off his hat, bowed humbly with a little crook of the leg and called out eagerly, "Si, Si." The big organ was different. When that came around it was like a fiesta. The organ was pulled by a dark curly-haired man with very white teeth. He wore green velveteen pants and a brown corduroy jacket from which hung a red bandana handkerchief. He wore one hoop-earring. The woman who helped him pull the organ wore a swirling red skirt and a yellow blouse and large hoop earrings. The music tinkled out shrilly, a song from Carmen or Il Trovatore. The woman shook a dirty, be-ribboned tambourine and listlessly punched it with her elbow in time to the music. At the end of a song, she'd twirl suddenly showing her stout legs in dirty white cotton stockings and a flash of multi-colored petticoats. Francie never noticed the dirt and the lassitude. She heard the music and saw the flashing colors and felt the glamour of a picturesque people. Katie warned her never to follow the big organ. Katie said that those organ grinders who dressed up so were Sicilians. And all the world knew that the Sicilians belonged to the Black Hand and that the Black Hand Society always kidnapped little children and held them for ransom. They took the child and left a note saying to leave a hundred dollars in the cemetery and signed it with the black imprint of a hand. That's what mama said about those organ grinders. For days after the organ grinder had been around, Francie played organ grinder. She hummed what she recalled of Verdi and bumped her elbow on an old pie tin pretending it was a tambourine. She ended the game by drawing an outline of her hand on paper and filling it in with black crayon. Sometimes Francie wavered. She didn't know whether it would be better to be a band when she grew up or an organ grinder lady. It would be nice if she and Neeley could get a little organ and a cute monkey. All day they could have fun with him for nothing and go around playing and watching him tip his hat. And people would give them a lot of pennies and the monkey could eat with them and maybe sleep in her bed at night. This profession seemed so desirable that Francie announced her intentions to mama but Katie threw cold water on the project telling her not to be silly; that monkeys had fleas and she wouldn't allow a monkey in one of her clean beds. Francie toyed with the idea of being a tambourine lady. But then she'd have to be a Sicilian and kidnap little children and she didn't want to do that, although drawing a black hand was fun. There was always the music. There were songs and dancing on the Brooklyn streets in those long ago summers and the days should have been joyous. But there was something sad about those summers, something sad about the children, thin in body but with the baby curves still lingering in their faces, singing in sad monotony as they went through the figures of a ring game. It was sad the way they were still babies of four and five years of age but so precocious about taking care of themselves. "The Blue Danube" that the band played was sad as well as bad. The monkey had sad eyes under his bright red cap. The organ grinder's tune was sad under its lilting shrillness. Even the minstrels who came in the back yards and sang, If I had my way, You would never grow old. were sad, too. They were bums and they were hungry and they didn't have talent for song-making. All they had in the world was the nerve to stand in a back yard with cap in hand and sing loudly. The sad thing was in the knowing that all their nerve would get them nowhere in the world and that they were lost as all people in Brooklyn seem lost when the day is nearly over and even though the sun is still bright, it is thin and doesn't give you warmth when it shines on you. XIV LIFE was pleasant in Lorimer Street and the Nolans would have kept on living there if it hadn't been for Aunt Sissy and her big but mistaken heart. It was Sissy's business with the tricycle and the balloons that ruined and disgraced the Nolans. One day Sissy was laid off from work and decided to go over and look after Francie and Neeley while Katie was working. A block before she got to their house, her eyes were dazzled by the sun glinting off the brass handlebar of a handsome tricycle. It was a kind of vehicle that you don't see nowadays. It had a wide leather seat, big enough for two little children, with a back to it and an iron steering bar leading to the small front wheel. There were two larger wheels in the back. There was a handlebar of solid brass on top the steering rod. The pedals were in front of the seat and a child sat in it at ease, pedaled it while leaning back in the seat and steered it with the handlebars which lay across the lap. Sissy saw that tricycle standing there unattended in front of a stoop. She didn't hesitate. She took the tricycle, pulled it around to the Nolan house, got the children out and gave them a ride. Francie thought it was wonderful! She and Neeley sat in the seat and Sissy pulled them around the block. The leather seat was warm from the sun and had a rich and expensive smell. The hot sun danced on the brass handlebar and it looked like living fire. Francie thought that if she touched it, it would burn her hand surely. Then something happened. A small crowd bore down on them headed by a hysterical woman and a bawling boy. The woman rushed at Sissy yelling "Robber!" She grabbed the handlebars and pulled. Sissy held on tightly. Francie almost got thrown out. The cop on the beat came rushing up. "What's this? What's this?" Thus he took over. "This lady is a robber," reported the woman. "She stole my little boy's tricycle." "I didn't steal it, Sergeant," said Sissy in her soft appealing voice. "It was just standing there and standing there so I borrowed it to give the kids a ride. They never rode in such a fine tricycle. You know what a ride means to a kid. It's just heaven." The cop stared at the mute children in the seat. Francie grinned at him in trembling panic. "I was only going to ride them once around the block and then take it back. Honest, Sarge." The cop let his eyes rest on Sissy's well-shaped bust which was not spoiled any by the tight waists that she liked to wear. He turned to the harassed mother. "Why do you want to be so stingy for, Lady?" he said. "Let her give the kids a ride around the block. It ain't no skin off your teeth." (Only he didn't say "teeth" to the snickering delight of the youngsters clustered around.) "Let her give them a spin and I'll see that you get the bike back safe." He was the law. What could the woman do? The cop gave the bawling kid a nickel and told him to shut up. He dispersed the crowd very simply by telling them he'd send for the pie wagon and take them all down to the station house if they didn't twenty-three skidoo. The crowd scattered. The cop, swinging his club, gallantly escorted Sissy and her charges around the block. Sissy looked up at him and smiled into his eyes. Where upon he stuck his club in his belt and insisted on pulling the bike for her. Sissy trotted along beside him on her tiny high-heeled shoes and cast a spell over him with her soft fluttering voice. They walked around the block three times, the cop pretending not to notice the hands that went up to hide smiles as the people saw a fully-uniformed officer of the law so engaged. He talked warmly to Sissy, mostly about his wife who was a good woman, you understand, but you know, a kind of invalid. Sissy said she understood. After the bike episode, people talked. They talked enough about Johnny coming home drunk once in awhile and about how the men looked at Sissy. Now they had this to add on. Katie thought of moving. It was getting like Bogart Street where the neighbors knew too much about the Nolans. While Katie was thinking about looking for another place, something else happened and they had to move right away. The thing that finally drove them from Lorimer Street was stark raw sex. Only it was very innocent looked at in the right way. One Saturday afternoon, Katie had an odd job at Gorling's, a large department store in Williamsburg. She fixed coffee and sandwiches for the Saturday night supper that the boss gave the girls in lieu of overtime money. Johnny was at Union Headquarters waiting for a job to find him. Sissy wasn't working that day. Knowing that the children would be left alone locked in the rooms, she decided to keep them company. She knocked at the door calling out that she was Aunt Sissy. Francie opened the door on the chain to make sure before she let her in. The children swarmed over Sissy smothering her with hugs. They loved her. To them, she was a beautiful lady who always smelled sweet, wore beautiful clothes and brought them amazing presents. Today she brought a sweet-smelling cedar cigar box, several sheets of tissue paper, some red and some white, and a jar of paste. They sat around the kitchen table and went to work decorating the box. Sissy outlined circles on the paper with a quarter and Francie cut them out. Sissy showed her how to make them into little paper cups by molding the circles around the end of a pencil. When they had a lot of cups made, Sissy drew a heart on the box cover. The bottom of each red cup was given a dab of paste and the cup was pasted on the penciled heart. The heart was filled in with red cups. The rest of the lid was filled in with white. When the top was finished it looked like a bed of closely- packed white carnations with a heart of red ones. The sides were filled in with white cups and the inside lined with red tissue. You never could tell it had been a cigar box, it was that beautiful. The box took up most of the afternoon. Sissy had a chop suey date at five and she got ready to leave. Francie clung to her and begged her not to go. Sissy hated to leave, yet she didn't want to miss her date. She searched in her purse for something to amuse them in her absence. They stood at her knee helping her look. Francie spied a cigarette box and pulled it out. On the cover was a picture of a man lying on a couch, knees crossed, one foot dangling in the air and smoking a cigarette which made a big smoke ring over his head. In the ring was a picture of a girl with her hair in her eyes and her bust popping out of her dress. The name on the box was American Dreams. It was out of the stock at Sissy's factory. The children clamored for the box. Sissy reluctantly let them have it after explaining that the box contained cigarettes and was only to hold and to look at and not under any circumstances to be opened. They must not touch the seals, she said. After she left, the children amused themselves for a time by staring at the picture. They shook the box. A dull swishing mysterious sound resulted. "They is snakes in there and not zingarettes," decided Neeley. "No," corrected Francie. "Worms are in there. Live ones." They argued, Francie saying the box was too small for snakes and Neeley insisting that they rolled-up snakes like herring in a glass jar. Curiosity grew to such a pitch that Sissy's instructions were forgotten. The seals were so lightly pasted, it was a simple matter to pull them off. Francie opened the box. There was a sheet of soft dulled tin foil over the contents. Francie lifted the foil carefully. Neeley prepared to crawl under the table if the snakes became active. But there were neither snakes, worms nor cigarettes in the box and its contents were very uninteresting. After trying to devise some simple games, Francie and Neeley lost interest, clumsily tied the contents of the box to a string, trailed the string out of the window and finally secured the string by shutting the window on it. They then took turns jumping on the denuded box and became so absorbed in breaking it into bits that they forgot all about the string hanging out of the window. Consequently, there was a great surprise waiting for Johnny when he sauntered home to get a fresh dicky and collar for his evening's job. He took one look and his face burned with shame. He told Katie when she came home. Katie questioned Francie closely and found out everything. Sissy was condemned. That night after the children had been put to bed and Johnny was away working, Katie sat in her dark kitchen with blushes coming and going. Johnny went about his work with a dull feeling that the world had come to an end. Evy came over later in the evening and she and Katie discussed Sissy. "That's the end, Katie," said Evy, "the very end. What Sissy does is her own business until her own business makes a thing like this happen. I've got a growing girl, so have you, we mustn't let Sissy come into our homes again. She's bad and there's no getting around it." She's good in many ways," temporized Katie. "You say that after what she did to you today?" "Well ... I guess you're right. Only don't tell Mother. She doesn't know how Sissy lives and Sissy is her eye-apple." When Johnny came home, Katie told him that Sissy was never to come to their house again. Johnny sighed and said he guessed that was the only thing to do. Johnny and Katie talked away the night, and in the morning they had their plans all made for moving when the end of the month came. Katie found a janitor place on Grand Street in Williamsburg. She took up the tin-can bank when they moved. There was a little over eight dollars in it. Two had to go to the movers, the rest was put back when the can was nailed down in the new home. Again Mary Rommely came and sprinkled the flat with holy water. Again there was the settling process and the establishing of trust or credit at the neighborhood stores. There was resigned regret that the new flat was not as nice as their Lorimer Street home. They lived on the top floor instead of the ground floor. There was no stoop as a store occupied the street floor of the house. There was no bathroom and the toilet was in the hall and shared by two families. The only bright spot was that the roof was theirs. By an unwritten agreement, the roof belonged to the people who lived on the top floor as the yard belonged to the people who lived on the first floor. Another advantage was that there was no one living overhead to make vibrations on the ceiling and cause the Welsbach gas mantle to crumble into powder. While Katie was arguing with the movers, Johnny took Francie up on the roof. She saw a whole new world. Not far away was the lovely span of the Williamsburg Bridge. Across the East River, like a fairy city made of silver cardboard, the skyscrapers loomed cleanly. There was the Brooklyn Bridge further away like an echo of the nearer bridge. It's pretty," said Francie. "It's pretty the same way pictures of in-the- country are pretty." "I go over that bridge sometimes when I go to work," Johnny said. Francie looked at him in wonder. He went over that magic bridge and still talked and looked like always? She couldn't get over it. She put out her hand and touched his arm. Surely the wonderful experience of going over that bridge would make him feel different. She was disappointed because his arm felt as it had always felt. At the child's touch, Johnny put his arm around her and smiled down at her. "How old are you, Prima Donna?" "Six going on seven." "Why you'll be going to school in September." "No. Mama said I must wait until next year till Neeley's old enough so we can start together." "Why?" "So we can help each other against the older kids who might lick us if there was only one." "Your mother thinks of everything." Francie turned around and looked at the other roofs. Near-by was one with a pigeon coop on it. The pigeons were safely locked up. But the pigeon owner, a youth of seventeen, stood on the edge of the roof with along bamboo stick. It had a rag on the end and the boy stood waving the stick in circles. Another flock of pigeons was flying around in a circle. One of them left the group to follow the flying rag. The boy lowered the stick cautiously and the silly pigeon followed the rag. The boy grabbed him and stuck him in the coop. Francie was distressed. "The boy stole a pigeon." "And tomorrow someone will steal one of his," said Johnny. "But the poor pigeon, taken away from his relations. Maybe he's got children." Tears came into her eyes. "I wouldn't cry," said Johnny. "Maybe the pigeon wanted to get away from his relatives. If he doesn't like the new coop, he'll fly back to the old one when he gets out again." Francie was consoled. They didn't say anything for a long time. They stood hand-in-hand on the roof's edge looking across the river to New York. Finally Johnny said, as if to himself, "Seven years." "What Papa?" "Your mama and I have been married seven years already." "Was I here when you got married?" "No." "I was here, though, when Neeley came." "That's right." Johnny went back to thinking aloud. "Married seven years and we've had three homes. This will be my last home." Francie didn't notice that he said my last home instead of our last home. BOOK THREE XV FOUR rooms made up the new flat. They led one into the other and were called railroad rooms. The high narrow kitchen faced on the yard which was a flagstone walk surrounding a square of cement-like sour earth out of which nothing could possibly grow. Yet, there was this tree growing in the yard. When Francie first saw it, it was only up to the second story. She could look down on it from her window. It looked like a packed crowd of people of assorted sizes, standing umbrella-protected in the rain. There was a lean clothes pole in the back of the yard from which six washlines on pulleys connected with six kitchen windows. The neighborhood boys kept themselves in pocket money by climbing the poles to replace a washline when it slipped off a pulley. It was believed that the boys climbed the pole in the dead of night and sneaked the line off the pulley to guarantee the next day's dime. On a sunny windy day, it was pretty to see the lines filled, the square white sheets taking the wind like the sails of a story-book boat and the red, green and yellow clothes straining at the wooden pins as though they had life. The pole stood against a brick wall which was the windowless side of the neighborhood school. Francie found that no two bricks were alike when she looked real close. It was a soothing rhythm the way they were put together with crumbly thin lines of white mortar. They glowed when the sun shone on them. They smelled warm and porous when Francie pressed her cheek against them. They were the first to receive the rain and they gave off a wet clay odor that was like the smell of life itself. In the winter, when the first snow was too delicate to last on the sidewalks, it clung to the rough surface of the brick and was like fairy lace. Four feet of the school yard faced on Francie's yard and was segregated from it by an iron mesh fence. The few times Francie got to play in the yard (it was preempted by the boy who lived on the ground floor who would let no one in it while he was there), she managed to be there at recess time. She watched the horde of children playing in the yard. Recess consisted of getting several hundred children herded into this small, stone-paved enclosure and then getting them out again. Once in the yard, there was no room for games. The children milled about angrily and raised their voices in one steady, monotonous shrieking which continued unabated for five minutes. It was cut off, as if with a sharp knife, when the end-of-recess bell clanged. For an instant after the bell there was dead silence and frozen motion. Then the milling changed to pushing. The children seemed as desperately anxious to get in as they had been to get out. The high shrieking changed to subdued wailing as they fought their way back. Francie was in her yard one mid-afternoon when a little girl came out alone into the school yard and importantly clapped two blackboard erasers together to free them from chalk dust. To Francie, watching, her face close to the iron mesh, this seemed the most fascinating occupation ever devised. Mama had told her that this was a task reserved for teachers' pets. To Francie, pets meant cats, dogs and birds. She vowed that when she was old enough to go to school, that she would meow, bark and chirp as best she could so that she would be a "pet" and get to clap the erasers together. On this afternoon, she watched with a heart full of admiration in her eyes. The clapper, aware of Francie's admiration, showed off. She clapped the erasers on the brick wall, on the stone walk and as a finale, behind her back. She spoke to Francie. "Want to see 'em real close?" Francie nodded shyly. The girl brought an eraser close to the mesh. Francie poked a finger through to touch the vari-colored felt layers blended together by a film of powdered chalk. As she was about to touch this soft beautifulness, the little girl snatched it away and spat full in Francie's face. Francie closed her eyes tightly to keep the hurt bitter tears from spilling out. The other girl stood there curiously, waiting for the tears. When none came, she taunted: "Why don't you bust out crying, you dockle? Want I should spit in your face again?" Francie turned and went down into the cellar and sat in the dark a long time waiting until the waves of hurt stopped breaking over her. It was the first of many disillusionments that were to come as her capacity to feel things grew. She never liked blackboard erasers after that. The kitchen was living room, dining room, and cooking room. There were two long narrow windows in one wall. An iron coalrange was recessed in another wall. Above the stove the recess was made of coral-colored bricks and creamy white plaster. It had a stone mantelpiece and a slate hearthstone on which Francie could draw pictures with chalk. Next to the stove was a water boiler which got hot when the fire was going. Often on a cold day, Francie came in chilled and put her arms around the boiler and pressed her frosty cheek gratefully against its warm silveriness. Next to the boiler was a pair of soapstone washtubs with a hinged wooden cover. The partition could be removed and the two thrown into one for a bath tub. It didn't make a very good bath tub. Sometimes when Francie sat in it, the cover banged down on her head. The bottom was rubbly and she came out of what should have been a refreshing bath, all sore from sitting on that wet roughness. Then there were four faucets to contend with. No matter how the child tried to remember that they were inflexibly there and wouldn't give way, she would jump up suddenly out of the soapy water and get her back whacked good on a faucet. Francie had a perpetual angry welt on her back. Following the kitchen, there were two bedrooms, one leading into the other. An airshaft dimensioned like a coffin was built into the bedrooms. The windows were small and dingy gray. You could open an airshaft window, maybe, if you used a chisel and hammer. But when you did, you were rewarded with a blast of cold dank air. The airshaft was topped by a miniature, slant-roofed skylight whose heavy, opaque, wrinkled glass was protected from breakage by heavy, iron netting. The sides were corrugated iron slats. This arrangement supposedly supplied light and air to the bedrooms. But the heavy glass, iron fencing and dirt of many years refused to filter the light through. The openings in the sides were choked with dust, soot and cobwebs. No air could come in, but, stubbornly enough, rain and snow could get in. On stormy days, the wooden bottom of the airshaft was wet and smoky and gave out a tomb-y smell. The airshaft was a horrible invention. Even with the windows tightly sealed, it served as a sounding box and you could hear everybody's business. Rats scurried around the bottom. There was always the danger of fire. A match absently tossed into the airshaft by a drunken teamster under the impression that he was throwing it into the yard or street would set the house afire in a moment. There were vile things cluttering up the bottom. Since this bottom couldn't be reached by man (the windows being too small to admit the passage of a body), it served as a fearful repository for things that people wanted to put out of their lives. Rusted razor blades and bloody cloths were the most innocent items. Once Francie looked down into the airshaft. She thought of what the priest said about Purgatory and figured it must be like the airshaft bottom only on a larger scale. When Francie went into the parlor, she passed through the bedrooms shuddering and with her eyes shut. The parlor or front room was The Room. Its two high narrow windows faced on the exciting street. The third floor was so high up that street noises were muted into a comforting sound. The room was a place of dignity. It had its own door leading into the hall. Company could be admitted without having to walk through the bedrooms from the kitchen. The high walls were covered with a somber wall paper, dark brown with golden stripes. The windows had inside shutters of slatted wood which telescoped into a narrow space on either side. Francie spent many happy hours pulling out these hinged shutters and watching them fold back again at a touch of her hand. It was a never-tiring miracle that that which could cover a whole window and blot out light and air, could still meekly compress itself in its little closet and present an innocently paneled front to the eye. A low parlor stove was built into a black marble fireplace. Only the front half of the stove was in view. It looked like a giant halved melon with the round side out. It was made of numerous isinglass windows with just enough thin carved iron to form a framework. At Christmas time, the only time Katie could afford to have a fire in the parlor, all of the little windows glowed and Francie felt a great joy sitting there, feeling the warmth and watching the windows change from rosy red to amber as the night wore on. And when Katie came in and lit the gas, chasing the shadows away and paling the light in the stove windows, it was like a great sin that she committed. The most wonderful thing about the front room was the piano. This was a miracle that you could pray for all your life and it would never come to pass. But there it stood in the Nolan parlor, a real true miracle that had come without a wish or a prayer. The piano had been left there by the previous tenants who could not afford to pay to have it moved. Piano-moving in those days was a project. No piano could be gotten down those narrow steep stairs. Pianos had to be bundled up, roped and hoisted out of the windows with an enormous pulley on the roof and with much shouting, arm-waving and brass-hatting on the part of the boss mover. The street had to be roped off, the policemen had to keep the crowds back and children had to play hooky from school when there was a piano moving. There was always that great moment when the wrapped bulk swung clear of the window and twisted dizzily in the air for a moment before it righted itself. Then began the slow perilous descent while the children cheered hoarsely. It was a job that cost fifteen dollars, three times ;what it cost to move all the rest of the furniture. So the owner asked Katie could she leave it and would Katie mind it for her? Katie was glad to give her the promise. Wistfully the woman asked Katie not to let it get damp or cold, to leave the bedroom doors open in winter so a little heat would get through from the kitchen and prevent warping. "Can you play it?" Katie asked her. "No," said the woman sorrowfully. "No one in the family can play. I wish I could." "Why did you ever buy it?" "It was in a rich house. The people were selling it cheap. I wanted it so much. No, I couldn't play it. But it was so beautiful ... It dresses up the whole room." Katie promised to take good care of it until the woman could afford to send for it but as things turned out, the woman never did send for it and the Nolans had this beautiful thing for always. It was small and made of black polished wood that glowed darkly. The front of thin veneers was cut out to make a pretty pattern and there was old-rose silk behind this fretted wood design. Its lid did not fold back in sections like other uprights. It just turned back and rested against the designed wood like a lovely, dark, polished shell. There was a candle holder on either side. You could put pure white candles in them and play by the candlelight which threw dreamy shadows over the creamy ivoried keys. And you could see the keys again in the dark cover. When the Nolans walked into the front room on their first possessive tour of inspection, the piano was the only thing that Francie saw. She tried to get her arms around it but it was too big. She had to be content to hug the faded-rose brocade stool. Katie looked at the piano with dancing eyes. She had noticed a white card in the flat window below which said, "Piano Lessons." Katie had an idea. Johnny sat on the magic stool, which turned around and went up or down according to your size, and played. He couldn't play, of course. He couldn't read notes in the first place but he knew a few chords. He could sing a song and strike a chord now and then and really it sounded as though he were singing to music. He struck a minor chord, looked into the eyes of his oldest child and smiled a crooked smile. Francie smiled back, her heart waiting in anticipation. He struck the minor chord again; held it. To its soft echo, he sang in his clear true voice: Maxwellton's braes are bonny, Whe' earl fae's the dew. (Chord-chord.) An' 't was there that Annie Laurie, Gied me her promise true. (Chord-chord-chord- chord.) Francie looked away, not wanting papa to see her tears. She was afraid he'd ask her why she was crying and she wouldn't be able to tell him. She loved him and she loved the piano. She could find no excuse for her easy tears. Katie spoke. Her voice had some of the old soft tenderness in it which Johnny had been missing in the last year or so. "Is that an Irish song, Johnny?" "Scotch." "I never heard you sing it before." "No, I guess not. It's just a song I know. I never sing it because it's not the kind of song people want to hear at the rackets where I work. They'd sooner hear 'Call Me Up Some Rainy Afternoon.' Except when they're drunk. Then nothing but 'Sweet Adeline' will do." They were quickly settled in the new place. The familiar furniture looked strange. Francie sat on a chair and was surprised that it felt the same as it had in Lorimer Street. She felt different. Why didn't the chair feel different? The front room looked pretty after papa and mama got it fixed up. There was a bright green carpet which had great pink roses. There were starched cream-colored lace curtains for the windows, a table with a marble top for the center of the room and a three-piece green plush parlor suit. A bamboo stand in the corner held a plush-covered album in which were pictures of the Rommely sisters as babies lying on their stomachs on a fur rug, and patient-looking great-aunts standing at the shoulders of seated, big-mustached husbands. Little souvenir cups stood on the small shelves. The cups were pink and blue and had gold- encrusted designs of blue forget-me-nots and red American beauty roses. There were phrases like Remember Me and True Friendship painted in gold. The tiny cups and saucers were memories of Katie's old girl friends and Francie was never permitted to play house with them. On the bottom shelf stood a curly, bone-white conch shell with a delicate rosy interior. The children loved it dearly and had given it an affectionate name: Tootsy. When Francie held it to her ear, it sang of the great sea. Sometimes for the delight of his children Johnny listened to the shell, then held it dramatically at arm's length, looked at it meltingly and sang: Upon the shore I found a shell. I held it to my ear. I listened gladly while it sang, A sea song sweet and clear. Later, Francie saw the sea for the first time when Johnny took them to Canarsie. The sea was remarkable only in that it sounded like the tiny sweet roar of Tootsy, the conch shell. XVI THE neighborhood stores are an important part of a city child's life. They are his contact with the supplies that keep life going; they hold the beauty that his soul longs for; they hold the unattainable that he can only dream and wish for. Francie liked the pawnshop almost the best-not for the treasures prodigiously thrown into its barred windows; not for the shadowy adventure of shawled women slipping into the side entrance, but for the three large golden balls that hung high above the shop and gleamed in the sun or swayed languorously like heavy golden apples when the wind blew. There was a bakery store to one side of it which sold beautiful charlotte russes with red candied cherries on their whipped cream tops for those who were rich enough to buy. On the other side was Gollender's Paint Shop. There was a stand in front of it from which was suspended a plate with a dramatically mended crack across it and a hole bored into the bottom from which hung a heavy rock suspended on a chain. This proved how strong Major's Cement was. Some said the plate was made of iron and painted to resemble cracked China. But Francie preferred to believe it was a real plate that had been broken and then made whole again by the miracle of the cement. The most interesting store was housed in a little shanty which had been there when the Indians prowled through Williamsburg. It looked queer among the tenements with its tiny small- paned windows, clapboards and steep slanting roof. The store had a great small- paneled bay window behind which a dignified man sat at a table and made cigars-long thin dark-brown ones which sold four for a nickel. He chose the outside leaf very carefully from a hand of tobacco and filled it expertly with bits of tobacco of mixed browns and rolled it all very beautifully so that it was tight and thin and the ends had squared corners. A craftsman of the old school, he scorned progress. He refused to have gaslight in his store. Sometimes when the days grew dark early and he still had a lot of cigars to finish, he worked by candlelight. He had a wooden Indian outside his store which stood in a threatening stance on a wooden block. He held a tomahawk in one hand and a hand of tobacco in the other. He wore Roman sandals with the lacings coming to his knees, a short skirt of feathers and a war bonnet all of which were painted in bright reds, blues and yellows. The cigar maker gave him a fresh coat of paint four times a year and carried him inside when it rained. The neighborhood children called the Indian "Aunt Maimie." One of Francie's favorite stores was the one which sold nothing but tea, coffee and spices. It was an exciting place of rows of lacquered bins and strange, romantic, exotic odors. There were a dozen scarlet coffee bins with adventurous words written across the front in black China ink: Brazil! Argentine! Turkish! Java! Mixed Blend! The tea was in smaller bins: beautiful bins with sloping covers. They read: Oolong! Formosa! Orange Pekoe! Black China! Flowering Almond! Jasmine! Irish Tea! The spices were in miniature bins behind the counter. Their names marched in a row across the shelves: cinnamon-cloves- ginger-all-spice-ball nutmeg- curry-pepper corns-sage- thyme-marjoram. All pepper when purchased was ground in a tiny pepper mill. There was a large hand-turned coffee grinder. The beans were put into a shiny brass hopper, and the great wheel was turned with two hands. The fragrant grounds pattered down into a scarlet box that was shaped like a scoop at the back. (The Nolans ground their coffee at home. Francie loved to see mama sitting debonairly in the kitchen with the coffee mill clutched between her knees, grinding away with a furious turn of her left wrist and looking up to talk sparklingly to papa while the room filled up with the rich satisfying odor of freshly-ground coffee.) The tea man had a wonderful pair of scales: two gleaming brass plates which had been rubbed and polished daily for more than twenty- five years until now they were thin and delicate and looked like burnished gold. When Francie bought a pound of coffee or an ounce of pepper she watched while a polished silver block with the weight mark was placed in one scale and the fragrant purchase was conveyed gently by means of a silver- like scoop into the other. Francie, watching, held her breath while the scoop dropped in a few more grains or gently eased some out. It was a beautiful peaceful second when both golden plates were stilled and stood there in perfect balance. It was as if nothing wrong could happen in a world where things balanced so stilly. The mystery of mysteries to Francie was the Chinaman's one-windowed store. The Chinaman wore his pigtail wound around his head. That was so he could go back to China if he wanted to, mama said. Once he cut it off, they would never let him return. He shuffled back and forth silently in his black felt slippers and listened patiently to instructions about shirts. When Francie spoke to him, he folded his hands in the wide sleeves of his nankeen shirt coat and kept his eyes on the ground. She thought that he was wise and contemplative and listened with all his heart. But he understood nothing of what she said, having little English. All he knew was tickee and shirtee. When Francie brought her father's soiled shirt there, he whisked it under the counter, took a square of mysteriously textured paper, dipped a thin brush into a pot of India Ink, made a few strokes and gave her this magic document in exchange for a common dirty shirt. It seemed a wonderful barter. The inside of the store had a clean warm but fragile scent, like odorless flowers in a hot room. He did the washing in some mysterious recess and it must have been in the dead of night because all day, from seven in the morning until ten at night, he stood in the store at his clean ironing board pushing a heavy black iron back and forth. The iron must have had a tiny gasoline arrangement inside it to keep it hot. Francie did not know this. She thought it part of the mystery of his race that he could iron with an iron never heated on a stove. She had a vague theory that the heat came from something he used in place of starch in the shirts and collars. When Francie brought a ticket and a dime back and pushed them across the counter, he gave her the wrapped shirt and two lichee nuts in exchange. Francie loved these lichee nuts. There was a crisp easily broken shell and the soft sweet meat inside. Inside the meat was a hard stone that no child had ever been able to break open. It was said that this stone contained a smaller stone and that the smaller stone contained a smaller stone which contained a yet smaller stone and so on. It was said that soon the stones got so small you could only see them with a magnifying glass and those smaller ones got still smaller until you couldn't see them with anything but they were always there and would never stop coming. It was Francie's first experience with infinity. The best times were when he had to make change. He brought out a small wooden frame strung with thin rods on which were blue, red, yellow and green balls. He slid the balls up the brass rods, pondered swiftly, clicked them all back into place and announced "dirty- nine cent." The tiny balls told him how much to charge and how much change to give. Oh, to be a Chinaman, wished Francie, and have such a pretty toy to count on; oh, to eat all the lichee nuts she wanted and to know the mystery of the iron that was ever hot and yet never stood on a stove. Oh, to paint those symbols with a slight brush and a quick turn of the wrist and to make a clear black mark as fragile as a piece of a butterfly wing! That was the mystery of the Orient in Brooklyn. XVII PIANO lessons! Magic words! As soon as the Nolans were settled, Katie called on the lady whose card announced piano lessons. There were two Miss Tynmores. Miss Lizzie taught piano and Miss Maggie cultivated the voice. The charge was twenty-five cents per lesson. Katie proposed a bargain. She'd do one hour's cleaning work for the Tynmores in exchange for a lesson each week. Miss Lizzie demurred, claiming her time had more value than Katie's time. Katie argued that time was time. Finally she got Miss Lizzie to agree that time was time and arrangements were made. The history-making day of the first lesson arrived. Francie and Neeley were instructed to sit in the front room during the lesson and to keep their eyes and ears open. A chair was placed for the teacher. The children sat side by side on the other side of the piano, Katie nervously adjusted and readjusted the seat and the three sat waiting. Miss Tynmore arrived on the dot of five. Although she only came from downstairs, she was formally attired in street clothes. A taut spotted veil was stretched over her face. Her hat was the breast and wing of a red bird tormentingly pierced by two hatpins. Francie stared at the cruel hat. Mama took her into the bedroom and whispered that the bird wasn't a bird at all just some feathers glued together and that she mustn't stare. She believed mama, yet her eyes kept going back to the tormented effigy. Miss Tynmore brought everything with her but the piano. She had a nickel alarm clock and a battered metronome. The clock said five o'clock. She set it for six and stood it on the piano. She took the privilege of using up part of the precious hour. She removed her pearl-gray, skin- tight kid gloves, blew into each finger, smoothed and folded them and placed them on the piano. She undid her veil. and threw it back over her hat. She limbered up her fingers, glanced at the clock, was satisfied she had taken enough minutes, started the metronome, took her seat and the lesson began. Francie was so fascinated by the metronome that she found it hard to listen to what Miss Tynmore said and to watch the way she placed mama's hands on the keys. She weaved dreams in time to the soothing monotonous clicking. As for Neeley, his round blue eyes rolled back and forth following the little swinging rod until he hypnotized himself into unconsciousness. His mouth relaxed and his blond head rolled over on his shoulder. A little bubble came and went as he breathed moistly. Katie dared not wake him lest Miss Tynmore catch on that she was teaching three for the price of one. The metronome clicked on dreamily, the clock ticked querulously. Miss Tynmore, as if not trusting the metronome, counted, one, two, three; one, two, three. Katie's work-swollen fingers struggled doggedly with her first scale. Time passed and it grew dark in the room. Suddenly the alarm clock rang out shatteringly. Francie's heart jumped and Neeley fell off his chair. The first lesson was ended. Katie's words tumbled over each other in gratitude. "Even if I never take another lesson, I could go on with what you taught me today. You are a good teacher." Miss Tynmore, while pleased by the flattery, nevertheless told Katie what was what. "I won't charge extra for the children. I just want you to know you're not fooling me." Katie blushed and the children looked down on the floor, ashamed of being found out. "I will permit the children to stay in the room." Katie thanked her. Miss Tynmore stood up and waited. Katie verified the time she was to do Miss Tynmore's housework. Still she waited. Katie felt that something was expected of her. Finally she inquired, "Yes?" Miss Tynmore flushed a shell pink and spoke proudly. "The ladies ... where I give lessons ... well ... they offer me a cup of tea afterwards." She put her hand to her heart and explained vaguely, "Those stairs." "Would you sooner take coffee?" Katie asked. "We have no tea." "Gladly!" Miss Tynmore sat down in relief. Katie rushed out to the kitchen and heated the coffee which was always standing on the stove. While it was warming, she put a sugar bun and a spoon on a round tin tray. In the meantime, Neeley had fallen asleep on the sofa. Miss Tynmore and Francie sat exchanging stares. Finally Miss Tynmore asked, "What are you thinking about, little girl?" "Just thinking," Francie said. "Sometimes I see you sitting on the gutter curb for hours. What do you think of then?" "Nothing. I just tell myself stories." Miss Tynmore pointed at her sternly. "Little girl, you'll be a story writer when you grow up." It was a command rather than a statement. "Yes ma'am," agreed Francie out of politeness. Katie came in with the tray. "This may not be as refined as you're used to," she apologized, "but it's what we have in the house." "It's very good," stated Miss Tynmore daintily. Then she concentrated on trying not to wolf it down. To tell the truth, the Tynmores lived on the "tea" they got from their pupils. A few lessons a day at a quarter a lesson did not make for prosperity. After paying their rent, there was little left to eat on. Most of the ladies served them weak tea and soda crackers. The ladies knew what was polite and would come through with a cup of tea but they had no intention of supplying a meal and paying a quarter, too. So Miss Tynmore came to look forward to the hour at the Nolans. The coffee was heartening and there was always a bun or a bologna sandwich to sustain her. After each lesson, Katie taught the children what she had been taught. She made them practice half an hour each day. In time, all three of them learned to play the piano. When Johnny heard that Maggie Tynmore gave voice lessons, he figured that he could do no less than Katie. He offered to repair a broken sash cord in one of the Tynmore windows in exchange for two voice lessons for Francie. Johnny, who had never even seen a sash cord in all his life, got a hammer and screw driver and took the whole window frame out of its case. He looked at the broken rope and that was as far as he could go. He experimented and got nowhere. His heart was willing but his skill was nil. In attempting to bet the window back in to keep out the cold winter rain that was blowing into the room while he was figuring out about the sash cord, he broke a pane of glass. The deal fell through. The Tynmores had to get a regular window man in to fix it. Katie had to do two washings free for the girls to make up for it and Francie's voice lessons were abandoned forever. XVIII SCHOOL days were eagerly anticipated by Francie. She wanted all of the things that she thought came with school. She was a lonely child and she longed for the companionship of other children. She wanted to drink from the school water fountains in the yard. The faucets were inverted and she thought that soda water came out instead of plain water. She had heard mama and papa speak of the school room. She wanted to see the map that pulled down like a shade. Most of all, she wanted "school supplies"; a notebook and tablet and a pencil box with a sliding top filled with new pencils, an eraser, a little tin pencil sharpener made in the shape of a cannon, a pen wiper, and a six-inch, soft wood, yellow ruler. Before school, there had to be vaccination. That was the law. How it was dreaded! When the health authorities tried to explain to the poor and illiterate that vaccination was a giving of the harmless form of smallpox to work up immunity against the deadly form, the parents didn't believe it. All they got out of the explanation was that germs would be put into a healthy child's body. Some foreign-born parents refused to permit their children to be vaccinated. They were not allowed to enter school. Then the law of after them for keeping the children out of school. A free country? they asked. You should live so long. What's free about it, they reasoned when the law forces you to educate your children and then endangers their lives to get them into school? Weeping mothers brought bawling children to the health center for inoculation. They carried on as though bringing their innocents to the slaughter. The children screamed hysterically at the first sight of the needle and their mothers, waiting in the anteroom, threw their shawls over their heads and keened loudly as if wailing for the dead. Francie was seven and Neeley six. Katie had held Francie back wishing both children to enter school together so that they could protect each other against the older children. On a dreadful Saturday in August, she stopped in the bedroom to speak to them before she went off to work. She awakened them and gave instructions. "Now when you get up, wash yourselves good and when it gets to be eleven o'clock, go around the corner to the public health place, tell them to vaccinate you because you're going to school in September." Francie began to tremble. Neeley burst into tears. "You coming with us, Mama?" Francie pleaded. "I've got to go to work. Who's going to do my work if I don't?" asked Katie covering up her conscience with indignation. Francie said nothing more. Katie knew that she was letting them down. But she couldn't help it, she just couldn't help it. Yes, she should go with them to lend the comfort and authority of her presence but she knew she couldn't stand the ordeal. Yet, they had to be vaccinated. Her being with them or somewhere else couldn't take that fact away. So why shouldn't one of the three be spared? Besides, she said to her conscience, it's a hard and bitter world. They've got to live in it. Let them get hardened young to take care of themselves. "Papa's going with us then," said Francie hopefully. "Papa's at Headquarters waiting for a job. He won't be home all day. You're big enough to go alone. Besides, it won't hurt." Neeley wailed on a higher key. Katie could hardly stand that. She loved the boy so much. Part of her reason for not, going with them was that she couldn't bear to see the boy hurt ... not even by a pin prick. Almost she decided to go with them. But no. If she went she'd lose half a day's work and she'd have to make it up on Sunday morning. Besides, she'd be sick afterwards. They'd manage somehow without her. She hurried off to her work. Francie tried to console the terrified Neeley. Some older boys had told him that they cut your arm off when they got you in the Health Center. To take his mind off the thing, Francie took him down into the yard and they made mud pies. They quite forgot to wash as mama had told them to. They almost forgot about eleven o'clock, the mud pie making was so beguiling. Their hands and arms got very dirty playing in the mud. At ten to eleven, Mrs. Gaddis hung out the window and yelled down that their mother had told her to remind them when it was near eleven o'clock. Neeley finished off his last mud pie, watering it with his tears. Francie took his hand and with slow dragging steps the children walked around the corner. They took their place on a bench. Next to them sat a Jewish mama who clutched a large six-year-old boy in her arms and wept and kissed his forehead passionately from time to time. Other mothers sat there with grim suffering furrowed on their faces. Behind the frosted glass door where the terrifying business was going on, there was a steady bawling punctuated by a shrill scream, resumption of the bawling and then a pale child would come out with a strip of pure white gauze about his left arm. His mother would rush and grab him and with a foreign curse and a shaken fist at the frosted door, hurry him out of the torture chamber. Francie went in trembling. She had never seen a doctor or a nurse in all of her small life. The whiteness of the uniforms, the shiny cruel instruments laid out on a napkin on a tray, the smell of antiseptics, and especially the cloudy sterilizer with its bloody red cross filled her with tongue-tied fright. The nurse pulled up her sleeve and swabbed a spot clean on her left arm. Francie saw the white doctor coming towards her with the cruelly- poised needle. He loomed larger and larger until he seemed to blend into a great needle. She closed her eyes waiting to die. Nothing happened, she felt nothing. She opened her eyes slowly, hardly daring to hope that it was all over. She found to her agony, that the doctor was still there, poised needle and all. He was staring at her arm in distaste. Francie looked too. She saw a small white area on a dirty dark brown arm. She heard the doctor talking to the nurse. "Filth, filth, filth, from morning to night. I know they're poor but they could wash. Water is free and soap is cheap. Just look at that arm, nurse." The nurse looked and clucked in horror. Francie stood there with the hot flamepoints of shame burning her face. The doctor was a Harvard man, interning at the neighborhood hospital. Once a week, he was obligated to put in a few hours at one of the free clinics. He was going into a smart practice in Boston when his internship was over. Adopting the phraseology of the neighborhood, he referred to his Brooklyn internship as going through Purgatory when he wrote to his socially prominent fiancée in Boston. The nurse was a Williamsburg girl. You could tell that by her accent. The child of poor Polish immigrants, she had been ambitious, worked days in a sweatshop and gone to school at night. Somehow she had gotten her training. She hoped some day to marry a doctor. She didn't want anyone to know she had come from the slums. After the doctor's outburst, Francie stood hanging her head. She was a dirty girl. That's what the doctor meant. He was talking more quietly now asking the nurse how that kind of people could survive; that it would be a better world if they were all sterilized and couldn't breed anymore. Did that mean he wanted her to die? Would he do something to make her die because her hands and arms were dirty from the mud pies? She looked at the nurse. To Francie, all women were mamas like her own mother and Aunt Sissy and Aunt Evy. She thought the nurse might say something like: "Maybe this little girl's mother works and didn't have time to wash her good this morning," or, "You know how it is, Doctor, children will play in dirt." But what the nurse actually said was, "I know. Isn't it terrible? I sympathize with you, Doctor. There is no excuse for these people living in filth." A person who pulls himself up from a low environment via the boot- strap route has two choices. Having risen above his environment, he can forget it; or, he can rise above it and never forget it and keep compassion and understanding in his heart for those he has left behind him in the cruel up climb. The nurse had chosen the forgetting way. Yet, as she stood there, she knew that years later she would be haunted by the sorrow in the face of that starveling child and that she would wish bitterly that she had said a comforting word then and done something towards the saving of her immortal soul. She had the knowledge that she was small but she lacked the courage to be otherwise. When the needle jabbed, Francie never felt it. The waves of hurt started by the doctor's words were racking her body and drove out all other feeling. While the nurse was expertly tying a strip of gauze around her arm and the doctor was putting his instrument in the sterilizer and taking out a fresh needle, Francie spoke up. "My brother is next. His arm is just as dirty as mine so don't be surprised. And you don't have to tell him. You told me." They stared at this bit of humanity who, had become so strangely articulate. Francie's voice went ragged with a sob. "You don't have to tell him. Besides it won't do no good. He's a boy and he don't care if he is dirty." She turned, stumbled a little and walked out of the room. As the door closed, she heard the doctor's surprised voice. "I had no idea she'd understand what I was saying." She heard the nurse say, "Oh, well," on a sighing note. Katie was home for lunch when the children got back. She looked at their bandaged arms with misery in her eyes. Francie spoke out passionately. "Why, Mama, why? Why do they have to ... to ... say things and then stick a needle in your arm?" "Vaccination," said mama firmly, now that it was all over, "is a very good thing. It makes you tell your left hand from your right. You have to write with your right hand when you go to school and that sore will be there to say, uh-uh, not this hand. Use the other hand." This explanation satisfied Francie because she had never been able to tell her left hand from her right. She ate, and drew pictures with her left hand. Katie was always correcting her and transferring the chalk or the needle from her left hand to her right. After mama explained about vaccination, Francie began to think that maybe it was a wonderful thing. It was a small price to pay if it simplified such a great problem and let you know which hand was which. Francie began using her right hand instead of the left after the vaccination and never had trouble afterwards. Francie worked up a fever that night and the site of the injection itched painfully. She told mama who became greatly alarmed. She gave intense instructions. "You're not to scratch it, no matter how it bites you." "Why can't I scratch it?" "Because if you do, your whole arm will swell up and turn black and drop right off. So don't scratch it." Katie did not mean to terrify the child. She, herself, was badly frightened. She believed that blood-poisoning would set in if the arm were touched. She wanted to frighten the child into not scratching it. Francie had to concentrate on not scratching the gainfully itching area. The next day, shots of pain were shooting up the arm. While preparing for bed, she peered under the bandage. To her horror, the place where the needle had entered was swollen, dark-green and festering, yellowly. And Francie had not scratched it! She knew she had not scratched it. But wait! Maybe she had scratched it in her sleep the night before. Yes, she must have done it then. She was afraid to tell mama. Mama would say, "I told you and I told you and still you wouldn't listen. Now look." It was Sunday night. Papa was out working. She couldn't sleep. She got up from her cot and went into the front room and sat at the window. She leaned her head on her arms and waited to die. At three in the morning she heard a Graham Avenue trolley grind to a stop on the corner. That meant someone was getting off. She leaned out the window. Yes, it was papa. He sauntered down the street with his light dancer's step whistling "My Sweetheart's the Man in the Moon." The figure in its tuxedo and derby hat, with a rolled-up waiter's apron in a neat packet under its arm, seemed like life itself to Francie. She called to him when he got to the door. He looked up and tipped his hat gallantly. She opened the kitchen door for him. "What are you doing up so late, Prima Donna?" he asked. "It's not Saturday night, you know." "I was sitting at the window," she whispered, "waiting for my arm to drop off." He choked back a laugh. She explained about the arm. He closed the door leading into the bedrooms and turned up the gas. He removed the bandage and his stomach turned over at sight of the swollen festering arm. But he never let her know. He never let her know. "Why, Baby, that's nothing at all. just nothing at all. You should have seen my arm when I was vaccinated. It was twice as swollen and red, white and blue instead of green and yellow and now look how hard and strong it is." He lied gallantly for he had never been vaccinated. He poured warm water into a basin and added a few drops of carbolic acid. He washed the ugly sore over and over again. She winced when it stung but Johnny said that stinging meant curing. He sang a foolish sentimental song in a whisper as he washed it. He never cares to wander from his own fireside. He never cares to ramble or to roam ... He looked around for a clean bit of cloth to serve as a bandage. Finding none, he took off his coat and shirt dicky, pulled his undershirt off over his head and dramatically ripped a strip of cloth from it. "Your good undershirt," she protested. "Aw, it was all full of holes anyhow." He bandaged the arm. The cloth smelled of Johnny, warm and cigarish. But it was a comforting thing to the child. It smelled of protection and love. "There! You're all fixed up, Prima Donna. Whatever gave you the idea your arm was going to drop off?" "Mama said it would if I scratched it. I didn't mean to scratch it but I guess I did while I was sleeping." "Maybe." He kissed her thin cheek. "Now go back to bed." She went and slept peacefully the rest of the night. In the morning, the throbbing had stopped and in a few days the arm was normal again. After Francie had gone to bed, Johnny smoked another cigar. Then he undressed slowly and got into Katie's bed. She was sleepily aware of his presence and in one of her rare impulses of affection, she threw her arm across his chest. He removed it gently and edged as far away from her as he could. He lay close to the wall. He folded his hands under his head and lay staring into the darkness all the rest of that night. XIX FRANCIE expected great things from school. Since vaccination taught her instantly the difference between left and right, she thought that school would bring forth even greater miracles. She thought she'd come home from school that first day knowing how to read and write. But all she came home with was a bloody nose gained by an older child slamming her head down on the stone rim of the water trough when she had tried to drink from the faucets that did not gush forth soda water after all. Francie was disappointed because she had to share a seat and desk (meant only for one) with another girl. She had wanted a desk to herself. She accepted with pride the pencil the monitor passed out to her in the morning and reluctantly surrendered it to another monitor at three o'clock. She had been in school but half a day when, she knew that she would never be a teacher's pet. That privilege was reserved for a small group of girls ... girls with freshly-curled hair, crisp clean pinafores and new silk hairbows. They were the children of the prosperous storekeepers of the neighborhood. Francie noticed how Miss Briggs, the teacher, beamed on them and seated them in the choicest places in the front row. These darlings were not made to share seats. Miss Briggs' voice was gentle when she spoke to these fortune- favored few, and snarling when she spoke to the great crowd of unwashed. Francie, huddled with other children of her kind, learned more that first day than she realized. She learned of the class system of a great Democracy. She was puzzled and hurt by teacher's attitude. Obviously the teacher hated her and others like her for no other reason than that they were what they were. Teacher acted as though they had no right to be in the school but that she was forced to accept them and was doing so with as little grace as possible. She begrudged them the few crumbs of learning she threw at them. Like the doctor at the health center, she too acted as though they had no right to live. It would seem as if all the unwanted children would stick together and be one against the things that were against them. But not so. They hated each other as much as the teacher hated them. They aped teacher's snarling manner when they spoke to each other. There was always one unfortunate whom the teacher singled out and used for a scapegoat. This poor child was the nagged one, the tormented one, the one on whom she vented her spinsterly spleen. As soon as a child received this dubious recognition, the other children turned on him and duplicated the teacher's torments. Characteristically, they fawned on those close to teacher's heart. Maybe they figured they were nearer to the throne that way. Three thousand children crowded into this ugly brutalizing school that had facilities for only one thousand. Dirty stories went the rounds of the children. One of them was that Miss Pfieffer, a bleached blond teacher with a high giggle, went down to the basement to sleep with the assistant janitor those times when she put a monitor in charge and explained that she had to "step out to the office." Another, passed around by little boys who had been victims, was that the lady principal, a hard-bitten, heavy cruel woman of middle years who wore sequin-decorated dresses and smelled always of raw gin, got recalcitrant boys into her office and made them take down their pants so that she could flay their naked buttocks with a rattan cane. (She whipped the little girls through their dresses.) Of course, corporal punishment was forbidden in the schools. But who, outside, knew? Who would tell? Not the whipped children, certainly. It was a tradition in the neighborhood that if a child reported that he had been whipped in school, he would receive a second home-whipping because he had not behaved in school. So the child took his punishment and kept quiet, leaving well enough alone. The ugliest thing about these stories was that they were all sordidly true. Brutalizing is the only adjective for the public schools of that district around 1908 and '09. Child psychology had not been heard of in Williamsburg in those days. Teaching requirements were easy: graduation from high school and two years at Teachers Training School. Few teachers had the true vocation for their work. They taught because it was one of the few jobs open to them; because it was better paying than factory work; because they had a long summer vacation; because they got a pension when they retired. They taught because no one wanted to marry them. Married women were not allowed to teach in those days, hence most of the teachers were women made neurotic by starved love instincts. These barren women spent their fury on other women's children in a twisted authoritative manner. The cruelest teachers were those who had come from homes similar to those of the poor children. It seemed that in their bitterness towards those unfortunate little ones, they were somehow exorcizing their own fearful background. Of course, not all of the teachers were bad. Sometimes one who was sweet came along, one who suffered with the children and tried to help them. But these women did not last long as teachers. Either they married quickly and left the profession, or they were hounded out of their jobs by fellow teachers. The problem of what was delicately called "leaving the room" was a grim one. The children were instructed to "go" before they left home in the morning and then to wait until lunch hour. There was supposed to be a time at recess but few children were able to take advantage of that. Usually the press of the crowd prevented a child's getting near the washrooms. If he was lucky enough to get there (where there were but ten lavatories for five hundred children), he'd find the places pre-empted by the ten most brutalized children in the school. They'd stand in the doorways and prevent entrance to all comers. They were deaf to the piteous pleas of the hordes of tormented children who swarmed before them. A few exacted a fee of a penny which few children were able to pay. The overlords never relaxed their hold on the swinging doors until the bell clanged the end of recess. No one ever ascertained what pleasure they derived from this macabre game. They were never punished since no teacher ever entered the children's washrooms. No child ever snitched. No matter how young he was, he knew that he mustn't squeal. If he tattled, he knew he would be tortured almost to death by the one he reported. So this evil game went on and on. Technically, a child was permitted to leave the room if he asked permission. There was a system of coy evasion. One finger held aloft meant that a child wished to go out but a short time. Two fingers meant desire for a longer stay. But the harassed and unfeeling teachers assured each other that this was "just a subterfuge for a child to get out of the classroom for a little while. They knew the child had ample opportunity at recess and at lunch time. Thus they settled. things among themselves. Of course, Francie noted, the favored children, the clean, the dainty, the cared-for in the front seats, were allowed to leave at any time. But that was different somehow. As for the rest of the children, half of them learned to adjust their functions to the teachers' ideas of such things and the other half became chronic pants-wetters. It was Aunt Sissy who fixed up the leaving-the-room business for Francie. She had not seen the children since Katie and Johnny had told her she was not to visit the house again. She was lonesome for them. She knew they had started school and she just had to know how they were getting along. It was in November. Work was slack and Sissy was laid off. She sauntered down the school street just as school was letting out. If the children reported meeting her, it would seem like an accident, she figured. She saw Neeley first in the crowd. A bigger boy snatched his cap off, trampled on it and ran away. Neeley turned to a smaller boy and did the same to his cap. Sissy grabbed Neeley's arm but with a raucous cry, he twisted loose and ran down the street. With poignancy, Sissy realized that he was growing up. Francie saw Sissy and put her arms around her right there on the street and kissed her. Sissy took her into a little candy store and treated her to a penny chocolate soda. Then she made Francie sit down on a stoop and tell her all about school. Francie showed her the primer and her homework book with block letters in it. Sissy was impressed. She looked long into the child's thin face and noticed that she was shivering. She saw that she was inadequately dressed against the raw November day in a threadbare cotton dress, ragged little sweater and thin cotton stockings. She put her arm around her and held her close to her own life warmth. "Francie, baby, you're trembling like a leaf." Francie had never heard that expression and it made her thoughtful. She looked at the little tree growing out of the concrete at the side of the house. There were still a few dried leaves clinging to it. One of them rustled dryly in the wind. Trembling like a leaf. She stored the phrase away in her mind. Trembling. ... "What's the matter?" Sissy asked. "You're ice cold." Francie wouldn't tell at first. But after being coaxed, she buried her shame-hot face in Sissy's neck and whispered something to her. "Oh, my," said Sissy. "No wonder you're cold. Why didn't you ask to. ..." "Teacher never looks at us when we raise our hands." "Oh, well. Don't worry about it. It could happen to anyone. It happened to the Queen of England when she was a little girl." But had the Queen been so shamed and sensitive about it? Francie wept quietly and rackingly, tears of shame and fear. She was afraid to go home, afraid that mama would make scornful shame of her. "Your mama won't scold you … such an accident could happen to any little girl. Don't say I told you but your mama wet her pants when she was little and your grandma did too. It's nothing new in the world and you're not the first one it happened to." "But I'm too big. Only babies do that. Mama'll make shame on me in front of Neeley." "Tell her right out before she finds out for herself and promise never to do it again. She won't shame you then." "I can't promise because it might happen again because teacher don't let us go." "From now on, your teacher will let you leave the room any time you have to. You believe Aunt Sissy, don't you?" "Y-e-e-es. But how do you know?" "I'll burn a candle in church about it." Francie was consoled with the promise. When Francie went home, Katie did a little routine scolding but Francie was armored against it in the light of what Sissy had told her about the cycle of wetting. The next morning, ten minutes before school started, Sissy was in that classroom confronting the teacher. "There's a little girl named Francie Nolan in your room," she started out. "Frances Nolan," corrected Miss Briggs. "Is she smart?" "Y-e-e-es." "Is she good?" "She had better be." Sissy brought her face closer to Miss Briggs. Her voice went a tone lower and was gentler than before, but for some reason Miss Briggs backed away. "I just asked you is she a good girl?" "Yes, she is," said Teacher hurriedly. "I happen to be her mother," lied Sissy. "No!" "Yes!" "Anything you want to know about the child's work, Mrs. Nolan ..." "Did it ever occur to you," lied Sissy, "that Francie's got kidney trouble?" "Kidney what?" "The doctor said that if she wants to go and some people don't let her go, she's liable to drop right down dead from overloaded kidneys." "Surely you're exaggerating." "How would you like her to drop dead in this room?" "Naturally, I wouldn't, but ..." "And how would you like to get a ride to the station house in the pie wagon and stand up in front of this here doctor and the judge and say you wouldn't let her leave the room?" Was Sissy lying? Miss Briggs couldn't tell. It was the most fantastic thing. Yet, the woman spoke these sensational things in the calmest, softest voice she had ever heard. At this moment, Sissy happened to look out of the window and saw a burly cop sauntering by. She pointed. "See that cop?" Miss Briggs nodded. "That's my husband." "Frances' father?" "Who else?" Sissy threw open the window and yelled, "Yoo, hoo, Johnny." The astonished cop looked up. She blew him a great kiss. For a split second, he thought it was some love- starved old-maid teacher gone crazy. Then his native masculine conceit assured him that it was one of the younger teachers who had long had a crush on him and had finally screwed up enough courage to make a passionate overture. He responded to the occasion, blew her a return kiss with a ham-y fist, tipped his hat gallantly and sauntered off down his beat whistling "At the Devil's Ball." "Sure I'm a divil amongst the ladies," he thought. "I am that. And me with six kids at home." Miss Briggs' eyes bugged out in astonishment. He had been a handsome cop and strong. Just then, one of the little golden girls came in with a beribboned box of candy for Teacher. Miss Briggs gurgled with pleasure and kissed the child's satin pink cheek. Sissy had a mind like a freshly-honed razor. In a flash, she saw which way the wind blew; she saw it blew against children like Francie. "Look," she said. "I guess you don't think we got lots of money." "I'm sure I never ..." "We're not people that put on. Now Christmas is coming," she bribed. "Maybe," conceded Miss Briggs, "I haven't always seen Frances when she raised her hand." "Where does she sit that you don't see her so good?" Teacher indicated a dark back seat. "Maybe if she sat up front more, you could see her better." "The seating arrangements are all set." "Christmas is coming," warned Sissy coyly. "I'll see what I can do." "See, then. And see that you see good." Sissy walked to the door, then turned. "Because not only is Christmas coming, but my husband who is a cop will come up here and beat hell out of you if you don't treat her right." Francie had no more trouble after that parent- teacher conference. No matter how timorously her hand went up, Miss Briggs happened to see it. She even let her sit in the first row, first seat for awhile. But when Christmas came and no expensive Christmas present came with it, Francie was again relegated to the dark back of the room. Neither Francie nor Katie ever learned of Sissy's school visit. But Francie was never shamed again in that way and if Miss Briggs did not treat her with kindness, at least she didn't nag at her. Of course, Miss Briggs knew that what that woman had told her was ridiculous. Yet, what was the use of taking chances? She didn't like children but she was no fiend. She wouldn't want to see a child drop dead before her eyes. A few weeks later, Sissy had one of the girls in her shop write a postcard message for her to Katie. She asked her sister to let by- gones be by-gones and permit her to come to the house at least to see the children once in a while. Katie ignored the card. Mary Rommely came over to intercede for Sissy. "What is there that is bitter between you and your sister?" she asked Katie. "I cannot tell you," replied Katie. "Forgiveness," said Mary Rommely, "is a gift of high value. Yet its cost is nothing." "I have my own ways," said Katie. "Ai," agreed her mother. She sighed deeply and said no more. Katie wouldn't admit it, but she missed Sissy. She missed her reckless good sense and her clear way of straightening out troubles. Evy never mentioned Sissy when she came to see Katie and after that one attempt at reconciliation, Mary Rommely never mentioned Sissy's name again. Katie got news of her sister through the official accredited family reporter, the insurance agent. All of the Rommelys were insured by the same company and the same agent collected the nickels and dimes from each of the sisters weekly. He brought news, carried gossip, and was the round robin messenger of the family. One day he brought news that Sissy had given birth to another child which he had been unable to insure since it had lived but two hours. Katie felt ashamed of herself at last for being so bitter against poor Sissy. "Next time you see my sister," she told the collector, "tell her not to be such a stranger." The collector relayed the message of forgiveness and Sissy came back into the Nolan family again. XX KATIE'S campaign against vermin and disease started the day her children entered school. The battle was fierce, brief, and successful. Packed closely together, the children innocently bred. vermin and became lousy from each other. Through no fault of their own, they were subjected to the most humiliating procedure that a child could go through. Once a week, the school nurse came and stationed herself with her back to the window. The little girls lined up and when they came to her, turned round, lifted their heavy braids and bent over. Nurse probed about the hair with a long thin stick. If lice or nits were in evidence, the little one was told to stand aside. At the end of the examination, the pariahs were made to stand before the class while Nurse gave a lecture about how filthy those little girls were and how they had to be shunned. The untouchables were then dismissed for the day with instructions to get "blue ointment" from Knipe's Drug Store and have their mothers treat their head. When they returned to school, they were tormented by their peers. Each offender would have an escort of children following her home, chanting: "Lousy, ye'r lousy Teacher said ye'r lousy. Hadda' go home, hadda go home, hadda go home because ye'r lousy." It might be that the infected child would be given a clean bill next examination. In that case, she, in turn, would torment those found guilty, forgetting her own hurt at being tormented. They learned no compassion from their own anguish. Thus their suffering was wasted. There was no room in Katie's crowded life for additional trouble and worry. She wouldn't accept it. The first day that Francie came home from school and reported that she sat next to a girl who had bugs walking up and down the lanes of her hair, Katie went into action. She scrubbed Francie's head with a cake of her coarse strong yellow scrubwoman's soap until her scalp tingled with rawness. The next morning, she dipped the hair brush into a bowl of kerosene oil, brushed Francie's hair vigorously, braided it into braids so tight that the veins on Francie's temples stuck out, instructed her to keep away from lighted gas jets and sent her off to school. Francie smelled up the whole classroom. Her seat sharer edged as far away from her as possible. Teacher sent a note home forbidding Katie to use kerosene on Francie's head. Katie remarked that it was a free country and ignored the note. Once a week she scrubbed Francie's head with the yellow soap. Every day she anointed it with the kerosene. When an epidemic of mumps broke out in the school, Katie went into action against communicable diseases. She made two flannel bags, sewed a bud of garlic in each one, attached a clean corset string and made the children wear them around their necks under their shirts. Francie attended school stinking of garlic and kerosene oil. Everyone avoided her. In the crowded yard, there was always a cleared space around her. In crowded trolley cars, people huddled away from those Nolan children. And it worked! Now whether there was a witch's charm in the garlic, whether the strong fumes killed the germs or whether Francie escaped contracting anything because infected children gave her a wide berth, or whether she and Neeley had naturally strong constitutions, is not known. However, it was a fact that not once in all the years of school were Katie's children ever sick. They never so much as came down with a cold. And they never had lice. Francie, of course, became an outsider shunned by all because of her stench. But she had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered "different." She did not suffer too much. XXI FRANCIE liked school in spite of all the meanness, cruelty, and unhappiness. The regimented routine of many children, all doing the same thing at once, gave her a feeling of safety. She felt that she was a definite part of something, part of a community gathered under a leader for the one purpose. The Nolans were individualists. They conformed to nothing except what was essential to their being able to live in their world. They followed their own standards of living. They were part of no set social group. This was fine for the making of individualists but sometimes bewildering to a small child. So Francie felt a certain safety and security in school. Although it was a cruel and ugly routine, it had a purpose and a progression. School was not all unrelieved grimness. There was a great golden glory lasting a half hour each week when Mr. Morton came to Francie's room to teach music. He was a specialized teacher who went around to all the schools in that area. It was holiday time when he appeared. He wore a swallow-tailed coat and a puffed-up tie. He was so vibrant, gay and jolly-so intoxicated with living-that he was like a god come from the clouds. He was homely in a gallant vital way. He understood and loved children and they worshipped him. The teachers adored him. There was a carnival spirit in the room on the day of his visit. Teacher wore her best dress and wasn't quite so mean. Sometimes she curled her hair and wore perfume. That's, what Mr. Morton did to those ladies. He arrived like a tornado. The door burst open and he flew in with his coattails streaming behind him. He leaped to the platform and looked around smiling and saying, "well- well," in a happy voice. The children sat there and laughed and laughed out of happiness and Teacher smiled and smiled. He drew notes on the blackboard; he drew little legs on them to make them look as though they were running out of the scale. He'd make a flat note look like humpty-dumpty. A sharp note would rate a thin beet-like nose zooming off it. All the while he'd burst into singing just as spontaneously as a bird. Sometimes his happiness was so overflowing that he couldn't hold it and he'd cut a dance caper to spill some of it out. He taught them good music without letting them know it was good. He set his own words to the great classics and gave them simple names like "Lullaby" and "Serenade" and "Street Song" and "Song for a Sunshine Day." Their baby voices shrilled out in Handel's "Largo" and they knew it merely by the title of "Hymn." Little boys whistled part of Dvorak's New World Symphony as they played marbles. When asked the name of the song, they'd rely "Oh, 'Going Home.' " They played potsy, humming "The Soldiers' Chorus" from Faust which they called "Glory." Not as well loved as Mr. Morton, but as much admired, was Miss Bernstone, the special drawing teacher who also came once a week. Ah, she was from another world, a world of beautiful dresses of muted greens and garnets. Her face was sweet and tender, and, like Mr. Morton, she loved the vast hordes of unwashed and unwanted children more than she loved the cared-for ones. The teachers did not like her. Yes, they fawned on her when she spoke to them and glowered at her when her back was turned. They were jealous of her charm, her sweetness and her lovely appeal to men. She was warm and glowing and richly feminine. They knew that she didn't sleep alone nights as they were forced to do. She spoke softly in a clear singing voice. Her hands were beautiful and quick with a bit of chalk or a stick of charcoal. There was magic in the way her wrist turned when she held a crayon. One wrist twist and there was an apple. Two more twists and there was a child's sweet hand holding the apple. On a rainy day, she wouldn't give a lesson. She'd take a block of paper and a stick of charcoal and sketch the poorest, meanest kid in the room. And when the picture was finished, you didn't see the dirt or the meanness; you saw the glory of innocence and the poignancy of a baby growing up too soon. Oh, Miss Bernstone was grand. These two visiting teachers were the gold and silver sun-splash in the great muddy river of school days, days made up of dreary hours in' which Teacher made her pupils sit rigid with their hands folded behind their back while she read a novel hidden in her lap. If all the teachers had been like Miss Bernstone and Mr. Morton, Francie would have known plain what heaven was. But it was just as well. There had to be the dark and muddy waters so that the sun could have something to background its flashing glory. XXII OH, magic hour when a child first knows it can read printed words! For quite a while, Francie had been spelling out letters, sounding them and then putting the sounds together to mean a word. But one day, she looked at a page and the word "mouse" had instantaneous meaning. She looked at the word and the picture of a gray mouse scampered through her mind. She looked further and when she saw "horse," she heard him pawing the ground and saw the sun glint on his glossy coat. The word "running" hit her suddenly and she breathed hard as though running herself. The barrier between the individual sound of each letter and the whole meaning of the word was removed and the printed word meant a thing at one quick glance. She read a few pages rapidly and almost became ill with excitement. She wanted to shout it out. She could read! She could read! From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived. She liked numbers and sums. She devised a game in which each number was a family member and the "answer" made a family grouping with a story to it. Naught was a babe in arms. He gave no trouble. Whenever he appeared you just "carried" him. The figure 1 was a pretty baby girl just learning to walk, and easy to handle; 2 was a baby boy who could walk and talk a little. He went into family life (into sums, etc.) with very little trouble. And 3 was an older boy in kindergarten, who had to be watched a little. Then there was 4, a girl of Francie's age. She was almost as easy to "mind" as 2. The mother was 5, gentle and kind. In large sums, she came along and made everything easy the way a mother should. The father, 6, was harder than the others but very just. But 7 was mean. He was a crotchety old grandfather and not at all accountable for how he came out. The grandmother, 8, was hard too, but easier to understand than 7. Hardest of all was 9. He was company and what a hard time fitting him into family life! When Francie added a sum, she would fix a little story to go with the result. If the answer was 924, it meant that the little boy and girl were being minded by company while the rest of the family went out. When a number such as 1024 appeared, it meant that all the little children were playing together in the yard. The number 62 meant that papa was taking the little boy for a walk; 50 meant that mama had the baby out in the buggy for an airing and 78 meant grandfather and grandmother sitting home by the fire of a winter's evening. Each single combination of numbers was a new set-up for the family and no two stories were ever the same. Francie took the game with her up into algebra. X was the boy's sweetheart who came into the family life and complicated it. Y was the boy friend who caused trouble. So arithmetic was a warm and human thing to Francie and occupied many lonely hours for her time. XXIII SCHOOL days went along. Some were made up of meanness, brutality and heartbreak; others were bright and beautiful because of Miss Bernstone and Mr. Morton. And always, there was the magic of learning things. Francie was out walking one Saturday in October and she chanced on an unfamiliar neighborhood. Here were no tenements or raucous shabby stores. There were old houses that had been standing there when Washington maneuvered his troops across Long Island. They were old and decrepit but there were picket fences around them with gates on which Francie longed to swing. There were bright fall flowers in the front yard and maple trees with crimson and yellow leaves on the curb. The neighborhood stood old, quiet, and serene in the Saturday sunshine. There was a brooding quality about the neighborhood, a quiet, deep, timeless, shabby peace. Francie was as happy as though, like Alice, she had stepped through a magic mirror. She was in an enchanted land. She walked on further and came to a little old school. Its old bricks glowed garnet in the late afternoon sun. There was no fence around the school yard and the school grounds were grass and not cement. Across from the school, it was practically open country-a meadow with goldenrod, wild asters and clover growing in it. Francie's heart turned over. This was it! This was the school she wanted to go to. But how could she get to go there? There was a strict law about attending the school in your own district. Her parents would have to move to that neighborhood if she wanted to go to that school. Francie knew that mama wouldn't move just because she felt like going to another school. She walked home slowly thinking about it. She sat up that night waiting for papa to come home from work. After Johnny had come home whistling his, "Molly Malone" as he ran up the steps, after all had eaten of the lobster, caviar, and liverwurst that he brought home, mama and Neeley went to bed. Francie kept papa company while he smoked his last cigar. Francie whispered all about the school in papa's ear. He looked at her, nodded, and said, "We'll see tomorrow." "You mean we can move near that school?" "No, but there has to be another way. I'll go there with you tomorrow and we'll see what we can see." Francie was so excited she couldn't sleep the rest of the night. She was up at seven but Johnny was still sleeping soundly. She waited in a perspiration of impatience. Each time he sighed in his sleep, she ran in to see if he was waking up. He woke about noon and the Nolans sat down to dinner. Francie couldn't eat. She kept looking at papa but he made her no sign. Had he forgotten? Had he forgotten? No, because while Katie was pouring the coffee, he said carelessly, I guess me and the prima donna will take a little walk later on." Francie's heart jumped. He had not forgotten. He had not forgotten. She waited. Mama had to answer. Mama might object. Mama might ask why. Mama might say she guessed she'd go along too. But all mama said was, "All right." Francie did the dishes. Then she had to go down to the candy store to get the Sunday paper; then to the cigar store to get papa a nickel Corona. Johnny had to read the paper. He had to read every column of it including the society section in which he couldn't possibly be interested. Worse than that, he had to make comments to mama on every item he read. Each time he'd put the paper aside, turn to mama and say, "Funny things in the papers nowadays. Take this case," Francie would almost cry. Four o'clock came. The cigar had long since been smoked, the paper lay gutted on the floor, Katie had tired of having the news analyzed and had taken Neeley and gone over to visit Mary Rommely. Francie and papa set out hand in hand. He was wearing his only suit, the tuxedo and his derby hat and he looked very grand. It was a splendid October day. There was a warm sun and a refreshing wind working together to bring the tang of the ocean around each corner. They walked a few blocks, turned a corner and were in this other neighborhood. Only in a great sprawling place like Brooklyn could there be such a sharp division. It was a neighborhood peopled by fifth and sixth generation Americans, whereas in the Nolan neighborhood, if you could prove you had been born in America, it was equivalent to a Mayflower standing. Indeed, Francie was the only one in her classroom whose parents were American-born. At the beginning of the term, Teacher called the roll and asked each child her lineage. The answers were typical. "I'm Polish-American. My father was born in Warsaw." "Irish-American. Me fayther and mither were born in County Cork." When Nolan was called, Francie answered proudly: "I'm an American." "I know you're American," said the easily exasperated teacher. "But what's your nationality?" "American!" insisted Francie even more proudly. "Will you tell me what your parents are or do I have to send you to the principal?" "My parents are American. They were born in Brooklyn." All the children turned around to look at a little girl whose parents had not come from the old country. And when Teacher said, "Brooklyn? Hm. I guess that makes you American, all right," Francie was proud and happy. How wonderful was Brooklyn, she thought, when just being born there automatically made you an American! Papa told her about this strange neighborhood: how its families had been Americans for more than a hundred years back; how they were mostly Scotch, English and Welsh extraction. The men worked as cabinet makers and fine carpenters. They worked with metals: gold, silver and copper. He promise to take Francie to the Spanish section of Brooklyn some day. There the men worked as cigar- makers and each chipped in a few pennies a day to hire a man to read to them while they worked. And the man read fine literature. They walked along the quiet Sunday street. Francie saw a leaf flutter from a tree and she skipped ahead to get it. It was a clear scarlet with an edging of gold. She stared at it, wondering if she'd ever see anything as beautiful again. A woman came from around the corner. She was rouged heavily and wore a feather boa. She smiled at Johnny and said. "Lonesome, Mister?" Johnny looked at her a moment before he answered gently, "No, Sister." "Sure?" she inquired archly. "Sure," he answered quietly. She went her way. Francie skipped back and took papa's hand. "Was that a bad lady, Papa?" she asked eagerly. "No." "But she looked bad." "There are very few bad people. There are just a lot of people that are unlucky." "But she was all painted and ..." "She was one who had seen better days." He liked the phrase. "Yes, she may have seen better days." He fell into a thoughtful mood. Francie kept skipping ahead and collecting leaves. They came upon the school and Francie proudly showed it to papa. The late afternoon sun warmed its softly-colored bricks and the small-paned windows seemed to dance in the sunshine. Johnny looked at it a long time, then he said, "Yes, this is the school. This is it." Then, as whenever he was moved or stirred, he had to put it into a song. He held his worn derby over his heart, stood up straight looking up at the school house and sang: School days, school days, Dear old golden rule days. Readin' 'n writin' 'n 'rithmetic ... To a passing stranger, it might have looked silly- Johnny standing there in his greenish tuxedo and fresh linen holding the hand of a thin ragged child and singing the banal song so un-self- consciously on the street. But to Francie it seemed right and beautiful. They crossed the street and wandered in the meadow that folks called "lots." Francie picked a bunch of goldenrod and wild asters to take home. Johnny explained that the place had once been an Indian burying ground and how as a boy, he had often come there to hunt arrowheads. Francie suggested they hunt for some. They searched for half an hour and found none. Johnny recalled that as a boy, he hadn't found any either. This struck Francie as funny and she laughed. Papa confessed that maybe it hadn't been an Indian cemetery after all; maybe someone had made up that story. Johnny was more than right because he had made up the whole story himself. Soon it was time to go home and tears came into Francie's eyes because papa hadn't said anything about getting her into the new school. He saw the tears and figured out a scheme immediately. "Tell you what we'll do, Baby. We'll walk around and pick out a nice house and take down the number. I'll write a letter to your principal saying you're moving there and want to be transferred to this school." They found a house-a one-story white one with a slanting roof and late chrysanthemums growing in the yard. He copied the address carefully. "You know that what we are going to do is wrong?" "Is it, Papa?" "But it's a wrong to gain a bigger good." "Like a white lie?" "Like a lie that helps someone out. So you must make up for the wrong by being twice as good. You must never be bad or absent or late. You must never do anything to make them send a letter home through the mails." "I'll always, be good, Papa, if I can go to that school." "Yes. Now I'll show you a way to go to school through a little park. I know right where it is. Yes sir, I know right where it is." He showed her the park and how she could walk through it diagonally to go to school. "That should make you happy. You can see the seasons change as you come and go. What do you say to that?" Francie, recalling something her mother had once read to her answered, "My cup runneth over." And she meant it. When Katie heard of the plan, she said: "Suit yourself. But I'll have nothing to do with it. If the police come and arrest you for giving a false address, I'll say honestly that I had nothing to do with it. One school's as good or as bad as another. I don't know why she wants to change. There's homework no matter what school you go to." "It's settled then," Johnny said. "Francie, here's a penny. Run down to the candy store and get a sheet of writing paper and an envelope." Francie ran down and ran back. Johnny wrote a note saying Francie was going to live with relatives at such and such an address and wanted a transfer. He added that Neeley would continue living at home and wouldn't require a transfer. He signed his name and underlined it authoritatively. Tremblingly, Francie handed the note to her principal next morning. That lady read it, grunted, made out the transfer, handed her her report card and told her to go; that the school was too crowded anyhow. Francie presented herself and documents to the principal of the new school. He shook hands with her and said he hoped she'd be happy in the new school. A monitor took her to the classroom. The teacher stopped the work and introduced Francie to the class. Francie looked out over the rows of little girls. All were shabby but most were clean. She was given a seat to herself and happily fell into the routine of the new school. The teachers and children here were not as brutalized as in the old school. Yes, some of the children were mean but it seemed a natural child- meanness and not a campaign. Often the teachers were impatient and cross but never naggingly cruel. There was no corporal punishment either. The parents were too American, too aware of the rights granted them by their Constitution to accept injustices meekly. They could not be bulldozed and exploited as could the immigrants and the second generation Americans. Francie found that the different feeling in this school came mostly from the janitor. He was a ruddy white-haired man whom even the principal addressed as Mister Jenson. He had many children and grandchildren of his own, all of whom he loved dearly. He was father to all children. On rainy days when children came to school soaked, he insisted that they be sent down to the furnace room to dry out. He made them take off their wet shoes and hung their wet stockings on a line to dry. The little shabby shoes stood in a row before the furnace. It was pleasant down in the furnace room. The walls were white-washed and the big red-painted furnace was a comforting thing. The windows were high up in the walls. Francie liked to sit there and enjoy the warmth and watch the orange and blue flames dancing an inch above the bed of small black coals. (He left the furnace door open when the children were drying out.) On rainy days, she left earlier and walked to school slower so that she would be soaking wet and rate the privilege of drying in the furnace room. It was unorthodox for Mr. Jenson to keep the children out of class to dry but everyone liked and respected him too much to protest. Francie heard stories around the school concerning Mr. Jenson. She heard that he had been to college and knew more than the principal did. They said he had married and when the children came, had decided that there was more money in being a school engineer than in being a school teacher. Whatever it was, he was liked and respected. Once Francie saw him in the principal's office. He was in his clean striped overalls sitting there with his knees crossed and talking politics. Francie heard that the principal often came down to Mr. Jenson's furnace room to sit and talk for a few moments while he smoked a pipeful of tobacco. When a boy was bad, he wasn't sent to the principal's office for a licking; he was sent down to Mr. Jenson's room for a talking to. Mr. Jenson never scolded a bad boy. He talked to him about his own youngest son who was a pitcher on the Brooklyn team. He talked about democracy and good citizenship and about a good world where everyone did the best he could for the common good of all. After a talk with Mr. Jenson, the boy could be counted upon not to cause any more trouble. At graduation, the children asked the principal to sign the first page of their autograph book out of respect to his position but they valued Mr. Jenson's autograph more and he always got the second page to sign. The principal signed quickly in a great sprawling hand. But not Mr. Jenson. He made a ceremony out of it. He took the book over to his big roll-top desk and lit the light over it. He sat down, carefully polished his spectacles and chose a pen. He dipped it in ink, squinted at it, wiped it off and re- dipped it. Then he signed his name in a fine steel- engraving script and blotted it carefully. His signature was always the finest in the book. If you had the nerve to ask him, he'd take the book home and ask his son, who was with the Dodgers, to sign it too. This was a wonderful thing for the boys. The girls didn't care. Mr. Jenson's handwriting was so wonderful that he wrote out all the diplomas by request. Mr. Morton and Miss Bernstone came to that school, too. When they were teaching, Mr. Jenson would often come in and squeeze himself into one of the back seats and enjoy the lesson too. On a cold day, he'd have Mr. Morton or Miss Bernstone come down to his furnace room for a hot cup of coffee before they went on to the next school. He had a gas plate and coffee-making equipment on a little table. He served strong, hot black coffee in thick cups and these visiting teachers blessed his good soul. Francie was happy in this school. She was very careful about being a good girl. Each day, as she passed the house whose number she claimed, she looked at it with gratitude and affection. On windy days, when papers blew before it, she went about picking up the debris and depositing it in the gutter before the house. Mornings after the rubbish man had emptied the burlap bag and had carelessly tossed the empty bag on the walk instead of in the yard, Francie picked it up and hung it on a fence paling. The people who lived in the house came to look on her as a quiet child who had a queer complex about tidiness. Francie loved that school. It meant that she had to walk forty-eight blocks each day but she loved the walk, too. She had to leave earlier in the morning than Neeley and she got home much later. She didn't mind except that it was a little hard at lunch time. There were twelve blocks to come home and twelve to go back-all in the hour. It left little time for eating. Mama wouldn't let her carry a lunch. Her reason was: "She'll be weaned away from her home and family soon enough the way she's growing up. But while she's still a child she has to act like a child and come home and eat the way children should. Is it my fault that she has to go so far to school? Didn't she pick it out herself?" "But Katie," argued papa, "it's such a good school." "Then let her take the bad along with this good." The lunch question was settled. Francie had about five minutes for lunch-just time enough to report home for a sandwich which she ate walking back to school. She never considered herself put upon. She was so happy in the new school that she was anxious to pay in some way for this joy. It was a good thing that she got herself into this other school. It showed her that there were other worlds beside the world she had been born into and that these other worlds were not unattainable. XXIV FRANCIE counted the year's passing not by the days or the months but by the holidays that came along. Her year started with the Fourth of July because it was the' first holiday that came along after school closed. A week before the day, she began accumulating firecrackers. Every available penny went for packets of small crackers. She hoarded them in a box under the bed. At least ten times a day, she'd take the box out, re-arrange the fireworks and look long at the pale red tissue and white corded stem and wonder about how they were made. She smelled the thick bit of punk which was given gratis with each purchase and which, when lit, smoldered for hours and was used to set off the firecrackers. When the great day came, she was reluctant to set them off. It was better to have them than to use them. One year when times were harder than usual and pennies could not be had, Francie and Neeley hoarded paper bags and on the day, filled them with water, twisted the tops shut and dropped them from the roof on to the street below. They made a nice plop which was almost like a firecracker. Passers-by were irritated and looked up angrily when a bag just missed them but they did nothing about it, accepting the fact that poor children had a custom of celebrating the Fourth that way. The next holiday was Halloween. Neeley blackened his face with soot, wore his cap backwards and his coat inside out. He filled one of his mother's long black stockings with ashes and roamed the streets with his gang swinging his homely blackjack and crying out raucously from time to time. Francie, in company with other little girls, roamed the streets carrying a bit of white chalk. She went about drawing a large quick cross on the back of each coated figure that came by. The children performed the ritual without meaning. The symbol was remembered but the reason forgotten. It may have been something that had survived from the middle ages when houses and probably individuals were so marked to indicate where plague had struck. Probably the ruffians of that time so marked innocent people as a cruel joke and the practice had persisted down through the centuries to be distorted into a meaningless Halloween prank. Election Day seemed the greatest holiday of all to Francie. It, more than any other time, belonged to the whole neighborhood. Maybe people voted in other parts of the country too, but it couldn't be the way it was in Brooklyn, thought Francie. Johnny showed Francie an Oyster House on Scholes Street. It was housed in a building that had been standing there more than a hundred years before when Big Chief Tammany himself skulked around with his braves. Its oyster fries were known throughout the state. But there was something else that made this place famous. It was the secret meeting place of the great City Hall politicians. The party sachems met here in secret pow-wow in a private dining room and over succulent oysters, they decided who'd be elected and who mowed down. Francie often passed by the store, looked at it and was thrilled. It had no name over its door and its window was empty save for a potted fern and a half curtain of brown linen run on brass rods along the back of it. Once Francie saw the door open to admit someone. She had a glimpse of a low room dimly lit with dulled red-shaded lamps and thick with the smoke of cigars. Francie, along with the other neighborhood children, went through some of the Election rites without knowing their meaning or reason. On Election night, she got in line, her hands on the shoulders of the child in front, and snake-danced through the streets singing, Tammany, Tammany, Big Chief sits in his teepee, Cheering braves to victory, Tamma-nee, Tamma- nee. She was an interested listener at the debates between mama and papa on the merits and faults of the party. Papa was an ardent Democrat but mama just didn't care. Mama criticized the party and told Johnny he was throwing his vote away. Don't say that, Katie," he protested. "By and large the party does a lot of good for the people." "I can just imagine," sniffed mama. "All they want is a vote from the man of the family and look what they give in exchange." "Name one thing they give." "Well, you need advice on a legal matter. You don't need a lawyer. Just ask your Assemblyman." "The blind leading the blind." "Don't you believe it. They may be dumb in many ways but they know the City's statutes backward and forward." "Sue the City for something and see how far Tammany will help you." "Take Civil Service," said Johnny starting on another angle. "They know when the examinations for cops, firemen or letter carriers are coming up. They'll always put a voter wise if he's interested." "Mrs. Lavey's husband took the examination for letter carrier three years ago. He's still working on a truck." "Ah! That's because he's a Republican. If he was a Democrat, they'd take his name and put it on' the top of the list. I heard about a teacher who wanted to be transferred to another school. Tammany fixed it up." "Why? Unless she was pretty." "That's not the point. It was a shrewd move. Teachers are educating future voters. This teacher, for instance, will always say a good word for Tammany to her pupils whenever she can. Every boy has to grow up to vote, you know." "Why?" "Because it's a privilege." "Privilege! Humpf!" sneered Katie. "Now, for instance, if you had a poodle and it died, what would you do?" "What would I do with a poodle in the first place?" "Can't you make out like you have a dead poodle just for the sake of conversation?" "All right. My poodle's dead. Now what?" "You go around to Headquarters and the boys will take it away for you. Suppose Francie wanted to get working papers but was too young." "They'd get them, I suppose." "Certainly." "Do you think that's right to fix it so little children can work in factories?" "Well, supposing you had a bad boy who played hooky from school and was getting to be a loafer hanging around street corners but the law wouldn't let him work. Wouldn't it be better if he got faked working papers?" "In that case, yes," conceded Katie. "Look at all the jobs they get for voters." "You know how they get them, don't you? They inspect a factory and overlook the fact that they're violating the factory laws. Naturally, the boss pays back by letting them know when they need men and Tammany gets all the credit for finding jobs." "Here's another case. A man has relatives in the old country but he can't get them over here on account of a lot of red tape. Well, Tammany can fix that up." "Sure, they get them foreigners over here and see to it that they start in on their citizenship papers and then tell them they must vote the Democratic ticket or go back where they came from." "No matter what you say, Tammany's good to the poor people. Say a man's been sick and can't pay his rent. Do you think the organization would let the landlord dispossess him? No sir. Not if he's a Democrat." "I suppose the landlords are all Republicans, then," Katie said. "No. The system works both ways. Suppose the landlord has a bum for a tenant who gives him a punch in the nose instead of the rent. What happens? The organization dispossesses him for the landlord." "For what Tammany gives to the people, it takes from them double. You wait until us women vote." Johnny's laugh interrupted her. "You don't believe we will? That day will come. Mark my words. We'll put all those crooked politicians where they belong-behind iron bars." "If that day ever comes when women vote, you'll go along to the polls with me- arm in arm-and vote the way I do." He put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. Katie smiled up at him. Francie couldn't help noticing that mama was smiling sidewise, the way the lady did in the picture in the school auditorium, the one they called Mona Lisa. Tammany owed much of its power to the fact that it got the children young and educated them in the party ways. The dumbest ward heeler was smart enough to know that time, no matter what else it did, passed, and that the school boy of today was the voter of tomorrow. They got the boys on their side and the girls, too. A woman couldn't vote in those days but the politicians knew that the women of Brooklyn had a great influence on their men. Bring a little girl up in the party way and when she married, she'd see to it that her man voted the straight Democratic ticket. To woo the children, the Mattie Mahony Association ran an excursion for them and their parents each summer. Although Katie had nothing but contempt for the Organization, she saw no reason why they shouldn't take advantage of the good time. When Francie heard that they were going, she was as excited as only a ten-year- old, who had never been on a boat before, could be. Johnny refused to go and couldn't see why Katie wanted to go. "I'm going because I like life," was her strange reason. "If that racket's life, I wouldn't take it with coupons," he said. But he went anyhow. He figured the boat trip might be educational and he wanted to be on hand to educate the children. It was a hot sweltering day. The decks teemed with kids, wild with excitement, racing up and down and trying to fall into the Hudson River. Francie stared and stared at the moving water until she worked up the first headache of her life. Johnny told his children how Hendrick Hudson had sailed up that same river so long ago. Francie wondered whether Mr. Hudson got sick to his stomach like she did. Mama sat on deck looking very pretty in her jade green straw hat and a yellow dotted-swiss dress that she had borrowed from Aunt Evy. People around her were laughing. Mama was a vivid conversationalist and people liked to hear her talk. Soon after noon, the boat docked at a wooded glen upstate and the Democrats got off the boat and took over. The kids ran around spending their tickets. The week before, each child had been given a strip of ten tickets labeled "hot dog," "soda water," "merry-go- round" and so on. Francie and Neeley had each been given a strip but Francie had been tempted by some shrewd boys into gambling her tickets in a marble game. They had told her how she might possibly win fifty strips and have a grand day on the excursion. Francie was a poor marble player and quickly lost her tickets. Neeley, on the other hand, had three strips. He had been lucky. Francie asked mama could she have one of Neeley's tickets. Mama seized the opportunity to give her a lecture on gambling. "You had tickets but you thought you could be smart and get something you weren't entitled to. When people gamble, they think only of winning. They never think of losing. Remember this: Someone has to lose and it's just as apt to be you as the other fellow. If you learn this lesson by giving up a strip of tickets, you're paying cheap for the education." Mama was right. Francie knew she was right. But it didn't make her happy at all. She wanted to go on the merry-go-round like the other kids. She wanted a drink of soda. She was standing disconsolately near the hot dog stand watching other children stuff themselves when a man paused to speak to her. He wore a policeman's uniform only with more gold on it. "No tickets, little girl?" he asked. "I forgot them," lied Francie. "Sure and I was no good at marbles meself as a boy." He pulled three strips from his pocket. "We count on makin' up a certain number of losses each year. But it's seldom the girls are the losin' ones. They hang on to what they have be it ever so little." Francie took the tickets, thanked him and was backing off when he asked, "Would that be your mother sittin' over there in the green hat?" "Yes." She waited. He said nothing. Finally she asked, .,Why?.. "Do you be sayin' your prayers to the Little Flower each night askin' that you grow up half as pretty as your mother. Do that now." "And that's my papa next to my mama." Francie waited to hear him say that papa was good-looking, too. He stared at Johnny and said nothing. Francie ran off. Francie was instructed to report back to her mother at half hour intervals during the day. At the next interval when Francie came back, Johnny was over at the free beer keg. Mama teased her. "You're like Aunt Sissy- always talking to men in uniform." "He gave me extra tickets." "I saw." Katie's next words were casual enough. "What did he ask you?" "He asked was you my mama." Francie did not tell her what he said about mama being pretty. "Yes, I thought he was asking that." Katie stared at her hands. They were rough and red and cut into with cleansing fluids. She took a pair of mended cotton gloves from her purse. Although it was a hot day, she pulled them on. She sighed. "I work so hard, sometimes I forget that I'm a woman." Francie was startled. It was the nearest thing to a complaint she had ever heard from mama.. She wondered why mama was ashamed of her hands all of a sudden. As she skipped away, she heard mama ask the lady next to her, "Who's that man over there-the one in the uniform looking this way?" "That would be Sergeant Michael McShane. It's funny you don't know who he is seein' that it's from your own precinct he is." The day of joy went on. There was a keg of beer set up at the end of each long table and it was free to all good Democrats. Francie was caught up in the excitement and tore around, screamed and fought like the other children. Beer flowed like a Brooklyn gutter after a rainstorm. A brass band played doggedly. It played "The Kerry Dancers" and "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" and "Harrigan, That's Me." It played "The River Shannon" and New York's own folk song, "The Sidewalks of New York." The conductor announced each selection: "Mattie Mahony's Band will now play. ..." Each song ended with the band members shouting in unison, "Hurray for Mattie Mahony." With each glass of beer drawn, the attendants said, "Compliments of Mattie Mahony." Each event was labeled, "The Mattie Mahony Foot Race," "The Mahony Peanut Race" and so on. Before the day was over, Francie was convinced that Mattie Mahony was a very great man indeed. Late in the afternoon, Francie got the idea that she ought to find Mr. Mahony and thank him personally for a very nice time. She searched and searched, and asked and asked and a strange thing happened. No one knew Mattie Mahony; no one had ever seen him. Certainly he wag not at the picnic. His presence was felt everywhere but the man was invisible. Some man told her that maybe there was no Mattie Mahony; it was just the name they gave to whatever man was head of the organization. "I been votin' the straight ticket for forty years," he said. "Seems like the candidate was always the same man, Mattie Mahony; or else it was a different man but with the same name. I don't know who he is, Girlie. All I know is that I vote the straight Democratic ticket." The trip home down the moonlit Hudson was notable only for the many fights that broke out among the men. Most of the children were sick and sunburnt and fretful. Neeley fell asleep on mama's lap. Francie sat on the deck and listened to mama and papa talking. "Do you happen to know Sergeant McShane?" Katie asked. "I know who he is. They call him the Honest Cop. The party has its eye on him. It wouldn't surprise me if he was put up for Assemblyman." A man sitting near-by leaned forward and touched Johnny's arm. "Police Commissioner is more like it, Mac," he said. "What about his life?" Katie asked. "It's like one of those Alger stories. He came from Ireland twenty-five years ago with nothing but a trunk small enough to be carried on his back. He worked as a dock walloper, studied nights and got on the force. He kept on studying and taking examinations and finally got to be Sergeant," said Johnny. "I suppose he's married to an educated woman who helped him?" Matter of fact, no. When he first came over, an Irish family took him in and kept him till he got on his feet. The daughter of the family married a bum who ran out on her after the honeymoon and got himself killed in a brawl. Well, the girl was going to have a baby and you couldn't make the neighbors believe she had ever been married. Seems like the family would be disgraced but McShane married her and gave the child his name to kind of repay the family. It wasn't a love marriage, exactly, but he's been very good to her, I hear." "Did they have children together?" "Fourteen, I heard." "Fourteen!" "But he only raised four. Seemed like they all died before they grew up. They were all born with consumption, you know, inherited it from their mother who had it from a girl." "He's had more than his share of trouble," mused Johnny. "And he's a good man." "She's still alive, I suppose." "But very sick. They say she hasn't long to live." "Oh, those kind hang on." "Katie!" Johnny was startled by his wife's remark. "I don't care! I don't blame her for marrying a bum and having a child by him. That's her privilege. But I do blame her for not taking her medicine when the time came due. Why did she put her troubles off on to a good man?" "That's no way to talk." "I hope she dies and dies soon." "Hush, Katie." "Yes, I do. So that he can marry again-marry a cheerful healthy woman who'll give him children that can live. That's every good man's right." Johnny said nothing. A nameless fear had grown within Francie while she listened to her mother talking. Now she got up and went over to papa, took his hand and pressed it hard. In the moonlight, Johnny's eyes flew open in startled surprise. He pulled the child to him and held her tightly. But all he said was, "Look how the moon walks on the water." Soon after the picnic, the organization began to prepare for Election Day. They distributed shiny white buttons with Mattie's mug on them to the neighborhood kids. Francie got some and stared long at the face. Mattie had grown so mysterious to her, that he took the place of someone like the Holy Ghost- he was never seen but his presence was felt. The picture was of a bland-faced man with roached hair and handlebar mustaches. It looked like the face of any small-time politician. Francie wished she could see him-just once in the flesh. There was a lot of excitement about these buttons. The children used them for trading purposes, for games and coin of the realm. Neeley sold his top to a boy for ten buttons. Gimpy, the candy-store man, redeemed fifteen of Francie's buttons for a penny's worth of candy. (He had an arrangement with the Organization whereby he got the money back for the buttons.) Francie went around looking for Mattie and found him all over. She found boys playing pitch games with his face. She found him flattened out on a car track to make a miniature potsy. He was in the debris of Neeley's pocket. She peered down the sewer and saw him floating face upward. She found him in the sour soil at the bottoms of gratings. She saw Punky Perkins, next to her in church, drop two buttons in the late in lieu of the two pennies his mother had given him. She saw him go into the candy store and buy four Sweet Caporal cigarettes with the two cents after mass. She saw Mattie's face everywhere but she never saw Mattie. The week before Election she went around with Neeley and the boys gathering "lection" which was what they called the lumber for the big bonfires which would be lighted Election night. She helped store the lection in the cellar. She was up early on Election Day and saw the man who came and knocked on the door. When Johnny answered, the man said, "Nolan?" "Yes," admitted Johnny. "At the polls, eleven o'clock." He checked Johnny's name on his list. He handed Johnny a cigar. "Compliments of Mattie Mahony." He went on to the next Democrat.. "Wouldn't you go anyhow without being told?" Francie asked. "Yes, but they give us each a time so that the voting is staggered ... you know, not everyone coming in a bunch." "Why?" persisted Francie. " 'Cause," Johnny evaded. "I'll tell you why," broke in mama. "They want to keep tabs on who's voting and how. They know when each man's due at the polls and God help him if he doesn't show up to vote for Mattie." "Women don't know anything about politics," said Johnny lighting up Mattie's cigar. Francie helped Neeley drag their wood out on Election night. They contributed it to the biggest bonfire on the block. Francie got in line with the other children and danced around the fire Indian fashion, singing "Tammany." When the fire had burned down to embers, the boys raided the pushcarts of the Jewish merchants and stole potatoes which they roasted in the ashes. So cooked, they were called "mickies." There weren't enough to go around and Francie didn't get any. She stood on the street watching the returns come in on a bed sheet stretched from window to window of a house on the corner. A magic lantern across the street threw the figures on the sheet. Each time new returns came in, Francie shouted with the other kids, "Another county heard from!" Mattie's picture appeared on the screen from time to time and the crowd cheered itself hoarse. A Democratic president was elected that year and the Democratic governor of the state was re-elected, but all that Francie knew was that Mattie Mahony got in again. After Election, the politicians forgot their promises and enjoyed an earned rest until New Year, when they started work on the next Election. January second was Ladies' Day at Democratic Headquarters. On that day and no other, ladies were received into this strictly masculine precinct and treated to sherry wine and little seeded cakes. All day, the ladies kept calling and were received gallantly by Mattie's henchmen. Mattie himself never showed up. As the ladies went out, they left their little decorated cards with their names written on them in the cut-glass dish on the hall table. Katie's contempt for the politicians did not interfere with her making her yearly call. She put on her brushed and pressed gray suit with all the braid on it and tilted her jade green velvet hat over her right eye. She even gave the penman, who set up temporary shop outside headquarters, a dime to make a card for her. He wrote Mrs. John Nolan with flowers and angels crawling out of the capitals. It was a dime that should have gone into the bank, but Katie figured she could be extravagant once a year. The family awaited her homecoming. They wanted to hear all about the call. "How was it this year?" asked Johnny. "The same as always. The same old push was there. A lot of women had new clothes which I bet they bought on time. Of course, the prostitutes were the best dressed," said Katie in her forthright way, "and like always, they outnumbered the decent women two to one." XXV JOHNNY was one for taking notions. He'd take a notion that life was too much for him and start drinking heavier to forget it. Francie got to know when he was drinking more than usual. He walked straighter coming home. He walked carefully and slightly sidewise. When. he was drunk, he was a quiet man. He didn't brawl, he didn't sing, he didn't grow sentimental. He grew thoughtful. People who didn't know him thought that he was drunk when he was sober, because sober, he was full of song and excitement. When he was drunk, strangers looked on him as a quiet, thoughtful man who minded his own business. Francie dreaded the drinking periods-not on moral grounds but because papa wasn't a man she knew then. He wouldn't talk to her or to anybody. He looked at her with the eyes of a stranger. When mama spoke to him, he turned his head away from her. When he got over a drinking time, he'd take a notion that he had to be a better father to his children. He felt that he had to teach them things. He'd stop drinking for awhile, take a notion to work hard and devote all his spare time to Francie and Neeley. He had the same idea that Katie's mother, Mary Rommely, had about education. He wanted to teach his children all that he knew so that at fourteen or fifteen, they would know as much as he knew at thirty. He figured they could go on from there picking up their own knowledge and according to his calculations when they reached thirty, they would be twice as smart as he had been at thirty. He felt that they needed lessons in-for what passed in his mind-geography, civics and sociology. So he took them over to Bushwick Avenue. Bushwick Avenue was the high-toned boulevard of old Brooklyn. It was a wide, tree-shaded avenue and the houses were rich and impressively built of large granite blocks with long stone stoops. Here lived the big- time politicians, the monied brewery families, the well-to- do immigrants who had been able to come over first-class instead of steerage. They had taken their money, their statuary and their gloomy oil paintings and had come to America and settled in Brooklyn. Automobiles were coming into use but most of these families still clung to their handsome horses and magnificent carriages. Papa pointed out and described the various equipages to Francie. She watched in awe as they rolled by. There were small lacquered dainty ones lined with tufted white satin, with a large fringed umbrella that was used by fine and delicate ladies. There were adorable wicker ones with a bench along each side on which lucky children sat while they were pulled along by a Shetland pony. She stared at the capable-looking governesses who accompanied these children- women from another world, in capes and starch-stringed bonnets who sat sideways on the seat to drive the pony. Francie saw practical black two-seaters drawn by a single high-stepping horse controlled by dandified young men in kid gloves with edges turned back to look like inverted cuffs. She saw staid family vehicles drawn by dependable looking teams. These coaches did not impress Francie very much because every undertaker in William burg had a string of them. Francie liked the hansom cabs best. How magic they were with only two wheels and that funny door that closed by itself when a passenger sat back in the seat! (Francie thought in her innocence that the doors were meant to protect the passenger from flying horse manure.) If I were a man, thought Francie, that's the job I'd like to have, driving one of them. Oh, to sit high up in the back with a brave whip in a socket close to hand. Oh, to wear such a great coat with large buttons and a velvet collar and a squashed-down high hat with a ribbon cockade in the band! Oh, to have such an expensive- looking blanket folded over her knees! Francie imitated the drivers' cry under her breath. "Kerridge, sir? Kerridge?" "Anybody," said Johnny, carried away by his personal dream of Democracy, "can ride in one of those hansom cabs, provided," he qualified, "they got the money. So you can see what a free country we got here." "What's free about it if you have to pay?" asked Francie. "It's free in this way: If you have the money you're allowed to ride in them no matter who you are. In the old countries, certain people aren't free to ride in them, even if they have the money." "Wouldn't it be more of a free country," persisted Francie, "if we could ride in them free?" "No." "Why?" "Because that would be Socialism," concluded Johnny triumphantly, "arid we don't want that over here." "Why?" "Because we got Democracy and that's the best thing there is," clinched Johnny. There were rumors that New York City's next Mayor would come from Bushwick Avenue, Brooklyn. The idea stirred Johnny. "Look up and down this block, Francie, and show me where our future Mayor lives." Francie looked, then had to hang her head and say, "I don't know, Papa." "There!" announced Johnny as though he were blowing a trumpet fanfare. "Someday that house over there will have two lamp posts at the bottom of the stoop. And no matter where you roam in this great city," he orated, "and you come across a house with two lamp posts, you'll know that the Mayor of the greatest City in the world lives there." "What will he need two lamp posts for?" Francie wanted to know. "Because this is America and in a country where such things are," concluded Johnny vaguely but very patriotically, "you know that the government is by the people, for the people, of the people and shall not perish from the face of the earth the way it does in the old countries." He began to sing under his breath. Soon he was carried away by his feeling and started to sing louder. Francie joined in. Johnny sang: You're a grand old flag, You're a high-flying flag, And forever in peace may you wave ... [1] People stared at Johnny curiously and one kind lady threw him a penny. Francie had another memory about Bushwick Avenue. It was tied up with the scent of roses. There were roses ... roses ... Bushwick Avenue. Streets emptied of traffic. Crowds on the sidewalk, the police holding them back. Always the scent of roses. Then came the cavalcade: mounted policemen and a large open motorcar in which was seated a genial, kindly-looking man with a wreath of roses around his neck. Some people were weeping with joy as they looked at him. Francie clung to papa's hand. She heard people around her talking: "Just think! He was a Brooklyn boy, too." "Was? You dope, he still lives in Brooklyn." "Yeah?" "Yeah. And he lives right here on Bushwick Avenue." "Look at him! Look at him!" a woman cried out. "He did such a great thing and he's still an ordinary man like my husband only better looking." "It musta been cold up there," said a man. "It wonders me he didn't freeze his whatzis off," said a bawdy boy. A cadaverous-looking man tapped Johnny on the shoulder. "Mac," he inquired, "do you actually believe there's a pole up there sticking out on top of the world?" "Sure," answered Johnny. "Didn't he go up there and turn around and hang the American flag on it?" Just then a small boy hollered out, "Here he comes!" "Aw-w-w-w-w!" Francie was thrilled by the sound of admiration that swayed the crowd when the car came past where they were standing. Carried away by the excitement, she yelled out shrilly: "Hurray for Dr. Cook! Hurray for Brooklyn!" XXVI MOST children brought up in Brooklyn before the first World War remember Thanksgiving Day there with a peculiar tenderness. It was the day children went around ragamuffin" or "slamming gates," wearing costumes topped off by a penny mask. Francie chose her mask with great care. She bought a yellow Chinaman one with sleazy rope mandarin mustaches. Neeley bought a chalk-white death head with grinning black teeth. Papa came through at the last minute with a penny tin horn for each, red for Francie, green for Neeley. What a time Francie had getting Neeley into his costume! He wore one of mama's discarded dresses hacked off ankle length in the front to enable him to walk. The uncut back made a dirty dragging train. He stuffed wadded newspapers in the front to make an enormous bust. His broken-out brass- tipped shoes stuck out in front of the dress. Lest he freeze, he wore a ragged sweater over the ensemble. With this costume, he wore the death mask and one of papa's discarded derbies cocked on his head. Only it was too big and wouldn't cock and rested on his ears. Francie wore one of mama's yellow waists, a bright blue skirt and a red sash. She held the Chinaman mask on by a red bandanna over her head and tied under her chin. Mama made her wear her zitful cap (Katie's own name for a wool stocking cap) over her headgear because it was a cold day. Francie put two walnuts for decoys in her last year's Easter basket and the children set out. The street was jammed with masked and costumed children making a deafening din with their penny tin horns. Some kids were too poor to buy a penny mask. They had blackened their faces with burnt cork. Other children with more prosperous parents had store costumes: sleazy Indian suits, cowboy suits and cheesecloth Dutch maiden dresses. A few indifferent ones simply draped a dirty sheet over themselves and called it a costume. Francie got pushed in with a compact group of children and went the rounds with them. Some storekeepers locked their doors against them but most of them had something for the children. The candy-store man had hoarded all broken bits of candy for weeks and now passed it out in little bags for all who came begging. He had to do this because he lived on the pennies of the youngsters and he didn't want to be boycotted. The bakery stores obliged by baking up batches of soft doughy cookies which they gave away. Children were the marketers of the neighborhood and they would only patronize those stores that treated them well. The bakery people were aware of this. The green grocer obliged with decaying bananas and half-rotted apples. Some stores which had nothing to gain from the children neither locked them out nor gave them anything save a profane lecture on the evils of begging. These people were rewarded by terrific and repeated bangings of the front door by the children. Hence the term, slamming gates. By noon, it was all over. Francie was tired of her unwieldy costume. Her mask had crumpled. (It was made of cheap gauze, heavily starched and dried in shape over a mold.) A boy had taken her tin horn and broken it in two across his knee. She met Neeley coming along with a bloody nose. He had been in a fight with another boy who wanted to take his basket. Neeley wouldn't say who won but he had the other boy's basket besides his own. They went home to a good Thanksgiving. dinner of pot roast and home-made noodles and spent the afternoon listening to papa reminisce how he had gone around Thanksgiving Day as a boy. It was at a Thanksgiving time that Francie told her first organized lie, was found out and determined to become a writer. The day before Thanksgiving; there were exercises in Francie's room. Each of four chosen girls recited a Thanksgiving poem and held in her hand a symbol of the day. One held an ear of dried-up corn, another a turkey's foot, meant to stand for the whole turkey. A third girl held a basket of apples and the fourth held a five-cent pumpkin pie which was the size of a small saucer. After the exercises, the turkey foot and corn were thrown into the wastebasket. Teacher set aside the apples to take home. She asked if anyone wanted the little pumpkin pie. Thirty mouths watered; thirty hands itched to go up into the air but no one moved. Some were poor, many were hungry and all were too proud to accept charitable food. When no one responded, Teacher ordered the pie thrown away. Francie couldn't stand it; that beautiful pie thrown away and she had never tasted pumpkin pie. To her it was the food of covered wagon people, of Indian fighters. She was dying to taste it. In a flash she invented a lie and up went her hand. "I'm glad someone wants it," said Teacher. "I don't want it for myself," lied Francie proudly. "I know a very poor family I'd like to give it to." "Good," said Teacher. "That's the real Thanksgiving spirit." Francie ate the pie while walking home that afternoon. Whether it was her conscience or the unfamiliar flavor, she didn't enjoy the pie. It tasted like soap. The Monday following, Teacher saw her in the hall before class and asked her how the poor family had enjoyed the pie. "They liked it a whole lot," Francie told her. Then when she saw Teacher there looking so interested, she embellished the story. "This family has two little girls with golden curls and big blue eyes." "And?" prompted Teacher. "And ... and ... they're twins." "How interesting." Francie was inspired. "One of them has the name Pamela and the other Camilla." (These were names that Francie had once chosen for her non-existent dolls.) "And they are very, very poor," suggested Teacher. "Oh, very poor. They didn't have anything to eat for three days and just would have died the doctor said, if I didn't bring them that pie." "That was such a tiny pie," commented Teacher gently, "to save two lives." Francie knew then, that she had gone too far. She hated whatever that thing was inside her that made her invent such whoppers. Teacher bent down and put her arms around Francie. Francie saw that there were tears in her eyes. Francie went to pieces and remorse rose in her like bitter flood waters. "That's all a big lie," she confessed. "I ate the pie myself." "I know you did." "Don't send a letter home," begged Francie, thinking of the address she didn't own. "I'll stay after school every day for ..." "I'll not punish you for having an imagination." Gently, Teacher explained the difference between a lie and a story. A lie was something you told because you were mean or a coward. A story was something you made up out of something that might have happened. Only you didn't tell it like it was; you told it like you thought it should have been. As Teacher talked, a great trouble left Francie. Lately, she had been Oven to exaggerating things. She did not report happenings truthfully, but gave them color, excitement and dramatic twists. Katie was annoyed at this tendency and kept warning Francie to tell the plain truth and to stop romancing. But Francie just couldn't tell the plain undecorated truth. She had to put something to it. Although Katie had this same flair for coloring an incident and Johnny himself lived in a half-dream world, yet they tried to squelch these things in their child. Maybe they had a good reason. Maybe they knew their own gift of imagination colored too rosily the poverty and brutality of their lives and made them able to endure it. Perhaps Katie thought that if they did not have this faculty, they would be clearer- minded; see things as they really were, and seeing them loathe them and somehow find a way to make them better. Francie always remembered what that kind teacher told her. "You know, Francie, a lot of people would think that these stories that you're making up all the time were terrible lies because they are not the truth as people see the truth. In the future, when something comes up, you tell exactly how it happened but write down for yourself the way you think it should have happened. Tell the truth and write the story. Then you won't get mixed up." It was the best advice Francie ever got. Truth and fancy were so mixed up in her mind-as they are in the mind of every lonely child- that she didn't know which was which. But Teacher made these two things clear to her. From that time on, she wrote little stories about things she saw and felt and did. In time, she got so that she was able to speak the truth with but a slight and instinctive coloring of the facts. Francie was ten years old when she first found an outlet in writing. What she wrote was of little consequence. What was important was that the attempt to write stories kept her straight on the dividing line between truth and fiction. If she had not found this outlet in writing, she might have grown up to be a tremendous liar. XXVII CHRISTMAS was a charmed time in Brooklyn. It was in the air, long before it came. The first hint of it was Mr. Morton going around the schools teaching Christmas carols, but the first sure sign was the store windows. You have to be a child to know how wonderful is a store window filled with dolls and sleds and other toys. And this wonder came free to Francie. It was nearly as good as actually having the toys to be permitted to look at them through the glass window. Oh, what a thrill there was for Francie when she turned a street corner and saw another store all fixed up for Christmas! Ah, the clean shining window with cotton batting sprinkled with star dust for a carpet! There were flaxen-haired dolls and others which Francie liked better who had hair the color of good coffee with lots of cream in it. Their faces were perfectly tinted and they wore clothes the like of which Francie had never seen on earth. The dolls stood upright in flimsy cardboard boxes. They stood with the help of a bit of tape passed around the neck and ankles and through holes at the back of the box. Oh, the deep blue eyes framed by thick lashes that stared straight into a little girl's heart and the perfect miniature hams extended, appealingly asking, "Please, won't you be my mama?" And Francie had never had a doll except a two-inch one that cost a nickel. And the sleds! (Or, as the Williamsburg children called them, the sleighs.) There was a child's dream of heaven come true! A new sled with a flower someone had dreamed up painted on it- a deep blue flower with bright green leaves-the ebony-black painted runners, the smooth steering bar made of hard wood and gleaming varnish over All! And the names painted on them! "Rosebud!" "Magnolia!" "Snow King!" "The Flyer!" Thought Francie, "If I could only have one of those, I'd never ask God for another thing as long as I live." There were roller skates made of shining nickel with straps of good brown leather and silvered nervous wheels, tensed for rolling, needing but a breath to start them turning, as they lay crossed one over the other, sprinkled with mica snow on a bed of cloud-like cotton. There were other marvelous things. Francie couldn't take them all in. Her head spun and she was dizzy with the impact of all the seeing and all the making up of stories about the toys in the shop windows. The spruce trees began coming into the neighborhood the week before Christmas. Their branches were corded to hold back the glory of their spreading and probably to make shipping easier. Vendors rented space on the curb before a store and stretched a rope from pole to pole and leaned the trees against it. All day they walked up and down this one- sided avenue of aromatic leaning trees, blowing on stiff ungloved fingers and looking with bleak hope at those people who paused. A few ordered a tree set aside for the day; others stopped to price, inspect and conjecture. But most came just to touch the boughs and surreptitiously pinch a fingerful of spruce needles together to release the fragrance. And the air was cold and still, and full of the pine smell and the smell of tangerines which appeared in the stores only at Christmas time and the mean street was truly wonderful for a little while. There was a cruel custom in the neighborhood. It was about the trees still unsold when midnight of Christmas Eve approached. There was a saying that if you waited until then, you wouldn't have to buy a tree; that "they'd chuck 'em at you." This was literally true. At midnight on the Eve of our dear Saviour's birth, the kids gathered where there were unsold trees. The man threw each tree in turn, starting with the biggest. Kids volunteered to stand up against the throwing. If a boy didn't fall down under the impact, the tree was his. If he fell, he forfeited his chance at winning a tree. Only the roughest boys and some of the young men elected to be hit by the big trees. The others waited shrewdly until a tree came up that they could stand against. The little kids waited for the tiny, foot-high trees and shrieked in delight when they won one. On the Christmas Eve when Francie was ten and Neeley nine, mama consented to' let them go down and have their first try for a tree. Francie had picked out her tree earlier in the day. She had stood near it all afternoon and evening praying that no one would buy it. To her joy, it was still there at midnight. It was the biggest tree in the neighborhood and its price was so high that no one could afford to buy it. It was ten feet high. Its branches were bound with new white rope and it came to a sure pure point at the top. The man took this tree out first. Before Francie could speak up, a neighborhood bully, a boy of eighteen known as Punky Perkins, stepped forward and ordered the man to chuck the tree at him. The man hated the way Punky was so confident. He looked around and asked; "Anybody else wanna take a chance on it?" Francie stepped forward. "Me, Mister." A spurt of derisive laughter came from the tree man. The kids snickered. A few adults who had gathered to watch the fun, guffawed. "Aw g'wan. You're too little," the tree man objected. "Me and my brother- we're not too little together." She pulled Neeley forward. The man looked at them a thin girl of ten with starveling hollows in her cheeks but with the chin still baby-round. He looked at the little boy with his fair hair and round blue-eyes-Neeley Nolan, all innocence and trust. "Two ain't fair," yelped Punky. "Shut your lousy trap," advised the man who held all power in that hour. "These here kids is got nerve. Stand back, the rest of yous. These kids is goin' to have a show at this tree." The others made a wavering lane. Francie and Neeley stood at one end of it and the big man with the big tree at the other. It was a human funnel with Francie and her brother making the small end of it. The man flexed his great arms to throw the great tree. He noticed how tiny the children looked at the end of the short lane. For the split part of a moment, the tree thrower went through a kind of Gethsemane. "Oh, Jesus Christ," his soul agonized, "why don't I just give 'em the tree, say Merry Christmas and let 'em go? What's the tree to me? I can't sell it no more this year and it won't keep till next year." The kids watched him solemnly as he stood there in his moment of thought. "But then," he rationalized, "if I did that, all the others would expect to get 'em handed to 'em. And next year nobody a- tall would buy a tree off of me. They'd all wait to get 'em handed to 'em on a silver plate. I ain't a big enough man to give this tree away for nothin'. No, I ain't big enough. I ain't big enough to do a thing like that. I gotta think of myself and my own kids." He finally came to his conclusion. "Oh, what the hell! Them two kids is gotta live in this world. They got to get used to it. They got to learn to give and to take punishment. And by Jesus, it ain't give but take, take, take all the time in this God- damned world." As he threw the tree with all his strength, his heart wailed out, "It's a God-damned, rotten, lousy world!" Francie saw the tree leave his hands. There was a split bit of being when time and space had no meaning. The whole world stood still as something dark and monstrous came through the air. The tree came towards her blotting out all memory of her ever having lived. There was nothing-nothing but pungent darkness and something that grew and grew as it rushed at her. She staggered as the tree hit them. Neeley went to his knees but she pulled him up fiercely before he could go down. There was a mighty swishing sound as the tree settled. Everything was dark, green and prickly. Then she felt a sharp pain at the side of her head where the trunk of the tree had hit her. She felt Neeley trembling. When some of the older boys pulled the tree away, they found Francie and her brother standing upright, hand in hand. Blood was coming from scratches on Neeley's face. He looked more like a baby than ever with his bewildered blue eyes and the fairness of his skin made more noticeable because of the clear red blood. But they were smiling. Had they not won the biggest tree in the neighborhood? Some of the boys hollered "Horray!" A few adults clapped. The tree man eulogized them by screaming, "And now get the hell out of here with your tree, you lousy bastards." Francie had heard swearing since she had heard words. Obscenity and profanity had no meaning as such among those people. They were emotional expressions of inarticulate people with small vocabularies; they made a kind of dialect. The phrases could mean many things according to the expression and tone used in saying them. So now, when Francie heard themselves called lousy bastards, she smiled tremulously at the kind man. She knew that he was really saying, "Goodbye-God bless you." It wasn't easy dragging that tree home. They had to pull it inch by inch. They were handicapped by a boy who ran alongside yelping, "Free ride! All aboard!" who'd jump on and make them drag him along. But he got sick of the game eventually and went away. In a way, it was good that it took them so long to get the tree home. It made their triumph more drawn out. Francie glowed when she heard a lady say, "I never saw such a big tree!" A man called after them, "You kids musta robbed a bank to buy such a big tree." The cop on their corner stopped them, examined the tree, and solemnly offered to buy it for ten cents-fifteen cents if they'd delivered it to his home. Francie nearly burst with pride although she knew he was joking. She said she wouldn't sell it for a dollar, even. He shook his head and said she was foolish not to grab the offer. He went up to a quarter but Francie kept smiling and shaking her head, "no." It was like acting in a Christmas play where the setting was a street corner and the time, a frosty Christmas Eve and the characters, a kind cop, her brother and herself. Francie knew all the dialogue. The cop gave his lines right and Francie picked up her cues happily and the stage directions were the smiles between the spoken lines. They had to call up to papa to help them get the tree up the narrow stairs. Papa came running down. To Francie's relief, he ran down straight and not sidewise which proved that he was still sober. Papa's amazement at the size of the tree was flattering. He pretended to believe that it wasn't theirs. Francie had a lot of fun convincing him although she knew all the while that the whole thing was make believe. Papa pulled in front and Francie and Neeley pushed in back and they began forcing the big tree up the three narrow flights of stairs. Johnny was so excited that he started singing, not caring that it was rather late at night. He sang "Holy Night." The narrow walls took up his clear sweet voice, held it for a breath and gave it back with doubled sweetness. Doors creaked open and families gathered on the landings, pleased and amazed at the something unexpected being added to that moment of their lives. Francie saw the Tynmore girls standing together in their doorway, their gray hair in crimpers, and ruffled, starched nightgowns showing under their voluminous wrappers. They added their thin poignant voices to Johnny's. Floss Gaddis, her mother and her brother, Henny, who was dying of consumption, stood in their doorway. Henny was crying and when Johnny saw him, he let the song trail off; he thought maybe it made Henny too sad. Flossie was in costume waiting for an escort to take her to a masquerade ball which started soon after midnight. She stood there in her Klondike-dance-hall-girl costume with sheer black silk stockings, spool-heeled slippers, one red garter fastened under a knee and swinging a black mask in her hand. She smiled into Johnny's eyes. She put her hand on her hip and leaned seductively-or so she thought- against the door jamb. More to make Henny smile than anything else, Johnny said, "Floss, we got no angel for the top of this Christmas tree. How about you obliging?" Floss was all ready to make a dirty reply about the wind blowing her drawers off if she was up that high. But she changed her mind. There was something about the big proud tree, now so humble in its being dragged; something about the beaming children; something about the rare good will of the neighbors and the way the lights looked turned low in the halls, that made her ashamed of her unspoken reply. All she said was: "Gee, ain't you the kidder, Johnny Nolan." Katie stood alone on the top of the last flight of steps with her hands clasped before her. She listened to the singing. She looked down and watched their slow progress up the stairs. She was thinking deeply. "They think this is so good," she thought. "They think it's good-the tree they got for nothing and their father playing up to them and the singing and the way the neighbors are happy. They think they're mighty lucky that they're living and that it's Christmas again. They can't see that we live on a dirty street in a dirty house among people who aren't much good. Johnny and the children can't see how pitiful it is that our neighbors have to make happiness out of this filth and dirt. My children must get out of this. They must come to more than Johnny or me or all these people around us. But how is this to come about? Reading a page from those books every day and saving pennies in the tin-can bank isn't enough. Money! Would that make it better for them? Yes, it would make it easy. But no, the money wouldn't be enough. McGarrity owns the saloon standing on the corner and he has a lot of money. His wife wears diamond earrings. But her children are not as good and smart as my children. They are mean and greedy towards others because they have the things to taunt poor children with. I have seen the McGarrity girl eating from a bag of candy on the street while a ring of hungry children watched her. I saw those children looking at her and crying in their hearts. And when she couldn't eat any more, she threw the rest down the sewer rather than give it to them. Ah, no, it isn't the money alone. The McGarrity girl wears a different hair bow each day and they cost fifty cents apiece and that would feed the four of us here for one day. But her hair is thin and pale red. My Neeley has a big hole in his zitful cap and it's stretched out of shape but he has thick, deep golden hair that curls. My Francie wears no hair bow but her hair is long and shining. Can money buy things like that? No. That means there must be something bigger than money. Miss Jackson teaches at the Settlement House and she has no money. She works for charity. She lives in a little room there on the top floor. She only has the one dress but she keeps it clean and pressed. Her eyes look straight into yours when you talk with her. When you listen to her, it's like you used to be sick but hearing her voice, it's making you well again. She knows about things-Miss Jackson. She understands about things. She can live in the middle of a dirty neighborhood and be fine and clean and like an actress in a play; someone you can look at but who is too fine to touch. There is that difference between her and Mrs. McGarrity who has so much money but is too fat and acts in a dirty way with the truck drivers who deliver her husband's beer. So what is this difference between her and this Miss Jackson who has no money?" An answer came to Katie. It was so simple that a flash of astonishment that felt like pain shot through her head. Education! That was it! It was education that made the difference! Education would pull them out of the grime and dirt. Proof? Miss' Jackson was educated, the McGarrity wasn't. Ah! That's what Mary Rommely, her mother had been telling her all those years. Only her mother did not have the one clear word: education! Watching the children struggling up the stairs with their tree, listening to their voices, still so baby-like, she got these ideas about education. "Francie is smart," she thought. "She must go to High School and maybe beyond that. She's a learner and she'll be somebody someday. But when she gets educated, she will grow away from me. Why, she's growing away from me now. She does not love me the way the boy loves me. I feel her turn away from me. She does not understand me. All she understands is that I don't understand her. Maybe when she gets education, she will be ashamed of me-the way I talk. But she will have too much character to show it. Instead she will try to make me different. She will come to see me and try to make me live in a better way and I will be mean to her because I'll know she's above me. She will figure out too much about things as she grows older; she'll get to know too much for her own happiness. She'll find out that I don't love her as much as I love the boy. I cannot help it that this is so. But she won't understand that. Sometimes I think she knows that now. Already she is growing away from me; she will fight to get away soon. Changing over to that far-away school was the first step in her getting away from me. But Neeley will never leave me, that is why I love him best. He will cling to me and understand me. I want him to be a doctor. He must be a doctor. Maybe he will play the fiddle, too. There is music in him. He got that from his father. He has gone further on the piano than Francie or me. Yes, his father has the music in him but it does him no good. It is ruining him. If he couldn't sing, those men who treat him to drinks wouldn't want him around. What good is the fine way he can sing when it doesn't make him or us any better? With the boy, it will be different. He'll be educated. I must think out ways. We'll not have Johnny with us long. Dear God, I loved him so much once-and sometimes I still do. But he's worthless ... worthless. And God forgive me for ever finding it out." Thus Katie figured out everything in the moments it took them to climb the stairs. People looking up at her-at her smooth pretty vivacious face-had no way of knowing about the painfully articulated resolves formulating in her mind. They set the tree up in the front room after spreading a sheet to protect the carpet of pink roses from falling pine needles. The tree stood in a big tin bucket with broken bricks to hold it upright. When the rope was cut away, the branches spread out to fill the whole room. They draped over the piano and it was so that some of the chairs stood among the branches. There was no money to buy tree decorations or lights. But the great tree standing there was enough. The room was cold. It was a poor year, that one- too poor for them to buy the extra coal for the front room stove. The room smelled cold and clean and aromatic. Every day, during the week the tree stood there, Francie put on her sweater and zitful cap and went in and sat under the tree. She sat there and enjoyed the smell and the dark greenness of it. Oh, the mystery of a great tree, a prisoner in a tin wash bucket in a tenement front room! Poor as they were that year, it was a very nice Christmas and the children did not lack for gifts. Mama gave each of them a pair of long woolen drawers, drop seat style, and a woolen shirt with long sleeves and itchy insides. Aunt Evy gave them a joint present; a box of dominoes. Papa showed them how to play. Neeley didn't like the game so papa and Francie played together and he pretended to be disgusted when he lost. Granma Mary Rommely brought over something very nice that she had made herself. She brought each a scapular. To make it, she cut out two small ovals of bright red wool. On one, she embroidered a cross of bright blue yarn and on the other, a golden heart crowned with brown thorns. A black dagger went through the heart and two drops of deep red blood dripped from the dagger point. The cross and heart were very tiny and made with microscopic stitches. The two ovals were stitched together and attached to a piece of corset string. Mary Rommely had taken the scapulars to be blessed by the priest before she brought them over. As she slipped the scapular over Francie's head, she said "Hieliges Weihnachten." Then she added, "May you walk with the angels always." Aunt Sissy gave Francie a tiny package. She opened it and found a tiny matchbox. It was very fragile and covered with crinkly paper with a miniature spray of purple wisteria painted on the top. Francie pushed the box open. It held ten discs individually wrapped in pink tissue. The discs turned out to be bright golden pennies. Sissy explained that she had bought a bit of gold paint powder, mixed it with a few drops of banana oil and had gilded each penny. Francie loved Sissy's present the best of all. A dozen times within the hour of receiving it, she slid open the box slowly gaining great pleasure from holding the box and looking at it and watching the cobalt blue paper and the clean wafer-thin wood of the inside of the box appear. The golden pennies wrapped in the dreamlike tissue were a never-tiring miracle. Everyone agreed that the pennies were too beautiful to be spent. During the day, Francie lost two of her pennies somewhere. Mama suggested they'd be safest in the tin-can bank. She promised that Francie could have them back when the bank was opened. Francie was sure that mama was right about the pennies being safest in the bank, yet it was a wrench to let those golden pennies drop down into the darkness. Papa had a special present for Francie. It was a post card with a church on it. Powdered isinglass was pasted on the roof and it glistened more brightly than real snow. The church window panes were made of tiny squares of shiny orange paper. The magic in this card was that when Francie held it up, light streamed through the paper panes and threw golden shadows on the glistening snow. It was a beautiful thing. Mama said that since it wasn't written on, Francie could save it for next year and mail it to someone. "Oh no," said Francie. She put both hands over the card and held it to her chest. Mama laughed. "You must learn to take a joke, Francie, otherwise life will be pretty hard on you." "Christmas is no day for lessons," said papa. "But it is a day for getting drunk, isn't it," she flared up. "Two drinks is all I had, Katie," Johnny pleaded. "I was treated for Christmas." Francie went into the bedroom and shut the door. She couldn't bear to hear mama scolding papa. Just before supper, Francie distributed the gifts she had for them. She had a hat pin holder for mama. She had made it with a penny test tube bought at Knipe's drug store. She had covered it with a sheath of blue satin ribbon ruffled at the sides. A length of baby ribbon was sewn to the top. It was meant to hang on the side of the dresser and hold hat pins. She had a watch fob for papa. She had made it on a spool which had four nails driven into the top. It took two shoe laces. These were worked over and around the nails and a thick braided fob kept growing out of the bottom of the spool as she worked it. Johnny had no watch but he took an iron faucet washer, attached the fob to it and wore it in his vest pocket all day pretending it was a watch. Francie had a very fine present for Neeley: a five-cent shooter which looked like an oversize opal rather than a marble. Neeley had a boxful of "miggies," small brown and blue speckled marbles made of clay which cost a penny for twenty. But he had no good shooter and couldn't get into any important games. Francie watched him as he crooked his forefinger and cradled the marble in it with his thumb behind it. It looked nice and natural that way and she was glad she had got it for him rather than the nickel pop-gun she had first thought of buying. Neeley shoved the marble in his pocket and announced that he had presents, too. He ran into the bedroom, crawled under his cot and came out with a sticky bag. He thrust it at mama, saying "You share them out." He stood in a corner. Mama opened the bag. There was a striped candy cane for each one. Mama went into ecstasies. She said it was the prettiest present she had ever had. She kissed Neeley three times. Francie tried very hard not to be jealous because mama made more fuss over Neeley's present than hers. It was in that same week that Francie told another great lie. Aunt Evy brought over two tickets. Some Protestant organization was giving a celebration for the poor of all faiths. There would be a decorated Christmas tree on the stage, a Christmas play, carol singing and a gift for each child. Katie couldn't see it-Catholic children at a Protestant party. Evy urged tolerance. Mama finally gave in and Francie and Neeley went to the party. It was in a large auditorium. The boys sat on one side and the girls on the other. The celebration was fine except that the play was religious and dull. After the play, church ladies went down the aisle and gave each child a gift. All the girls got checker boards and all the boys got lotto games. After a little more singing, a lady came out on the stage and announced a special surprise. The surprise was a lovely little girl, exquisitely dressed, who came from the wings carrying a beautiful doll. The doll was a foot high, had real yellow hair and blue eyes that opened and shut with real eyelashes. The lady led the child forward and made a speech. "This little girl is named Mary." Little Mary smiled and bowed. The little girls in the audience smiled up at her and some of the boys who were approaching adolescence whistled shrilly. "Mary's mother bought this doll and had clothes made for it just like the clothes little Mary is wearing." Little Mary stepped forward and held the doll high in the air. Then she let the lady hold it while she spread her skirt and made a curtsey. It was true, saw Francie. The doll's lace- trimmed blue silk dress, pink hair bow, black patent leather slippers and white silk socks duplicated exactly the clothes of the beautiful Mary. "Now," said the lady, "this doll is named Mary after the kind little girl who is giving her away." Again the little girl smiled graciously. "Mary wants to give the doll to some poor little girl in the audience who is named Mary." Like wind on growing corn, a rippling murmur came from all the little girls in the audience. "Is there any poor little girl in the audience named Mary?" There was a great hush. There were at least a hundred Marys in that audience. It was that adjective "poor" that struck them dumb. No Mary would stand up, no matter how much she wanted the doll, and be a symbol of all the poor little girls in the audience. They began whispering to each other that they weren't poor and had better dolls home and better clothes than that girl, too, only they didn't feel like wearing them. Francie sat numb, longing for that doll with all her soul. "What?" said the lady. "No Marys?" She waited and made her announcement again. No response. She spoke regretfully. "Too bad there are no Marys. Little Mary will have to take the doll home again." The little girl smiled and bowed and turned to leave the stage with the doll. Francie couldn't stand it, she couldn't stand it. It was like when the teacher was going to throw the pumpkin pie in the wastebasket. She stood up and held her hand high in the air. The lady saw it and stopped the little girl from leaving the stage. "Ah! We do have a Mary, a very bashful Mary but a Mary just the same. Come right up on the stage, Mary." Feverish with embarrassment, Francie walked up the long aisle and on to the stage. She stumbled on the steps and all the girls snickered and the boys guffawed. "What is your name?" asked the lady. "Mary Frances Nolan," whispered Francie. "Louder. And look at the audience." Miserably, Francie faced the audience and said loudly, "Mary Frances Nolan." All the faces looked like bloated balloons on thick strings. She thought that if she kept on looking, the faces would float away up to the ceiling. The beautiful girl came forward and put the doll in Francie's arms. Francie's arms took a natural curve around it. It was as if her arms had waited and grown so just for that doll. The beautiful Mary extended her hand for Francie to shake. In spite of embarrassment and confusion, Francie noticed the delicate white hand with the tracery of pale blue veins and the oval nails that glowed like delicate pink sea shells. The lady talked as Francie backed awkwardly to her seat. She said: "You have all seen an example of the true Christmas spirit. Little Mary is a very rich little girl and received many beautiful dolls for Christmas. But she was not selfish. She wanted to make some poor little Mary, who is not as fortunate as herself, happy. So she gave the doll to that poor little girl who is named Mary, too." Francie's eyes smarted with hot tears. "Why can't they," she thought bitterly, "just give the doll away without saying I am poor and she is rich? Why couldn't they just give it away without all the talking about it?" That was not all of Francie's shame. As she walked down the aisle, the girls leaned towards her and whispered hissingly, "Beggar, beggar, beggar." It was beggar, beggar, beggar, all the way down the aisle. Those girls felt richer than Francie. They were as poor as she but they had something she lacked-pride. And Francie knew it. She had no compunctions about the lie and getting the doll under false pretenses. She was paying for the lie and for the doll by giving up her pride. She remembered the teacher who had told her to write her lies instead of speaking them. Maybe she shouldn't have gone up for the doll but should have written a story about it instead. But no! No! Having the doll was better than any story about having a doll. When they stood to sing. the "Star- spangled Banner" in closing, Francie put her face down close to the doll's face. There was the cool delicate smell of painted china, the wonderful unforgettable smell of a doll's hair, the heavenly feel of new gauze doll's clothes. The doll's real eyelashes touched her cheek and she trembled in ecstasy. The children were singing: O'er the land of the free, And the home of the brave. Francie held one of the doll's tiny hands tightly. A nerve in her thumb throbbed and she thought the doll's hand twitched. She almost believed the doll was real. She told mama the doll had been given to her as a prize. She dared not tell the truth. Mama hated anything that smacked of charity and if she knew, she'd throw the doll away. Neeley didn't snitch on her. Francie now owned the doll but had yet another lie on her soul. That afternoon she wrote a story about a little girl who wanted a doll so much that she was willing to give over her immortal soul to Purgatory for eternity if she could have the doll. It was a strong story but when Francie read it over, she thought, "that's all right for the girl in the story but it doesn't make me feel any better." She thought of the confession she would have to make the next Saturday. She resolved that no matter what penance Father gave her, she would triple it voluntarily. Still she felt no better. Then she remembered something! Maybe she could make the lie a truth! She knew that when Catholic children received Confirmation, they were expected to take some saint's name for a middle name. What a simple solution! She would take the name of Mary when she was confirmed. That night, after the page from the Bible and the page from Shakespeare had been read, Francie consulted mama. "Mama, when I make my Confirmation, can I take Mary for a middle name?" "No." Francie's heart sunk. "Why?" "Because when you were christened, you were named Francie after Andy's girl." "I know." "But you were also named Mary after my mother. Your real name is Mary Frances Nolan." Francie took the doll to bed with her. She lay very still so as not to disturb it. She woke up from time to time in the night and whispered "Mary" and touched the doll's infinitesimal slipper with a light finger. She trembled at feeling the thin soft bit of smooth leather. It was to be her first and her last doll. XXVIII THE future was a near thing to Katie. She had a way of saying, "Christmas will be here before you know it." Or, at the beginning of vacation, "School will be starting up before you know it." In the spring when Francie discarded her long drawers and joyously flung them away, mama made her pick them up again saying, "You'll need them soon enough again. Winter will be here before you know it." What was mama talking about? Spring had just started. The winter would never come again. A small child has little idea of the future. Next week is as far ahead as his future stretches and the year between Christmas and Christmas again is an eternity. So time was with Francie up until her eleventh year. Between her eleventh and twelfth birthday, things changed. The future came along quicker; the days seemed shorter and the weeks seemed to have less days in them. Henny Gaddis died and this had something to do with it. She had always heard that Henny was going to die. She heard about it so much that she finally got to believe he would die. But that would be a long, long time away. Now the long time had come. The something which had been a future was now a present and would become a past. Francie wondered whether someone had to die to make that clear to a child. But no, Grandfather Rommely had died when she was nine, a week after she made her first Communion and as she remembered, Christmas still had seemed far away at that time. Things were changing so fast for Francie now, that she got mixed up. Neeley who was a year younger than she, grew suddenly and got to be a head taller. Maudie Donavan moved away. When she returned on a visit three months later, Francie found her different. Maudie had developed in a womanly way during those three months. Francie, who knew mama was always right, found out that she was wrong once in a while. She discovered that some of the things she loved so much in her father were considered very comical to other people. The scales at the tea store did not shine so brightly any more and she found the bins were chipped and shabby looking. She stopped watching for Mr. Tomony to come home on Saturday nights from his New York jaunts. All of a sudden she thought it was silly that he lived so and went to New York and came home longing for where he had been. He had money. Why didn't he just go over to New York and live there if he liked it so much? Everything was changing. Francie was in a panic. Her world was slipping away from her and what would take its place? Still, what was different anyhow? She read a page from the Bible and Shakespeare every night the same as always. She practiced the piano every day for an hour. She put pennies in the tin-can bank. The junk shop was still there; the stores were all the same. Nothing was changing. She was the one who was changing. She told papa about it. He made her stick out her tongue and he felt her wrist. He shook his head sadly and said, "You have a bad case, a very bad case." "Of what?" "Growing up." Growing up spoiled a lot of things. It spoiled the nice game they had when there was nothing to eat in the house. When money gave out and food ran low, Katie and the children pretended they were explorers discovering the North Pole and had been trapped by a blizzard in a cave with just a little food. They had to make it last till help came. Mama divided up what food there was in the cupboard and called it rations and when the children were still hungry after a meal, she'd say, "Courage, my men, help will come soon." When some money came in and mama bought a lot of groceries, she bought a little cake as celebration, and she'd stick a penny flag in it and say, "We made it, men. We got to the North Pole." One day after one of those "rescues" Francie asked mama: "When explorers get hungry and suffer like that, it's for a reason. Something big comes out of it. They discover the North Pole. But what big thing comes out of us being hungry like that?" Katie looked tired all of a sudden. She said something Francie didn't understand at the time. She said, "You found the catch in it." Growing up spoiled the theater for Francie-well, not the theater exactly, but the plays. She found she was becoming dissatisfied with the way things just happened in the nick of time. Francie loved the theater dearly. She had once wanted to be a hand-organ lady, then a school teacher. After her first Communion, she wanted to be a nun. At eleven, she wanted to be an actress. If the Williamsburg kids knew nothing else, they knew their theater. In those days, there were many good stock companies in the neighborhood: Blaney's, Corse Payton's and Phillip's Lyceum. The Lyceum was just around the corner. Local residents called it first "The Lyce," and then changed that into "The Louse." Francie went there every Saturday afternoon (except when it was closed for the summer) when she could scrape up a dime. She sat in the gallery and often waited in line an hour before the show opened in order to get a seat in the first row. She was in love with Harold Clarence, the leading man. She waited at the stage door after the Saturday matinee and followed him to the shabby brownstone house where he lived untheatrically in a modest furnished room. Even on the street, he had the stiff-legged walk of the old- time actor and his face was baby pink as though he still had juvenile 2 grease paint on it. He walked stiff-leggedly and leisurely, looking neither to right nor left and smoking an important-looking cigar which he threw away before he entered the house, as his land-lady did not permit the great man to smoke in her rooms. Francie stood at the curb, looking down reverently at the discarded butt. She took the paper ring off it and wore it for a week, pretending it was his engagement ring to her. One Saturday, Harold and his company put on The Minister's Sweetheart in which the handsome village minister was in love with Gerry Morehouse, the leading lady. Somehow, the heroine had to seek work in a grocery store. There was a villainess, also in love with the handsome young minister, and out to get the heroine. She swaggered into the store in her un-village-like furs and diamonds and regally ordered a pound of coffee. There was a dreadful moment when she uttered the fatal words, "Grind it!" The audience groaned. It had been planted that the delicate beautiful heroine wasn't strong enough to turn the great wheel. It had also been planted that her job was contingent on her being able to grind coffee. She struggled like anything but couldn't get the wheel to go round even once. She pleaded with the villainess; told her how much she needed the job. The villainess repeated, "Grind it!" When all seemed lost, Handsome Harold entered with his pink face and his clerical garb. Taking in the situation, he threw his wide minister's hat clear across the stage in a dramatic but unseemly gesture, stepped stiff-leggedly to the machine and ground the coffee and thus saved the heroine. There was an awed silence as the odor of freshly-ground coffee permeated the theater. Then bedlam broke loose. Real coffee! Realism in the theater! Everyone had seen coffee ground a thousand times but on the stage it was a revolutionary thing. The villainess gnashed her teeth and said, Foiled again!" Harold embraced Gerry, making her face upstage, and the curtain came down. During intermission, Francie did not join the other kids in the interim pastime of spitting down on the plutocrats in the thirty-cent orchestra seats. Instead, she pondered over the situation at curtain. All very well and good that the hero came in the nick of time to grind the coffee. If he hadn't dropped in, what then? The heroine would have been discharged. All right and so what? After she got hungry enough, she'd go out and find another job. She'd go out scrubbing floors like mama or graft chop suey off of her men friends like Floss Gaddis did. The grocery store job was important only because it said so in the play. She wasn't satisfied with the play she saw the following Saturday, either. All right. The long lost lover came home just in time to pay the mortgage. What if he had been held up and couldn't make it? The landlord would have to give them thirty days to get out-at least that's how it was in Brooklyn. In that month something might turn up. If it didn't and they had to get out, well, they'd have to make the best of it. The pretty heroine would have to get on piece work in the factory; her sensitive brother would have to go out peddling papers. The mother would have to do cleaning by the day. But they'd live. You betcha they'd live, thought Francie grimly. It takes a lot of doing to die. Francie couldn't understand why the heroine didn't marry the villain. It would solve the rent problem and surely a man who loved her so much that he was willing to go through all kinds of fuss because she wouldn't have him wasn't a man to ignore. At least, he was around while the hero was off on a wild goose chase. She wrote her own third act to that play-what would happen if. She wrote it out in conversations and found it a remarkably easy way of writing. In a story you had to explain why people were the way they were but when you wrote in conversation you didn't have to do that because the things the people said explained what they were. Francie had no trouble selling herself on dialogue. Once more she changed her mind about what profession she'd follow. She decided she wouldn't be an actress after all. She'd be a writer of plays. XXIX IN the summer of that same year, Johnny got the notion that his children were growing up ignorant of the great ocean that washed the shores of Brooklyn. Johnny felt that they ought to go out to sea in a ship. So he decided to take them for a rowboat ride at Canarsie and do a little deep sea fishing on the side. He had never gone fishing and he'd never been in a rowboat. But that's the idea he got. Weirdly tied up with this idea, and by a reasoning process known only to Johnny, was the idea of taking Little Tilly along on the trip. Little Tilly was the four-year-old child of neighbors whom he had never met. In fact, he had never seen Little Tilly but he got this idea that he had to make something up to her on account of her brother Gussie. It all tied up with the notion of going to. Canarsie. Gussie, a boy of six, was a murky legend in the neighborhood. A tough little hellion, with an over- developed underlip, he had been born like other babies and nursed at his mother's great breasts. But there, all resemblance to any child, living or dead, ceased. His mother tried to wean him when he was nine months old but Gussie wouldn't stand for it. Denied the breast, he refused a bottle, food or water. He lay in his crib and whimpered. His mother, fearful that he would starve, resumed nursing him. He sucked contentedly, refusing all other food, and lived off his mother's milk until he was nearly two years old. The milk stopped then because his mother was with child again. Gussie sulked and bided his time for nine long months. He refused cow's milk in any form or container and took to drinking black coffee. Little Tilly was born and the mother flowed with milk again. Gussie went into hysterics the first time he saw the baby nursing. He lay on the floor, screaming and banging his head. He wouldn't eat for four days and he refused to go to the toilet. He got haggard and his mother got frightened. She thought it wouldn't do any harm to give him the breast just once. That was her big mistake. He was like a dope fiend getting the stuff after a long period of deprivation. He wouldn't let go. He took all of his mother's milk from that time on and Little Tilly, a sickly baby, had to go on the bottle. Gussie was three years old at this time and big for his age. Like other boys, he wore knee pants and heavy shoes with brass toe tips. As soon as he saw his mother unbutton her dress, he ran to her. He stood up while nursing, an elbow on his mother's knee, his feet crossed jauntily and his eyes roving around the room. Standing to nurse was not such a remarkable feat as his mother's breasts were mountainous and practically rested in her lap when released. Gussie was indeed a fearful sight nursing that way and he looked not unlike a man with his foot on a bar rail, smoking a fat pale cigar. The neighbors found out about Gussie and discussed his pathological state in hushed whispers. Gussie's father got so that he wouldn't sleep with his wife; he said that she bred monsters. The poor woman figured and figured on a way to wean Gussie. He was too big to nurse, she decided. He was going for four. She was afraid his second teeth wouldn't come in straight. One day she took a can of stove blackening and the brush and closed herself in the bedroom where she copiously blackened her left breast with the stove polish. With a lipstick she drew a wide ugly mouth with frightening teeth in the vicinity of the nipple. She buttoned her dress and went into the kitchen and sat in her nursing rocker near the window. When Gussie saw her, he threw the dice, with which he had been playing, under the washtubs and trotted over for feeding. He crossed his feet, planted his elbow on her knee and waited. "Gussie want tiddy?" asked his mother wheedlingly. "Yup!" "All right. Gussie's gonna get nice tiddy." Suddenly she ripped open her dress and thrust the horribly made-up breast into his face. Gussie was paralyzed with fright for a moment, then he ran away screaming and hid under the bed where he stayed for twenty-four hours. He came out at last, trembling. He went back to drinking black coffee and shuddered every time his eyes went to his mother's bosom. Gussie was weaned. The mother reported her success all over the neighborhood. It started a new fashion in weaning called, "Giving the baby the Gussie." Johnny heard the story and contemptuously dismissed Gussie from his mind. He was concerned about Little Tilly. He thought she had been cheated out of something very important and might grow up thwarted. He got a notion that a boat ride off the Canarsie shore might wipe out some of the wrong her unnatural brother had done her. He sent Francie around to ask could Little Tilly go with them. The harassed mother consented happily. The next Sunday, Johnny and the three children set out for Canarsie. Francie was eleven years old, Neeley ten and Little Tilly well past three. ,Johnny wore his tuxedo and derby and a fresh collar and dicky. Francie and Neeley wore their everyday clothes. Little Tilly's mother, in honor of the day, had dressed her up in a cheap but fancy lace dress trimmed with dark pink ribbon. On the trolley ride out, they sat in the front seat and Johnny made friends with the motorman and they talked politics. They got off at the last stop which was Canarsie and found their way to a little wharf on which was a tiny shack; a couple of water- logged rowboats bobbed up and down on the frayed ropes which held them to the wharf. A sign over the shack read: "Fishing tackle and boats for rent." Underneath was a bigger sign which said: FRESH FISH TO TAKE HOME FOR SALE HERE. Johnny negotiated with the man and, as was his way, made a friend of him. The man invited him into the shack for an eye opener saying that he himself only used the stuff for a night cap. While Johnny was inside getting his eyes opened, Neeley and Francie pondered how a night cap could also be an eye opener. Little Tilly stood there in her lace dress and said nothing. Johnny came out with a fishing pole and a rusty tin can filled with worms in mud. The friendly man untied the rope from the least sorry of the rowboats, put the rope in Johnny's hand, wished him luck and went back to his shack. Johnny put the fishing stuff into the bottom of the boat and helped the children in. Then he crouched on the wharf, the bit of rope in his hand and gave instructions about boats. "There is always a wrong and a right way to get on a boat," said Johnny, who had never been on any boat except an excursion boat once. "The right way is to give the boat a shove and then jump in it before it drifts out to sea. Like this." He straightened up, pushed the boat from him, leaped ... and fell into the water. The petrified children stared at him. A second before, papa had been standing on the dock above them. Now he was below them in the water. The water came to his neck and his small waxed mustache and derby hat were in the clear. His derby was still straight on his forehead. Johnny, as surprised as the children, stared at them a moment before he said: "Don't any of you damned kids dare to laugh!" He climbed into the boat almost upsetting it. They didn't dare laugh aloud but Francie laughed so hard inside that her ribs hurt. Neeley was afraid to look at his sister. He knew that if their eyes met, he'd burst out laughing. Little Tilly said nothing. Johnny's collar and dicky were a sodden paperish mess. He stripped them off and threw them overboard. He rowed out to sea waveringly, but with silent dignity. When he came to what he thought was a likely spot, he announced that he was going to "drop anchor." The children were disappointed when they discovered that the romantic phrase simply meant that you threw a lump of iron attached to a rope overboard. Horrified, they watched papa squeamishly impale a muddy worm on the hook. The fishing started. It consisted in baiting the hook, casting it dramatically, waiting awhile, pulling it up minus worm and fish and starting the whole thing over again. The sun grew bright and hot. Johnny's tuxedo dried to a stiff wrinkled greenish outfit. The children started to get a whopping case of sunburn. After what seemed hours, papa announced to their intense relief and happiness that it was time to eat. He wound up the tackle, put it away, pulled up the anchor and made for the wharf. The boat seemed to go in a circle which made the wharf get further away. Finally they made shore a few hundred yards further down. Johnny tied up the boat, told the children to wait in it and went ashore. He said he was going to treat them to a nice lunch. He came back after a while walking sideways, carrying hot dogs, huckleberry pie and strawberry pop. They sat in the rocking boat tied to the rotting wharf, looked down into the slimy green water that smelled of decaying fish, and ate. Johnny had had a few drinks ashore which made him sorry that he had hollered at the kids. He told them they could laugh at his falling into the water if they wanted to. But somehow, they couldn't bring up a laugh. The time was past for that. Papa was very cheerful, Francie thought. "This is the life," he said. "Away from the maddening crowd. Ah, there's nothing like going down to the sea in a ship. We're getting away from it all," he ended up cryptically. After their amazing lunch, Johnny rowed them out to sea again. Perspiration poured down from under his derby and the wax in the points of his mustache melted causing the neat adornment to change into disorganized hair on his upper lip. He felt fine. He sang lustily as he rowed: Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main. He rowed and rowed and kept going around in a circle and never did get out to sea. Eventually his hands got so blistered that he didn't feel like rowing any more. Dramatically he announced that he was going to pull for the shore. He pulled and pulled and finally made it by rowing in smaller and smaller circles and making the circles come near the wharf. He never noticed that the three children were pea green in the spots where they were not beet red from the sunburn. If he had only known it, the hot dogs, huckleberry pie, strawberry pop and worms squirming on the hook weren't doing them much good. At the wharf, he leaped to the dock and the children followed his example. All made it excepting Tilly who fell into the water. Johnny threw himself flat on the dock, reached in and fished her out. Little Tilly stood there, her lace dress wet and ruined, but she said nothing. Although it was a broiling hot day, Johnny peeled off his tuxedo jacket, knelt down and wrapped it around the child. The arms dragged in the sand. Then Johnny took her up in his arms and strode up and down the dock patting her back soothingly and singing her a lullaby. Little Tilly didn't understand a thing of all that happened that day. She didn't understand why she had been put into a boat, why she had fallen into the water or why the man was making such a fuss over her. She said nothing. When Johnny felt that she was comforted, he set her down and went into the shack where he had either an eye opener or a night cap. He bought three flounders from the man for a quarter. He came out with the wet fish wrapped in a newspaper. He told his children that he had promised to bring home some fresh-caught fish to mama. "The principal thing," said papa, "is that I am bringing home fish that were caught at Canarsie. It makes no difference who caught them. The point is that we went fishing and we're bringing home fish." His children knew that he wanted mama to think he caught the fish. Papa didn't ask them to lie. He just asked them not to be too fussy about the truth. The children understood. They boarded one of those trolly cars that had two long benches facing each other. They made a queer row. First there was Johnny in green wrinkled salt stiff pants, an undershirt full of big holes, a derby hat and a disorderly mustache. Next came Little Tilly swallowed up in his coat with salt water dripping from under it and forming a brackish pool on the floor. Francie and Neeley came next. Their faces were brick red and they sat very rigid trying not to be sick. People got on the car, sat across from them and stared curiously. Johnny sat upright, the fish in his lap, trying not to think of the holes in his exposed undershirt. He looked over the heads of the passengers pretending to study an Ex- Lax advertisement. More people got on, the car got crowded but no one would sit next to them. Finally one of the fish worked its way out of the sodden newspaper and fell on the floor where it lay slimily in the dust. It was too much for Little Tilly. She looked into the fish's glazed eye, said nothing but vomited silently and thoroughly all over Johnny's tuxedo jacket. Francie and Neeley, as if waiting for that cue, also threw up. Johnny sat there with two exposed fish in his lap, one at his feet and kept staring at the ad. He didn't know what else to do. When the grisly trip was ended, Johnny took Tilly home feeling that his was the responsibility of explaining. The mother never gave him a chance to explain. She screamed when she saw her dripping be-fouled child. She snatched the coat off, threw it into Johnny's face and called him a Jack-the-Ripper. Johnny tried and tried to explain but she wouldn't listen. Little Tilly said nothing. Finally Johnny got a word in edgewise. "Lady, I think your little girl has lost her speech." Whereupon the mother went into hysterics. "You did it, you did it," she screamed at Johnny. "Can't you make her say something?" The mother grabbed the child and shook her and shook her. "Speak!" She screamed. "Say something." Finally Little Tilly opened her mouth, smiled happily and said, "T'anks." Katie gave Johnny a tongue lashing and said that he wasn't fit to have children. The children in question were alternating between the chills and hot flashes of a bad case of sunburn. Katie nearly cried when she saw the ruin of Johnny's only suit. It would cost a dollar to get it cleaned, steamed and pressed and she knew it would never be the same again. As for the fish, they were found to be in an advanced state of decay and had to be thrown into the garbage can. The children went to bed. Between chills and fever and bouts of nausea, they buried their heads under the covers and laughed silently and bed-shakingly at the remembrance of papa standing in the water. Johnny sat at the kitchen window until far into the night trying to figure out why everything had been so wrong. He had sung many a song about ships and going down to the sea in them with a heave ho and a heave to. He wondered why it hadn't turned out the way it said in songs. The children should have returned exhilarated and with a deep and abiding love for the sea and he should have returned with a fine mess of fish. Why, oh why hadn't it turned out the way it did in a song? Why did there have to be his blistered hands and his spoiled suit and sunburn and rotting fish and nausea? Why didn't Little Tilly's mother understand the intention and overlook the result? He couldn't figure it out-he couldn't figure it out. The songs of the sea had betrayed him. XXX TODAY, I am a woman," wrote Francie in her diary in the summer when she was thirteen. She looked at the sentence and absently scratched a mosquito bite on her bare leg. She looked down on her long thin and as yet formless legs. She crossed out the sentence and started over. "Soon, I shall become a woman." She looked down on her chest which was as flat as a washboard and ripped the page out of the book. She started fresh on a new page. "Intolerance," she wrote, pressing down hard on the pencil, "is a thing that causes war, pogroms, crucifixions, lynchings, and makes people cruel to little children and to each other. It is responsible for most of the viciousness, violence, terror and heart and soul breaking of the world." She read the words over aloud. They sounded like words that came in a can; the freshness was cooked out of them. She closed the book and put it away. That summer Saturday was a day that should have gone down in her diary as one of the happiest days of her life. She saw her name in print for the first time. The school got out a magazine at the end of the year in which the best story written in composition class from each grade was published. Francie's composition called "Winter Time" had been chosen as the best of the seventh grade work. The magazine cost a dime and Francie had had to wait until Saturday to get it. School closed for the summer the day before and Francie worried that she wouldn't get the magazine. But Mr. Jenson said he'd be working around on Saturday and if she brought the dime over, he'd give her a copy. Now in the early afternoon, she stood in front of her door with the magazine opened to the page of her story. She hoped someone would come along to whom she could show it. She had shown it to mama at lunch time but mama had to get back to work and didn't have time to read it. At least five times during lunch, Francie mentioned that she had a story published. At last mama said. "Yes, yes. I know. I saw it all coming. There'll be more stories printed and you'll get used to it. Now don't let it go to your head. There are dishes to be washed." Papa was at Union Headquarters. He wouldn't see the story till Sunday but Francie knew he'd be pleased. So she stood on the street with her glory tucked under her arm. She couldn't let the magazine out of her hands even for a moment. From time to time she'd glance at her name in print and the excitement about it never grew less. She saw a girl named Joanna come out of her house a few doors away. Joanna was taking her baby out for an airing in its carriage. A gasp came up from some housewives who had stopped to gossip on the sidewalk while going to and fro about their shopping. You see, Joanna was not married. She was a girl who had gotten into trouble. Her baby was illegitimate-bastard was the word they used in the neighborhood-and these good women felt that Joanna had no right to act like a proud mother and bring her baby out into the light of day. They felt that she should have kept it hidden in some dark place. Francie was curious about Joanna and the baby. She had heard mama and papa talking about them. She stared at the baby when the carriage came by. It was a beautiful little thing sitting up happily in its carriage. Maybe Joanna was a bad girl but certainly she kept her baby sweeter and daintier than these good women kept theirs. The baby wore a pretty frilled bonnet and a clean white dress and bib. The carriage cover was spotless and showed much loving handiwork in its embroidery. Joanna worked in a factory while her mother took care of the baby. The mother was too ashamed to take it out so the baby got an airing only on week-ends when Joanna wasn't working. Yes, Francie decided, it was a beautiful baby. It looked just like Joanna. Francie remembered how papa had described her that day he and mama were talking about her. "She has skin like a magnolia petal." (Johnny had never seen a magnolia.) "Her hair is as black as a raven's wing." (He had never seen such a bird.) "And her eyes are deep and dark like forest pools." (He had never been in a forest and the only pool he knew was where each man put in a dime and guessed what the Dodgers' score would be and whoever guessed right got all the dimes.) But he had described Joanna accurately. She was a beautiful girl. "That may be," answered Katie. "But what good is her looks? They're a curse to the girl. I heard that her mother was never married but had two children just the same. And now the mother's son is in Sing Sing and her daughter has this baby. There must be bad blood all along the line and no use getting sentimental about it. Of course," she added with a detachment of which she was astonishingly capable at times, "it's none of my business. I don't need to do anything about it one way or the other. I don't need to go out and spit on the girl because she did wrong. Neither do I have to take her in my house and adopt her because she did wrong. She suffered as much pain bringing that child into the world as though she was married. If she's a good girl at heart, she'll learn from the pain and the shame and she won't do it again. If she's naturally bad, it won't bother her the way people treat her. So, if I was you, Johnny, I wouldn't feel too sorry for her." Suddenly she turned to Francie and said, "Let Joanna be a lesson to you." On this Saturday afternoon, Francie watched Joanna walk up and down and wondered in what way she was a lesson. Joanna acted proud about her baby. Was the lesson there? Joanna was only seventeen and friendly and she wanted everybody to be friendly with her. She smiled at the grim good women but the smile went away when she saw that they answered her with frowns. She smiled at the little children playing on the street. Some smiled back. She smiled at Francie. Francie wanted to smile back but didn't. Was the lesson that she mustn't be friendly with girls like Joanna? The good housewives, their arms filled with bags of vegetables and brown paper parcels of meat, seemed to have little to do that afternoon. They kept gathering into little knots and whispered to each other. The whispering stopped when Joanna came by and started up when she had passed. Each time Joanna passed, her cheeks got pinker, her head went higher and her skirt flipped behind her more defiantly. She seemed to grow prettier and prouder as she walked. She stopped oftener than needed to adjust the baby's coverlet. She maddened the women by touching the baby's cheek and smiling tenderly at it. How dare she! How dare she, they thought, act as though she had a right to all that? Many of these good women had children which they brought up by scream and cuff. Many of them hated the husbands who lay by their sides at night. There was no longer high joy for them in the act of love. They endured the love-making rigidly, praying all the while that another child would not result. This bitter submissiveness made the man ugly and brutal. To most of them the love act had become a brutality on both sides; the sooner over with, the better. They resented this girl because they felt this had not been so with her and the father of her child. Joanna recognized their hate but wouldn't cringe before it. She would not give in and take the baby indoors. Something had to give. The women broke first. They couldn't endure it any longer. They had to do something about it. The next time Joanna passed, a stringy woman called out: "Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" "What for?" Joanna wanted to know. This infuriated the woman. "What for, she asks," she reported to the other women. "I'll tell you what for. Because you're a disgrace and a bum. You got no right to parade the streets with your bastard where innocent children can see you." "I guess this is a free country," said Joanna. "Not free for the likes of you. Get off the street, get off the street." "Try and make me!" "Get off the street, you whore," ordered the stringy woman. The girl's voice trembled when she answered. "Be careful what you're saying." "We don't have to be careful what we say to no street walker," chipped in another woman. A man passing by stopped a moment to take it in. He touched Joanna's arm. "Look, Sister, why don't you go home till these battle-axes cool off? You can't win with them." Joanna jerked her arm away. "You mind your own business!" "I meant it in the right way, Sister. Sorry." He walked on. "Why don't you go with him," taunted the stringy woman. "He might be good for a quarter." The others laughed. "You're all jealous," said Joanna evenly. "She says we're jealous," reported the interlocutor. "Jealous of what, you?" (She said "you" as though it were the girl's name.) "Jealous that men like me. That's what. Lucky you're married already," she told the stringy one. "You'd never get a man otherwise. I bet your husband spits on you- afterwards. I bet that's just what he does." "Bitch! You bitch!" screamed the stringy one hysterically. Then, acting on an instinct which was strong even in Christ's day, she picked a stone out of the gutter and threw it at Joanna. It was the signal for the other women to start throwing stones. One, droller than the rest, threw a ball of horse manure. Some of the stones hit Joanna but a sharp pointed one missed and struck the baby's forehead. Immediately, a thin clear trickle of blood ran down the baby's face and spotted its clean bib. The baby whimpered and held out its arms for its mother to pick it up. A few women, poised to throw the next stones, dropped them quietly back into the gutter. The baiting was all over. Suddenly the women were ashamed. They had not wanted to hurt the baby. They only wanted to drive Joanna off the street. They dispersed and went home quietly. Some children who had been standing around listening, resumed their play. Joanna, crying now, lifted the baby from the carriage. The baby continued to whimper quietly as though it had no right to cry out loud. Joanna pressed her cheek to her baby's face and her tears mixed with its blood. The women won. Joanna carried her baby into the house not caring that the carriage stood in the middle of the sidewalk. And Francie had seen it all; had seen it all. She had heard every word. She remembered how Joanna had smiled at her and how she had turned her head away without smiling back. Why hadn't she smiled back? Why hadn't she smiled back? Now she would suffer-she would suffer all the rest of her life every time that she remembered that she had not smiled back. Some small boys started to play tag around the empty carriage, holding on to its sides and pulling it way over while being chased. Francie scattered them and wheeled the carriage over to Joanna's door and put the brake on. There was an unwritten law that nothing was to be molested that stood outside the door where it belonged. She was still holding the magazine with her story in it. She stood next to the braked carriage and looked at her name once more. "Winter Time, by Frances Nolan." She wanted to do something, sacrifice something to pay for not having smiled at Joanna. She thought of her story, she was so proud of it; so eager to show papa and Aunt Evy and Sissy. She wanted to keep it always to look at and to get that nice warm feeling when she looked at it. If she gave it away, there was no means by which she could get another copy. She slipped the magazine under the baby's pillow. She left it open at the page of her story. She saw some tiny drops of blood on the baby's snowy pillow. Again she saw the baby; the thin trickle of blood on its face; the way it held out its arms to be taken up. A wave of hurt broke over Francie and left her weak when it passed. Another wave came, broke and receded. She found her way down to the cellar of her house and sat in the darkest corner on a heap of burlap sacks and waited while the hurt waves swept over her. As each wave spent itself and a new one gathered, she trembled. Tensely she sat there waiting for them to stop. If they didn't stop, she'd have to die-she'd have to die. After awhile they came fainter and there was a longer time between each one. She began to think. She was now getting her lesson from Joanna but it was not the kind of lesson her mother meant. She remembered Joanna. Often at night on her way home from the library, she had passed Joanna's house and seen her and the boy standing close together in the narrow vestibule. She had seen the boy stroke Joanna's pretty hair tenderly; had seen how Joanna put up her hand to touch his cheek. And Joanna's face looked peaceful and dreamy in the light from the street lamp. Out of that beginning, then, had come the shame and the baby. Why? Why? The beginning had seemed so tender and so right. Why? She knew that one of the women stone-throwers had had a baby only three months after her marriage. Francie had been one of the children standing at the curb watching the party leave for the church. She saw the bulge of pregnancy under the virginal veil of the bride as she stepped into the hired carriage. She saw the hand of the father closed tight on the bridegroom's arm. The groom had black shadows under his eyes and looked very sad. Joanna had no father, no men kin. There was no one to hold her boy's arm tight on the way to the altar. That was Joanna's crime, decided Francie-not that she had been bad, but that she had not been smart enough to get the boy to the church. Francie had no way of knowing the whole story. As a matter of fact, the boy loved Joanna and was willing to marry her after-as the saying goes-he had gotten her into trouble. The boy had a family-a mother and three sisters. He told them he wanted to marry Joanna and they talked him out of it. Don't be a fool, they told him. She's no good. Her whole family's no good. Besides, how do you know you're the one? If she had you she had others. Oh, women are tricky. We know. We are women. You are good and tender-hearted. You take her word for it that you are the man. She lies. Don't be tricked my son, don't be tricked, our brother. If you must marry, marry a good girl, one who won't sleep with you without the priest saying the words that make it right. If you marry this girl, you are no longer my son; you are no longer our brother. You'll never be sure whether the child is yours. You will worry while you are at your work. You'll wonder who slips into your bed beside her after you have left in the morning. Oh yes, my son, our brother, that is how women do. We know. We are women. We know how they do. The boy had let himself be persuaded. His women folk gave him money and he got a room and a new job over in Jersey. They wouldn't tell Joanna where he was. He, never saw her again. Joanna wasn't married. Joanna had the baby. The waves had almost stopped passing over Francie when she discovered to her fright that something was wrong with her. She pressed her hand over her heart trying to feel a jagged edge under the flesh. She had heard papa sing so many songs about the heart; the heart that was breaking-was aching-was dancing-was heavy laden-that leaped for joy-that was heavy in sorrow-that turned over- that stood still. She really believed that the heart actually did those things. She was terrified thinking her heart had broken inside her over Joanna's baby and that the blood was now leaving her heart and flowing from her body. She went upstairs to the flat and looked into the mirror. Her eyes had dark shadows beneath them and her head was aching. She lay on the old leather couch in the kitchen and waited for mama to come home. She told mama what had happened to her in the cellar. She said nothing about Joanna. Katie sighed and said, "So soon? You're just thirteen. I didn't think it would come for another year yet. I was fifteen." "Then ... then ... this is all right what's happening?" "It's a natural thing that comes to all women." "I'm not a woman." "It means you're changing from a girl into a woman." "Do you think it will go away?" "In a few days. But it will come back again in a month." "For how long?" "For a long time. Until you are forty or even fifty." She mused awhile. "My mother was fifty when I was born." "Oh, it has something to do with having babies." "Yes. Remember always to be a good girl because you can have a baby now." Joanna and her baby flashed through Francie's mind. "You mustn't let the boys kiss you," said mama. "Is that how you get a baby?" "No. But what makes you get a baby often starts with a kiss." She added, "Remember Joanna." Now Katie didn't know about the street scene. Joanna happened to pop into her mind. But Francie thought she had wonderful powers of insight. She looked at mama with new respect. Remember Joanna. Remember Joanna. Francie could never forget her. From that time on, remembering the stoning women, she hated women. She feared them for their devious ways, she mistrusted their instincts. She began to hate them for this disloyalty and their cruelty to each other. Of all the stone- throwers, not one had dared to speak a word for the girl for fear that she would be tarred with Joanna's brush. The passing man had been the only one who spoke with kindness in his voice. Most women had the one thing in common: they had great pain when they gave birth to their children. This should make a bond that held them all together; it should make them love and protect each other against the man-world. But it was not so. It seemed like their great birth pains shrank their hearts and their souls. They stuck together for only one thing: to trample on some other woman ... whether it was by throwing stones or by mean gossip. It was the only kind of loyalty they seemed to have. Men were different. They might hate each other but they stuck together against the world and against any woman who would ensnare one of them. Francie opened the copybook which she used for a diary. She skipped a line under the paragraph that she had written about intolerance and wrote: "As long as I live, I will never have a woman for a friend. I will never trust any woman again, except maybe mama and sometimes Aunt Evy and Aunt Sissy." XXXI TWO very important things happened in the year that Francie was thirteen. War broke out in Europe and a horse fell in love with Aunt Evy. Evy's husband and his horse, Drummer, had been bitter enemies for eight years. He was mean to the horse; he kicked him and punched him and cursed at him and pulled too hard on the bit. The horse was mean to Uncle Willie Flittman. The horse knew the route and stopped automatically at each delivery. It had been his habit to start up again as soon as Flittman mounted the wagon. Lately, he had taken to starting up the instant Flittman got off to deliver milk. He'd break into a trot and often Flittman had to run more than half a block to catch up with him. Flittman was through delivering at noon. He'd go home to eat dinner, then bring the horse and wagon back to the stable where he was supposed to wash Drummer and the wagon. The horse had a mean trick. Often when Flittman was washing under his belly, he'd wet on him. The other fellows would stand around waiting for this to happen so that they could have a good laugh. Flittman couldn't stand it so he got in the habit of washing the horse in front of his house. That was all right in the summer but it was a little hard on the horse in the winter. Often, on a bitterly cold day, Evy would go down and tell Willie that it was a mean thing to wash Drummer in the cold and with cold water, too. The horse seemed to know that Evy was taking his part. As she argued with her husband, Drummer would whinny pitifully and lay his head on her shoulder. One cold day, Drummer took matters into his own hands-or as Aunt Evy said it, into his own feet. Francie listened enchanted while Aunt Evy told the story to the Nolans. No one could tell a story like Evy. She acted out all the parts-even the horse and, in a funny way, she'd put in what she thought each one was secretly thinking at the time. It happened like this according to Evy: Willie was down on the street washing the shivering horse with cold water and hard yellow soap. Evy was standing at the window watching. He leaned under to wash the horse's belly and the horse tensed. Flittman thought Drummer was going to wet on him again and it was more than the harassed and futile little man could stand. He hauled off and punched the horse in the belly. The horse lifted a leg and kicked him decisively in the head. Flittman rolled under the horse and lay unconscious. Evy ran down. The horse whinnied happily when he saw her but she paid no attention to him. When he looked over his shoulder and saw that Evy was trying to drag Flittman out from under, he started to walk. Maybe he wanted to help Evy by pulling the wagon clear of the unconscious man or maybe he wanted to finish the job by rolling the wagon over him. Evy hollered out, "Whoa there, boy," and Drummer stopped just in time. A little boy had gone for a policeman who had gone for the ambulance. The ambulance doctor couldn't make out whether Flittman had a fracture or a concussion. He took him to a Greenpoint Hospital. Well, there was the horse and wagon full of empty milk bottles to be gotten back to the stables. Evy had never driven a horse but that was no reason why she couldn't. She put on one of her husband's old overcoats, wrapped a shawl around her head, climbed up into the seat, picked up the reins and called out, "Git for home, Drummer." The horse swung his head back to give her a loving look, then set off at a cheerful trot. It was lucky he knew the way. Evy hadn't the slightest idea where the stables were. He was a smart horse. He stopped at each intersection and waited while Evy looked up and down the cross street. If all was clear, she'd say, "Giddy-yap, boy." If another vehicle was coming she'd say, "Just a minute, boy." In this way they reached the stables without mishap and the horse cantered in proudly to his usual place in the row. Other drivers, washing their wagons, were surprised to see a lady driver. They made such a commotion that the stable boss came running and Evy told him what had happened. "I saw it coming, the boss said. "Flittman never did like that horse and the horse never liked him. Well, we'll have to take on another man." Evy, fearful lest her husband lose his job, asked whether she couldn't take his route while he was in the hospital. She argued that the milk was delivered in the dark and no one would ever know. The boss laughed at her. She told him how much they needed that twenty-two- fifty a week. She pleaded so hard, and looked so little and pretty and spunky, that he gave in at last. He gave her the list of customers and told her the boys would load the wagon for her. The horse knew the route, he said, and it wouldn't be too hard. One of the drivers suggested that she take the stable dog along for company and protection against milk thieves. The boss agreed to that. He told her to report to the stables at 2 AM. Evy was the first milk woman on the route. She got along fine. The fellows at the stable liked her and said that she was a better worker than Flittman. In spite of her practicalness, she was soft and feminine and the men loved the low and breathless way she had of talking. And the horse was very happy and co-operated as much as he could. He stopped automatically before each house where milk was to be left and never started up again until she was safely in the seat. Like Flittman, she brought him to her house while she ate her dinner. Because the weather was so cold, she took an old quilt from her bed and threw it over him so he wouldn't catch cold while he waited for her. She took his oats upstairs and heated them for a few minutes in the oven before she fed him. She didn't think ice-cold oats were appetizing. The horse enjoyed the warmed oats. After he finished munching, she treated him to half an apple or a lump of sugar. She thought it was too cold to wash him on the street. She took him back to the stable for that. She thought the yellow soap was too biting, so she brought along a cake of Sweetheart Soap and a big old bath towel to dry him with. The men at the stable offered to wash the horse and wagon for her but she insisted on washing the horse herself. Two men got into a fight over who should wash the wagon. Evy settled it by saying one could wash it one day and the other, the next day. She heated Drummer's wash water on a gas plate in the boss's office. She'd never think of washing him in cold water. She washed him with the warm water and the sweet-scented soap and dried him carefully bit by bit with the towel. He never committed an indignity on her while she washed him. He snorted and whinnied happily throughout the washing. His skin rippled in voluptuous delight when Evy rubbed him dry. When she worked around his chest, he rested his tremendous head on her small shoulder. There was no doubt about it. The horse was madly in love with Evy. When Flittman recovered and reported back for work, the horse refused to leave the stable with him on the wagon seat. They had to give Flittman another route and another horse. But Drummer wouldn't go out with any other driver either. The boss had just about made up his mind to have him sold, when he got an idea. Among the drivers, there was an effeminate young man who talked with a lisp. They put him on Flittman's wagon. Drummer seemed satisfied and consented to go out with the ladylike driver on the seat. So Drummer took up his regular duties again. But every day at noon, he turned into the street where Evy lived and stood in front of her door. He wouldn't go back to the stables until Evy had come down, given him a bit of apple or some sugar, stroked his nose and called him a good boy. He was a funny horse," said Francie after she heard the story. "He may have been funny," said Aunt Evy, "but he sure knew what he wanted." XXXII FRANCIE had started a diary on her thirteenth birthday with the entry: Dec. 15. Today I enter my teens. What will the year bring forth? I wonder. The year brought forth little according to the entries which became sparser as the year wore on. She had been prompted to start a diary because fictional heroines kept them and filled them with lush sighing thoughts. Francie thought her diary would be like that, but excepting for some romantic observations on Harold Clarence, actor, the entries were prosaic. Toward the end of the year she riffled through the pages reading an item here and there. Jan. 8. Granma Mary Rommely has a pretty carved box that her great grandfather made in Austria over a hundred years ago. She has a black dress and white petticoat and shoes and stockings in it. They are her burying clothes as she doesn't want to be buried in a shroud. Uncle Willie Flittman said he wants to be cremated and his ashes scattered from the Statue of Liberty. He thinks he'll be a bird in the next life and he wants a good start. Aunt Evy said he's a bird already, a cuckoo. Mama scolded me for laughing. Is cremation better than burying? I wonder. Jan. 10. Papa sick today. March 21. Neeley stole pussy willows from McCarren's Park and gave them to Gretchen Hahn. Mama said he's too young to be thinking about girls. There's time enough, she said. April 2. Papa hasn't worked for three weeks. There's something wrong with his hands. They shake so much he can't hold anything. April 20. Aunt Sissy says she's going to have a baby. I don't believe it because she's flat in front. I heard her tell mama she's carrying it in the back. I wonder. May 8. Papa sick today. May 9. Papa went to work tonight but had to come home. Said the people didn't need him. May 10. Papa sick. Had bad nightmares in the daytime and screamed. I had to get Aunt Sissy. May 12. Papa hasn't worked for over a month. Neeley wants to get his working papers and leave school. Mama said no. May 15. Papa worked tonight. He said he's going to take charge of things from now on. He scolded Neeley about the working papers. May 17. Papa came home sick. Some kids were following him on the street and making fun of him. I hate kids. May 20. Neeley has a paper route now. He won't let me help sell papers. May 28. Carney did not pinch my cheek today. He pinched something else. I guess I'm getting too big to sell junk. May 30. Miss Garnder said they are going to publish my winter time composition in the magazine. June 2. Papa came home sick today. Neeley and I had to help mama get him upstairs. Papa cried. June 4. I got A on my composition today. We had to write on My Ambition. I only made one mistake. I wrote play-writer and Miss Garnder said the right word was playwright. June 7. Two men brought papa home today. He was sick. Mama was away. I put papa to bed and gave him black coffee. When mama came home she said that was the right thing to do. June 12. Miss Tynmore gave me Schubert's Serenade today. Mama's ahead of me. She got Tannhauser's Evening Star. Neeley says he's ahead of both of us. He can play Alexander's Ragtime Band without notes. June 20. Went to show. Saw The Girl of the Golden West. It was the best show I ever saw, the way the blood dripped through the ceiling. June 21. Papa was away for two nights. We didn't know where he was. He came home sick. June 22. Mama turned my mattress today and found my diary and read it. Everywhere I had the word drunk, she made me cross it out and write sick. It's lucky I didn't have anything against mama written down. If ever I have children I will not read their diaries as I believe that even a child is entitled to some privacy. If mama finds this again and reads it, I hope she will take the hint. June 23. Neeley says he has a girl. Mama says he's too young. I wonder. June 25. Uncle Willie, Aunt Evy, Sissy and her John over tonight. Uncle Willie drank a lot of beer and cried. He said the new horse he's got, Bessie, did worse than wet on him. Mama scolded me for laughing. June 27. We finished the Bible today. Now we got to start all over. We've gone through Shakespeare four times already. July 1. Intolerance. ... Francie put her hand over the entry to hide the words. For a moment, she thought the waves would pass over her again. But the feeling went away. She turned' the page and read another entry. July 4. Sergeant McShane brought papa home today. Papa wasn't arrested as we thought at first. He was sick. Mr. McShane gave Neeley and me a quarter. Mama made us give it back. July 5. Papa still sick. Will he ever work again? I wonder. July 6. We started playing the North Pole game today. July 7. North Pole. July 8. North Pole. July 9. North Pole. Expected rescue did not come. July 10. We opened the tin-can bank today. There was eight dollars and twenty cents in it. My golden pennies had turned black. July 20. All the money from the tin-can bank is gone. Mama took some washing to do for Mrs. McGarrity. I helped iron but burnt a hole on Mrs. McGarrity's drawers. Mama won't let me iron anymore. July 23. I got a job at Hendler's Restaurant just for the summer. I wash dishes during the dinner and supper rush. I use gobs of soft soap out of a barrel. On Monday a man comes and collects three barrels of scraps of fat and brings back one barrel of soft soap on Wednesday. Nothing is wasted in this world. I get two dollars a week and my meals. It isn't hard work but I don't like that soap. July 24. Mama said I'd be a woman before I knew it. I wonder. July 28. Floss Gaddis and Frank are going to be married as soon as he gets a raise. Frank says that the way President Wilson is running things we'll be in the war before you know it. He says he's marrying because he wants a wife and kids so that when war comes he doesn't have to fight. Flossie says that's not true; it's a case of true love. I wonder. I remember how Flossie used to chase him years ago when he was washing the horse. July 29. Papa wasn't sick today. He's going to get a job. He said mama has to stop washing for Mrs. McGarrity and I have to give up my job. He says we'll be rich and all go to live in the country. I wonder. Aug. 10. Sissy says she's going to have a baby soon. I wonder. She's as flat as a pancake. Aug. 17. Papa has been working for three weeks now. We have wonderful suppers. Aug. 18. Papa's sick. Aug. 19. Papa's sick because he lost his job. Mr. Hendler won't take me back in the restaurant. He says I'm not reliable. Sept. 1. Aunt Evy, Uncle Willie over tonight. Willie sang Frankie and Johnny and put dirty words in it. Aunt Evy stood on a chair and punched him in the nose. Mama scolded me for laughing. Sept. 10. I started my last year of school. Miss Garnder said if I keep on getting A's on my composition, she might let me write a play for graduation. I have a very beautiful idea. There will be a girl in a white dress and her hair hanging down her back and she will be Fate. Other girls will come out on the stage and tell what they want from Life and Fate will tell them what they'll get. At the end a girl in a blue dress will spread out her arms and say, "Is life worth living then?" And there will be a chorus that says "yes." Only it will all be in rhyme. I told papa about it but he was too sick to understand. Poor papa. Sept. 18. I asked mama could I get a Castle Clip and she said no that hair was a woman's crowning beauty. Does that mean she expects me to be a woman soon? I hope so because I want to be my own boss and get my hair cut off if I feel like it. Sept. 24. Tonight when I took a bath, I discovered that I was changing into a woman. It's about time. Oct. 25. I will be glad when this book is filled up as I am getting tired of keeping a diary. Nothing important ever happens. Francie came to the last entry. Only one more blank page left. Well, the sooner she got it filled, the sooner the diary keeping would be over and she wouldn't have to bother with it anymore. She wet her pencil. Nov. 2. Sex is something that invariably comes into everyone's life. People write pieces against it. The priests preach against it. They even make laws against it. But it keeps going on just the same. All the girls in school have but the one topic of conversation; sex and boys. They are very curious about it. Am I curious about sex? She studied the last sentence. The line on the inner edge of her right eyebrow deepened. She crossed out the sentence and rewrote it to read: "I am curious about sex." XXXIII YES, there was a great curiosity about sex among the adolescent children of Williamsburg. There was a lot of talk about it. Among the younger children there was some exhibitionism (you show me and I'll show you). A few hypocrites devised such evasive games as "playing house" or "doctor." A few uninhibited ones did what they called "play dirty." There was a great hush- hush about sex in that neighborhood. When children asked questions, the parents didn't know how to answer them for the reason that these people did not know the correct words to use. Each married couple had its own secret words for things which were whispered in bed in the quiet of night. But there were few mothers brave enough to bring these words out into the daylight and present them to the child. When the children grew up, they in turn invented words which they couldn't tell their children. Katie Nolan was neither a mental nor a physical coward. She tackled every problem masterfully. She didn't volunteer sex information but when Francie asked questions she answered as best she knew how. Once when Francie and Neeley were young children, they had agreed to ask their mother certain questions. They stood before her one day. Francie was the spokesman. "Mama, where did we come from?" "God gave you to me." The Catholic children were willing to accept that but the next question was a sticker. "How did God get us to you?" "I can't explain that because I'd have to use a lot of big words that you wouldn't understand." "Say the big words and see if we understand them." "If you understood them, I wouldn't have to tell you." "Say it in some kind of words. Tell us how babies get here." "No, you're too little yet. If I told you, you'd go around telling all the other children what you know and their mothers would come up here and say I was a dirty lady and there would be fights." "Well, tell us why girls are different from boys." Mama thought for awhile. "The main difference is that a little girl sits down when she goes to the bathroom and a little boy stands up." "But mama," said Francie. "I stand up when I'm afraid in that dark toilet." "And I," confessed little Neeley, "sit down when ..." Mama interrupted. "Well, there's a little bit of man in every woman and a little bit of woman in every man." That ended the discussion because it was so puzzling to the children that they decided to go no further with it. When Francie, as she wrote in her diary, started to change into a woman, she went to mama about her sex curiosity. And Katie told her simply and plainly all that she herself knew. There were times in the telling when Katie had to use words which were considered dirty but she used them bravely and unflinchingly because she knew no other words. No one had ever told her about the things she told her daughter. And in those days, there were no books available for people like Katie from which they could learn about sex in the right way. In spite of the blunt words and homely phrasing, there was nothing revolting in Katie's explanations. Francie was luckier than most children of the neighborhood. She found out all she needed to know at the time she had to know about it. She never needed to slink into dark hallways with other girls and exchange guilty confidences. She never had to learn things in a distorted way. If normal sex was a great mystery in the neighborhood, criminal sex was an open book. In all poor and congested city areas, the prowling sex fiend is a nightmarish horror that haunts parents. There seems to be one in every neighborhood. There was one in Williamsburg in that year when Francie turned fourteen. For a long time, he had been molesting little girls, and although the police were on a continual lookout for him, he was never caught. One of the reasons was that when a little girl was attacked, the parents kept it secret so that no one would know and discriminate against the child and look on her as a thing apart and make it impossible for her to resume a normal childhood with her playmates. One day, a little girl on Francie's block was killed and it had to come out in the open. She had been a quiet little thing of seven, well behaved and obedient. When she didn't come home from school, her mother didn't worry; she thought the child had stopped somewhere to play. After supper, they went looking for her; they questioned her playmates. No one had seen the child since school let out. A fear wave swept over the neighborhood. Children were called in off the streets and kept behind locked doors. McShane came over with half a dozen policemen and they began combing the roofs and cellars. The child was found at last, by her loutish seventeen- year-old brother. Her little body was lying across a busted-down doll carriage in the cellar of a near-by house. Her torn dress and undergarments, her shoes and her little red socks were thrown on an ash heap. The brother was questioned. He was excited and stuttered when he answered. They arrested him on suspicion. McShane wasn't stupid. The arrest was a blind to put the killer off guard. McShane knew the killer would feel safe and strike again; and this time, the police would be waiting for him. Parents went into action. The children were told (and to hell with finding the right words) about the fiend and the horrible things he did. Little girls were warned not to take candy from strangers, not to speak to strange men. Mothers took to waiting in the doorways for their children when school let out. The streets were deserted. It was as if the Pied Piper had led all the children off to some mountain fastness. The whole neighborhood was terrorized. Johnny got so worried about Francie that he got a gun. Johnny had a friend named Burt who was night watchman at the corner bank. Burt was forty years old and married to a girl half his age of whom he was insanely jealous. He suspected that she took a lover in the nights when he was at the bank. He brooded over this so much that he came to the conclusion that it would be a relief if he knew for sure that this was so. He was willing to exchange soul-destroying suspicion for heart-breaking reality. Accordingly, he slipped home at odd hours during the night while his friend, Johnny Nolan, watched the bank for him. They had signals. When, in the night, poor Burt got so tormented that he had to go home, he asked the cop on the beat to ring the Nolan bell three times. If Johnny was home when the signal came, he jumped out of bed like a fireman, dressed hurriedly and ran to the bank as though his life depended on it. After the watchman slipped out, Johnny lay on Burt's narrow cot and felt the hard revolver through the thin pillow. He hoped someone would attempt to rob the bank so he could save the money and be a hero. But all the hours of his night watching were without event. There wasn't even the excitement of the watchman catching his wife in adultery. The girl always was sleeping soundly and alone when her husband sneaked into their flat. When Johnny heard of the rape and murder, he went over to the bank to see his friend, Burt. He asked the watchman whether he had another gun. "Sure. Why?" "I'd like the lend of it, Burt." "Why, Johnny?" "There's this fellow loose that killed the little girl on our block." "I hope they ketch him, Johnny. I sure hope they ketch the son-of-a-bitch." "I have a daughter of my own." "Yeah, yeah, I know, Johnny." "So I'd like you to loan me a gun." "It's against the Sullivan Law." "It's against some other law for you to go away from the bank and leave me here. How do you know? I may be a robber." "Aw, no, Johnny." "I figure if we break one law, we might as well break another." "All right. All right. I'll lend it." He opened a desk drawer and took out a revolver. "Now I'll show you. When you want to kill somebody, you point it at 'em like this," he pointed it at Johnny, "and pull this thing." "I see. Let me try it." In his turn, Johnny aimed it at Burt. " 'Course," said Burt, "I ain't never shot off the Goddamned thing myself." "This is the first time I ever held a gun in my hand," explained Johnny. "Watch out then," said the watchman quietly. "It's loaded!" Johnny shivered and put the gun down carefully. "Say, Burt, I didn't know. We might have killed each other." "Jesus, you're right." The watchman shuddered. "One jerk of a finger and a man is dead," mused Johnny. "Johnny, you ain't thinking of killing yourself?" "No, I'm letting the booze do that." Johnny started to laugh but stopped abruptly. As he left with the gun Burt said, "Let me know if you catch the bastard." "I'll do that," promised Johnny. "Yeah. So long." "So long, Burt." Johnny gathered his family around him and explained about the gun. He warned Francie and Neeley not to touch it. "This little cylinder holds death for five people in it," he explained dramatically. Francie thought the revolver looked like a grotesque beckoning finger, a finger that beckoned to death and made it come running. She was glad when papa put it out of sight under his pillow. The gun lay under Johnny's, pillow for a month and was never touched. There were no further outrages in the neighborhood. It seemed that the fiend had moved on. Mothers began to relax. A few, however, like Katie, continued to watch in door or hallway when they knew the children were due home from school. It was the killer's habit to lurk in dark hallways for his victims. Katie felt that it cost nothing to be careful. When most of the people were lulled into a feeling of security, the pervert struck again. One afternoon, Katie was cleaning in the halls of the second house away from her own. She heard children in the street and knew that school was out. She wondered whether it was necessary to go back and wait in their hallway for Francie as she had been doing since the murder. Francie was nearly fourteen and old enough to take care of herself. Besides the killer usually attacked little girls of six or seven. Maybe he had been caught in some other neighborhood and was safe in jail. Still. ... She hesitated, then decided to go home. She'd be needing a fresh bar of soap within the hour and could kill two birds with one stone if she got it now. She looked up and down the street and grew uneasy when she didn't see Francie among the children. Then she remembered that Francie went further to school and came home a bit later. Once in the flat, Katie decided to heat the coffee and have a cupful. By that time, Francie should be home, and her mind would be at peace. She went into the bedroom to see if the gun was still under the pillow. Of course it was and she felt foolish for looking. She drank the coffee, took her bar of yellow soap and started back for work. Francie got home at her usual time. She opened the hall door, stared up and down the long narrow hall, saw nothing and closed the solid wood door behind her. Now the hall was darkened. She walked the short length of hall towards the stairs. As she put her foot on the first step, she saw him. He stepped out from a small recess under the stairs that had an entrance to the cellar. He walked softly but with lunging steps. He was thin and undersized and wore a shabby dark suit with a collarless and tieless shirt. His thick bushy hair grew down on his forehead almost to his eyebrows. He had a beaked nose and his mouth was a thin crooked line. Even in the semi-darkness, Francie was aware of his wet-looking eyes. She took another step, then, as she got a better look at him, her legs turned into cement. She couldn't lift them to take the next step! Her hands clutched two banister spokes and she clung to them. What hypnotized her into being unable to move was the fact that the man was coming towards her with his lower garments opened. Francie stared at the exposed part of his body in paralyzed horror. It was wormy white contrasted with the ugly dark sallowness of his face and hands. She felt the same kind of nausea she had once felt when she saw a swarm of fat white maggots crawling over the putrid carcass of a rat. She tried to scream "mama" but her throat closed over and only air came out. It was like a horrible dream where you tried to scream but no sound came. She couldn't move! She couldn't move! Her hands hurt from gripping the banister spokes. Irrelevantly, she wondered why they didn't snap off in her tight grasp. And now he was coming towards her and she couldn't runt She couldn't runt Please God, she prayed, let some tenant come along. At this moment, Katie was walking down the stairs quietly with the bar of yellow soap in her hand. When she came to the top of the last flight, she looked down and saw the man coming at Francie and saw that Francie was frozen to the banister spokes. Katie made no sound. Neither one saw her. She turned quietly and ran up the two flights to her flat. Her hand was steady as she took the key from under the mat and opened the door. She took precious time, not aware of what she was doing, to set the cake of yellow soap on the washtub cover. She got the gun from under the pillow, aimed it, and keeping it aimed, put it under her apron. Now her hand was trembling. She put her other hand under her apron and steadied the gun with her two hands. Holding the gun in this way, she ran down the stairs. The murderer reached the foot of the stairs, rounded it, leaped up the two steps, and, quick as a cat, threw one arm about Francie's neck and pressed his palm to her mouth to prevent her screaming. He put his other arm around her waist and started to pull her away. He slipped and the exposed part of his body touched her bare leg. The leg jerked as though a live flame had been put to it. Her legs came out of the paralysis then and she kicked and struggled. At that, the pervert pressed his body close to hers, pinning her against the banister. He began undoing her clenched fingers, one by one. He got one hand free, forced it behind her back and leaned hard against it while he started to work on her other hand. There was a sound. Francie looked up and saw her mother running down that last flight of stairs. Katie was running awkwardly, not balancing well on account of having both hands clutched under her apron. The man saw her. He couldn't see that she had a gun. Reluctantly, he loosed his hold and backed down the two steps keeping his wet eyes on Katie. Francie stood there, one hand still gripping the banister spoke. She couldn't get her hand opened. The man got off the steps, pressed his back to the wall and started sliding against it to the cellar door. Katie stopped, knelt on a step, pushed her apron bulge between two banister spokes, stared at the exposed part of his body and pulled the trigger. There was a loud explosion and the smell of burnt cloth as the hole in Katie's apron smoldered. The pervert's lip curled back to show broken dirty teeth. He put both hands on his stomach and fell. His hands came away as he hit the floor and blood was all over that part of him that had been worm-white. The narrow hall was full of smoke. Women screamed. Doors banged open. There was the sound of running feet in the halls. People in the streets started pouring into the hall. In a second, the doorway was jammed and no one could get in or out. Katie grabbed Francie's hand and tried to pull her up the stairs, but the child's hand was frozen to the spoke. She couldn't open her fingers. In desperation, Katie hit Francie's wrist with the gun butt and the numb fingers relaxed at last. Katie pulled her up the steps and through the halls. She kept meeting women coming out of their flats. "What's the matter? What's the matter?" they screamed. "It's all right now. It's all right now," Katie told them. Francie kept stumbling and going to her knees. Katie had to drag her on her knees the length of the last hall. She got her into the flat and onto the couch in the kitchen. Then she put the chain bolt on the door. As she put the gun down carefully next to the bar of yellow soap, her hand accidentally touched the muzzle. She was frightened when she found it warm. Katie knew nothing about guns; she had never shot one before. Now she thought the heat might make the gun go off by itself. She opened the washtub cover and threw the gun into the water in which some soiled clothes were soaking. Because the bar of yellow soap was mixed up with the whole thing, she threw that in after the gun. She went to Francie. "Did he hurt you, Francie?" "No, Mama," she moaned. "Only he ... his ... I mean it ... touched my leg." "Where?" Francie pointed to a spot above her blue sock. The skin was white and unharmed. Francie looked at it in surprise. She had an idea that the skin would be eaten away there. "There's nothing the matter with it," mama said. "But I can still feel where it touched." She moaned and cried out insanely, "I want my leg cut off." People pounded on the door demanding to know what had happened. Katie ignored them and kept the door bolted. She made Francie swallow a cup of scalding hot black coffee. Then she walked up and down the room. She was trembling now. She didn't know what to do next. Neeley had been loitering on the street when the shot sounded. When he saw people crowding into the hallway, he, too, worked his way in. He got up on the stairs and looked over the banisters. The pervert was huddled where he had fallen. The crowd of women had torn the trousers from his body and all who could get near were grinding their heels into his flesh. Others were kicking at him and spitting on him. All were shrieking obscenities at him. Neeley heard his sister's name. "Francie Nolan?" "Yeah. Francie Nolan." "You sure? Francie Nolan?" "I tell you I seen." "Her mother went and ..." "Francie Nolan!" He heard the ambulance gong. He thought Francie had been killed. He raced up the stairs sobbing. He pounded on the door, screaming, "Let me in, Mama! Let me in!" Katie let him in. When he saw Francie lying on the couch, he bawled louder. Now Francie started to bawl. "Stop it! Stop it!" Katie screamed. She shook Neeley until he didn't have a sob left in him. "Run and get your father. Look all over until you find him." Neeley found papa in McGarrity's saloon. Johnny was just about to settle down to a long afternoon of slow drinking. When he heard Neeley's story, he dropped his glass and ran out with him. They couldn't get back into the house. The ambulance was at the door and four policemen were fighting a way through the crowd trying to get the ambulance doctor in. Johnny and Neeley went through the next door cellar into the yard, helped each other over the board fence into their own yard and climbed up on the fire escape. When Katie saw Johnny's derby looming up outside the window, she screamed and ran around frantically looking for the gun. Fortunately for Johnny, she had forgotten where she had thrown it. Johnny ran to Francie, and, big as she was, he picked her up in his arms as though she were a baby. He rocked her and told her to go to sleep. Francie kept insisting that she wanted her leg cut off. "Did he get her?" asked Johnny. "No, but I got him," Katie said grimly. "Did you shoot him with the pistol?" "With what else?" She showed him the hole in her apron. "Did you shoot him good?" "As good as I could. But she keeps talking about her leg. His ..." her eyes slid towards Neeley, "... well, you. know, touched her leg." She pointed to the spot. Johnny looked but he saw nothing. "That's too bad it had to happen to her," Katie said. "She's such a one for remembering. She might never get married, remembering." "We'll fix that leg," promised papa. He put Francie back on the couch, got the carbolic acid and swabbed the spot with the strong raw stuff. Francie welcomed the burning pain of the acid. She felt that the evil of the man's touch was being seared away. Someone pounded at the door. They remained quiet and unanswering. They wanted no outsiders in their home at this time. A strong Irish voice called. "Open up the door. 'Tis the law, now." Katie opened the door. A policeman walked in followed by an ambulance intern carrying a bag. The cop pointed to Francie. "This the kid he tried to get?" "Yes." "Doc, here, has to make an examination." "I won't allow it," protested Katie. "It's the law," he answered quietly. So Katie and the intern took Francie into the bedroom and the terrified child had to submit to the indignity of an examination. The jaunty intern made a quick and careful examination. He straightened up and started to put his instruments back into the bag. He said, "She's okay. He never got near her." He took her swollen wrist in his hand. "How did this happen?" "I had to hit her with the gun to make her let go of the banister," Katie explained. He noticed her bruised knee. "What's this?" "That's where I had to drag her along the hall." Then he got to the angry burn just above her ankle. "And what in the name of God is this?" "That's where her father washed her leg with carbolic acid where that man touched her." "My God!" exploded the intern. "You trying to give her third degree burns?" He opened the bag again, put cooling salve on the burn and bandaged it neatly. "My God!" he said again, "between the two of you, you did more damage than the criminal." He smoothed down Francie's dress, patted her cheek and said, "You'll be all right, girlie. I'm going to give you something to put you to sleep. When you wake up, just remember that you had a bad dream. That's all it was; a bad dream. Hear?" "Yes, sir," said Francie gratefully. Again she saw a poised needle. She remembered something from a long time ago. She worried. Was her arm clean? Would he say … That's a brave girl," he said as the needle jabbed. "Why, he's on my side," thought Francie hazily. She went to sleep immediately after the hypodermic. Katie and the doctor came out into the kitchen. Johnny and the cop were sitting at the table. The cop had a bit of pencil clutched in his big paw and he was painfully making small notes in a small notebook. "Kid all right?" asked the cop. "Fine," the intern told him, "just suffering from shock and parentinitus." He winked at the cop. "When she wakes up," he said to Katie, "remember to keep telling her that she had a bad dream. Don't talk about it other wise." "What do I owe you, Doc?" asked Johnny. "Nothing, Mac. This is on the city." "Thank you," whispered Johnny. The intern noticed Johnny's trembling hands. He pulled a pint flask from his hip pocket and thrust it at Johnny. "Here!" Johnny looked up at him. "Go ahead, Mac," insisted the intern. Gratefully, Johnny took a long swallow. The intern passed the flask to Katie. "You too, Lady. You look as if you need it." Katie took a big drink. The cop spoke up. "What do you take me for? A orphan?" When the intern got the flask back from the cop, there was only an. inch left in it. He sighed and emptied the bottle. The cop sighed, too, and turned to Johnny. "Now. Where do you keep the gun?" "Under my pillow." "Get it. I got to take it over to the station house." Katie, forgetting how she had disposed of the gun, went into the bedroom to look under the pillow. She came back, looking worried. "Why, it's not there!" The cop laughed. "Naturally. You took it out to shoot the louse." It took Katie a long time to remember that she had thrown it into the washtub. She fished it out. The cop wiped it off and took out the bullets. He asked Johnny a question. "You got a permit for this, Mac?" "No." "That's tough." "It's not my gun." "Who gave it to you?" "No-Nobody." Johnny' didn't want to get the watchman in trouble. "How'd you get it then?" "I found it. Yes, I found it in the gutter." "All oiled and loaded?" "Honest." "And that's your story?" "That's my story." "It's okay by me, Mac. See that you stick to it." The ambulance driver hollered from the hall that he was back from taking the man to the hospital and was Doc ready to leave. "Hospital?" Katie asked. "Then I didn't kill him." "Not quite," said the intern. "We'll get him on his feet so's he can walk to the electric chair by himself." "I'm sorry," said Katie. "I meant to kill him." "I got a statement from him before he passed out," said the cop. "That little kid down the block: he killed her. He was responsible for two other jobs, too. I got his statement, signed and witnessed." He patted his pocket. "I wouldn't be surprised if I got a promotion out of this when the Commissioner hears." "I hope so," said Katie bleakly. "I hope somebody gets some good out of it." When Francie woke the next morning, papa was there to tell her that it was all a dream. And as time passed it didn't seem like a dream to Francie. It left no ugliness in her memories. Her physical terror had blunted her emotional perceptions. The terror on the stairs had been brief-a bare three minutes in time-and terror had served as an anesthetic. The events following were hazy in her mind on account of the unaccustomed hypodermic. Even the hearing in court where she had to tell her story seemed like a part in an unreal play in which her lines were brief. There was a hearing, but Katie was told beforehand that it was a technicality. Francie remembered little of it except that she told her story and Katie told hers. Few words were needed. "I was coming home from school," testified Francie, "and when I got in the hall, this man came out and grabbed me before I could scream. While he was trying to drag me off the stairs, my mother came down." Katie said: "I came down the stairs and saw him there pulling my daughter. I ran up and got the gun (it didn't take long) and I ran down and shot him while he was trying to sneak down the cellar." Francie wondered whether mama would be arrested for shooting a man. But no, it ended up with the judge shaking mama's hand and hers too. A lucky thing happened about the newspapers. A soused reporter, going through his nightly routine of calling up the station houses for police blotter news, got the facts of the story but confuse the Nolan name with the name of the policeman on the case. There was a half column item in a Brooklyn paper which said that Mrs. O'Leary of Williamsburg had shot a prowler in the hallway of her home. The next day, two of the New York newspapers gave it two inches in which they stated that Mrs. O'Leary of Williamsburg had been shot by a prowler in the hallway of her home. Eventually, the whole affair faded away into the background. Katie was a neighborhood heroine for awhile but as time passed, the neighborhood forgot the murdering pervert. They remembered only that Katie Nolan had shot a man. And in speaking of her, they said that she's not one to get into a fight with. Why she'd shoot a person just as soon as look at them. The scar from the carbolic acid never left Francie's leg but it dwindled down to the size of a dime. Francie got used to it in time and as she grew older, she seldom noticed it any more. As for Johnny, they fined him five dollars for violating the Sullivan Law- having a gun without a permit. And, oh, yes! The watchman's young, wife eventually ran away with an Italian a little nearer her own age. Some days later Sergeant McShane came over looking for Katie. He saw her lugging a can of ashes out to the curb and his heart turned over with pity. He gave her a hand with the ash can. Katie thanked him and looked up at him. She had seen him once since the Mattie Mahony outing, the day he had asked Francie was she her mother. The other time was when he had brought Johnny home, the time when Johnny couldn't get himself home. Katie had heard that Mrs. McShane was now in a sanatorium for incurable tuberculosis patients. She was not expected to live long. "Would he marry again- afterwards?" Katie wondered. "Of course he will," she answered her own question. "He is a fine-looking, upstanding man with a good job and some woman will snap him up." He took off his hat while he spoke to her. "Mrs. Nolan, the boys down at the station house and myself do be thankin' you for helpin' us out in the catchin' of the murtherer." "You're welcome," said Katie conventionally. "And to show their appreciation, what did the boys do but pass the hat for you!" He extended an envelope. "Money?" she asked. "It is that." "Keep it!" "Sure you'll be needin' it with your man not workin' steady and the childthern needin' this and that." "That's none of your business, Sergeant McShane. You can see that I work hard and we don't need anything from nobody." "Just as you say." He put the envelope back into his pocket, looking at her steadily all the while. "Here's a woman," he thought, "with a trim figure on her and a pretty white- faced skin and black curling hair. And she's got courage enough and pride for six like her. I'm a middle-aged man of forty-five," his thoughts went on, "and she's but a slip of a girl." (Katie was thirty-one but looked much younger.) "We've both had hard luck when it came to marryin'. That we did." McShane knew all about Johnny and knew that he wouldn't last long the way he was going on. He had nothing but pity for Johnny; he had nothing but pity for Molly, his wife. He wouldn't have harmed either of them. He had never once considered being physically unfaithful to his sickly wife. "But is hoping in my heart harming either one of them?" he asked himself. "Of course, there'll be the waitin'. How many years? Two? Five? Ah, well, I've waited a long time without hope of happiness. Sure and I can wait a bit longer, now." He thanked her again and said goodbye formally. As he held her hand in the handclasp, he thought, "She'll be my wife, someday, God and she willin'." Katie could not know what he was thinking. (Or could she?) Maybe. Because something prompted her to call after him. "I hope that someday you'll be as happy as you deserve to be, Sergeant McShane." XXXIV WHEN Francie heard Aunt Sissy tell mama that she was going to get a baby, she wondered why Sissy didn't say have a baby, like other women said. She found out there was a reason why Sissy said get instead of have. Sissy had had three husbands. There were ten tiny headstones in a small plot in St. John's Cemetery in Cypress Hills, belonging to Sissy. And on each stone, the date of death was the same as the date of birth. Sissy was thirty-five, now, and desperate about not having children. Katie and Johnny often talked it over and Katie was afraid that Sissy would kidnap a child someday. Sissy wanted to adopt a child, but her John wouldn't hear of it. "I'll not support another man's bastard, see?" was his way of putting it. "Don't you like children, Lover?" she asked wheedlingly. "Sure I like children. But they got to be my own and not some other bum's," he answered, unintentionally insulting himself. In most things, her John was like soft dough in Sissy's hands. But in this one thing, he refused to allow himself to be kneaded her way. If there was to be a child, he kept insisting, it would have to be his and no other man's. Sissy knew he meant it. She even had a kind of respect for his attitude. But she had to have a living baby. By chance, Sissy found out that a beautiful sixteen- year-old girl out in Maspeth had gotten into trouble with a married man and was going to have a baby. Her parents, Sicilians lately come over from the other side, had shut up the girl in a dark room so that the neighbors could not see her shame increase. Her father kept her on a diet of bread and water. He had a theory that this would weaken her so that she and her child would die in childbirth. Lest the kind-hearted mother feed Lucia during his absence, the father left no money in the house when he went to work in the mornings. He brought a bagful of groceries each night when he returned home and watched that no food was sneaked out and set aside for the girl. After the family had eaten, he gave the girl her daily ration of half a loaf of bread and a jug of water. Sissy was shocked when she heard this story of starvation and cruelty. She thought out a plan. Feeling as they did, she thought the family might be glad to give away the baby when it was born. She decided to have a look at the people. If they seemed normal and healthy, she'd offer to take the baby. The mother wouldn't let her into the house when she called. Sissy came back the next day with a badge pinned to her coat. She knocked on the door. When it was opened a crack, she pointed to the badge and sternly demanded admittance. The frightened mother, thinking Sissy was from the immigration department, let her in. The mother could not read else she would have seen that the badge said "Chicken Inspector." Sissy took charge. The mother-to-be was frightened and defiant and also very thin from the starvation diet. Sissy threatened the girl's mother with arrest if she didn't treat the girl better. With many tears and in badly broken English, the mother told of the disgrace and of the father's plan to starve the girl and the unborn child to death. Sissy had a day-long talk with the mother and Lucia, the daughter. It was mostly in pantomime. At last Sissy made it understood that she was willing to take the child off their hands as soon as it was born. When the mother understood finally, she covered Sissy's hand with grateful kisses. From that day, Sissy became the adored and trusted friend of the family. After her John left for work in the morning, Sissy cleaned up her flat, cooked a potful of food for Lucia and took it over to the Italian home. She fed Lucia well on a combination Irish-German diet. She had a theory that if the child absorbed such food before birth, it wouldn't be so much of an Italian. Sissy took good care of Lucia. On nice days, she took her out to the park and made her sit in the sun. During the time of their unusual relationship, Sissy was a devoted friend and a gay companion to the girl. Lucia adored Sissy who was the only one in this new world who had treated her kindly. The whole family (except the father, who didn't know of her existence) loved Sissy. The mother and other children gladly entered into a conspiracy to keep the father in ignorance. They locked Lucia up in her dark room again when they heard the father's step on the stairs. The family couldn't speak much English and Sissy knew no Italian but as the months passed, they learned some English from her and she learned Italian from them and they were able to talk together. Sissy never told her name so they called her "Statch' Lib'ty" after the lady with the torch which had been the first thing they saw of America. Sissy took over Lucia, her unborn child and the family. When everything was settled and agreed upon, Sissy announced to her friends and family that she was starting another baby. No one paid any attention. Sissy was always starting babies. She found an obscure midwife and paid her in advance for the delivery. She gave her a paper on which she had asked Katie to write her name, her John's name and Sissy's maiden name. She told the midwife that the paper was to be turned over to the Board of Health immediately after the birth. The ignorant woman, who could not speak Italian (Sissy had made sure of that when she hired her) assumed that the names handed her were the names of the mother and father. Sissy wanted the birth certificate to be in order. Sissy was so realistic about her pregnancy by proxy that she simulated morning sickness in the beginning weeks. When Lucia announced that she felt life, Sissy told her husband that she felt life. On the afternoon that Lucia's labor pains started, Sissy went home and got into bed. When her John came home from work, she told him the baby was starting to come. He looked at her. She was as trim as a ballet dancer. He argued, but she was so insistent, that he went and got her mother. Mary Rommely looked at Sissy and said she couldn't possibly be having a baby. For answer, Sissy let out a blood-curdling yell and said that her pains were killing her. Mary looked at her thoughtfully. She didn't know what Sissy had in mind but she did know it was useless to argue with her. If Sissy said she was going to have a baby, she was going to have a baby, and that's all there was to it. Her John protested. "But look how skinny she is. There's no baby in that belly, see?" "Maybe it will come from her head. That's big enough as one may see," said Mary Rommely. "Aw, there don't give such things," said the John. "Who are you to say?" demanded Sissy. "Didn't the Virgin Mary herself get a baby without a man? If she could do it, I'm sure I could do it easier, being's I'm married and have a man." "Who knows?" asked Mary. She turned to the harassed husband and spoke gently. "There are a lot of things that men don't understand about." She urged the confused man to forget the whole thing, eat a nice supper which she would cook for him, and then go to bed and get a good night's sleep. The puzzled man lay beside his wife throughout the night. He couldn't get a good night's sleep. From time to time, he'd rise on his elbow and stare at her. From time to time, he'd run his hand over her flat stomach. Sissy slept soundly all through the night. When he left for work the next morning, Sissy announced that he'd be a father before he returned that night. "I give up," shouted the tormented man and went off to his work in the pulp magazine house. Sissy rushed over to Lucia's house. The baby had been born just an hour after the father had left. It was a beautiful healthy girl. Sissy was so happy. She said Lucia would have to nurse the baby for ten days to give it a start, then she'd take it home. She went out and bought a roasting chicken and a bakery store pie. The mother cooked the chicken Italian style. Sissy trusted a bottle of Chianti wine from the Italian grocer on the block and they all had a fine dinner. It was like a fiesta in the house. Everybody was happy. Lucia's stomach was almost flat again. There was no longer any monument to her disgrace. Now all was as it had been before ... or would be when Sissy took the baby away. Sissy washed the baby every hour. She changed its shirt and band three times during the day. The diapers were changed every five minutes whether they needed to be or not. She washed Lucia and made her clean and sweet. She brushed and brushed her hair until it glowed like satin. She couldn't do enough for Lucia and the baby. She had to tear herself away when it came time for the father's returning. The father came home and went into the dark room to give Lucia her daily food pittance. He turned up the gas and found a radiant Lucia and a fat healthy baby sleeping contentedly at her side. He was amazed. All this on bread and water! Then fright grew on him. It was a miracle! Surely the Virgin Mary had intervened for the young mother. She had been known to work such miracles in Italy. Maybe he would be punished for treating his flesh and blood so inhumanly. Contrite, he brought her a plate heaped with spaghetti. Lucia declined it saying she had grown used to bread and water. The mother sided with Lucia and explained that the bread and water had formed the perfect baby. More and more the father believed a miracle had come about. Frantically, he tried to be nice to Lucia, but the family were punishing him. They wouldn't permit him to show any kindness to his daughter. Sissy was lying peacefully in bed when her John came home that evening. Jokingly, he asked, "Did you have that baby today?" "Yes," she said in a weak voice. "Aw, go on!" "It was born an hour after you left this morning." "It was not!" "I swear!" He looked around the room. "Where is it, then?" "In the incubator at Coney Island." "In the where?" "It was a seven months' baby, you know. Only weighed three pounds. That's why I didn't show." "You lie, see?" "As soon as I get my strength back, I'll take you to Coney Island right to the glass case where it is." "What are you trying to do? Drive me crazy?" "I'm going to bring it home in ten days. Just as soon as it grows finger nails." She put that in on the spur of the moment. "What's gotten into you, Sissy? You know God- damned well you didn't have a baby this morning." "I had a baby. It weighed three pounds. They took it to the incubator so that it wouldn't die and I'm going to get it back in ten days." "I give up! I give up," he shouted and went out and got drunk. Sissy brought the baby home ten days later. It was a big baby and weighed almost eleven pounds. Her John asserted himself for the last time. "It seems mighty big for a ten-day-old baby." "You're a mighty big man yourself, Lover, she whispered. She saw a pleased look come into his face. She put her arms around him. "I'm all right now," she said in his ear, "if you want to sleep with me." "You know," he said afterwards, "it does look a little like me." "Especially around the ears," murmured Sissy drowsily. The Italian family went back to Italy a few months later. They were glad to go because the new world had brought them nothing but sorrow, poverty and shame. Sissy never heard of them again. Everybody knew that it wasn't Sissy's baby-that it couldn't be her baby. But she stuck to her story and since there was no other explanation, people had to accept it. After all, strange things did happen in the world. She christened the child Sarah, but in time everyone called it Little Sissy. Katie was the only one to whom Sissy told the truth about the origin of the baby. She confided in her when she asked her to write out the names for the birth certificate. Ah, but Francie knew too. Often in the night she had been wakened by the sound of voices and heard mama and Aunt Sissy talking in the kitchen about the baby. Francie vowed always to keep Sissy's secret. Johnny was the only other person (outside of the Italian family) who knew. Katie told him. Francie heard them talking about it when they thought she was sound asleep. Papa took the part of Sissy's husband. "That's a dirty trick to play on a man, any man. Somebody ought to tell him. I'll tell him." "No!" said mama sharply. "He's a happy man. Let him be that way." "Happy? With another man's child palmed off on him? I don't see it." He's crazy for Sissy; he's always afraid she's going to leave him and he'd die if she left him. And you know Sissy. She went from one man to another, one husband to another-always trying to get a child. She was on the verge of leaving this one when the baby happened along. Sissy will be a different woman from now on. Mark my words. She'll settle down at last and make him a much better wife than he deserves to have. Who is this John, anyhow?" she interrupted herself. "She'll be a good mother. The child will be her whole world and she won't need to be going after the men any more. So don't monkey around with it, Johnny." "You Rommely women are too deep for us men," decided Johnny. A thought struck him. "Say! You didn't do that to me, did you?" In answer, Katie got the children out of bed. She had them stand before him in their long white nightgowns. "Look at them," she commanded. Johnny looked at his son. It was as if he were looking in a trick mirror where he saw himself perfectly but on a smaller scale. He looked at Francie. There was Katie's face all over again (only more solemn) except for the eyes. They were Johnny's eyes. On an impulse, Francie picked up a plate and held it over her heart the way Johnny held his hat when he sang. She sang one of his songs: They called her frivolous Sal. A peculiar sort of a gal ... She had Johnny's expressions and Johnny's gestures. "I know, I know," papa whispered. He kissed his children, gave them each a pat on the backside and told them to go back to bed. After they had gone, Katie pulled Johnny's head down and whispered something to him. "No!" he said in a surprised voice. "Yes, Johnny," she said quietly. He put his hat on. "Where are you going, Johnny?" "Out." "Johnny, please don't come home ..." she looked towards the bedroom door. "I won't, Katie," he promised. He kissed her gently and went out. Francie woke up in the middle of the night wondering what had taken her out of her sleep. Ah! Papa hadn't come home yet. That was it. She never slept soundly until she knew he had come home. Once awake, she started thinking. She thought of Sissy's baby. She thought of birth. Her thoughts went to birth's corollary: death. She didn't want to think of death; how everybody was born but to die. While she was fighting off thoughts of death, they heard papa coming up the stairs singing softly. She shivered when she heard that he was singing the last verse of "Molly Malone." He never sang that verse. Never! Why … ? She died of a fever, And no one could save her, And that's how I lo-ost Sweet Molly Malone ... Francie didn't stir. It was a rule that when papa came home late, mama was to open the door. She didn't want the children to lose their sleep. The song was coming to an end. Mama didn't hear- she wasn't getting up. Francie jumped out of bed. The song was ended before she reached the door. When she opened it, papa was standing there quietly, his hat in his hand. He was looking straight before him, over her head. "You won, Papa," she said. "Did I?" he asked. He walked into the room not looking at her. "You finished the song." "Yes, I finished the song, I guess." He sat in the chair by the window. "Papa. ..." "Turn out the light and go back to bed." (The light was kept burning low against his return.) She turned out the light. "Papa, are ... are you sick?" "No. I'm not drunk," he said clearly from the dark. And Francie knew that he spoke the truth. She went to bed and buried her face in the pillow. She did not know why, but she wept. XXXV ONCE more it was in the week before Christmas. Francie had just had her fourteenth birthday. Neeley, as he put it, was waiting to turn thirteen any moment. It looked as though it wouldn't be such a good Christmas. There was something wrong with Johnny. Johnny wasn't drinking. There had been other times, of course, when Johnny stopped drinking but that was when he was working. Now he wasn't drinking at all and he wasn't working, and the wrong thing about Johnny was that he wasn't drinking but he was acting like he was drinking. He hadn't spoken to his family in more than two weeks. Francie remembered the last time papa had said anything to her was that night when he came home sober singing the last verse of "Molly Malone." Come to think of it, he hadn't sung since that night either. He came and went without speaking. He stayed out late nights and came home sober and nobody knew where he spent that time. His hands were trembling badly. He could hardly hold the fork when he ate. And suddenly, he looked very old. Yesterday he had come in while they were eating supper. He looked at them as though he were going to say something. Instead of speaking, however, he closed his eyes for a second and then went into the bedroom. He had no regular hours for anything. He came and went at odd hours of the day and night. When he was home, he spent the time lying on his bed fully clothed with his eyes shut. Katie went about white and quiet. There was a foreboding about her as though she were carrying tragedy within herself. Her face was thin and there were hollows under her cheeks but her body was fuller. She had taken on an extra job in this week before Christmas. She got up earlier and worked faster at her flat cleaning and was finished in early afternoon. She rushed down to Gorling's, the department store at the Polish end of Grand Street, where she worked from four to seven, serving coffee and sandwiches to the salesgirls who were not allowed to take the time to go out for supper on account of the Christmas rush. Her family desperately needed that seventy-five cents that she earned each day. It was nearly seven o'clock. Neeley had come home from his paper route and Francie was back from the library. There was no fire in the flat. They had to wait until mama came home with some money with which to buy a bundle of wood. The children wore their coats and zitful caps as it was very cold in the flat. Francie saw that mama had wash on the line and she pulled it in. The garments had frozen into grotesque shapes and didn't want to come in through the window. "Here, let me at 'em," said Neeley referring to a frozen suit of underwear. The legs of the long drawers had frozen in a spread out position and Neeley's struggles did no good. "I'll break the damn thing's legs," said Francie. She whacked it fiercely and it crackled and collapsed. She pulled it in viciously. She looked like Katie at that moment. "Francie?" "Huh?" "You ... you cursed." "I know it." "God heard you." "Oh, shoot!" "Yes, He did. He sees and He hears everything." "Neeley, do you believe that He looks right in this little old room?" "You betcha He does." "Don't you believe it, Neeley. He's too busy watching all the little sparrows fall and worrying about whether the little buds will burst into flowers to have time to investigate us." "Don't talk like that, Francie." "I will so. If He went around looking into people's windows like you say, He'd see how things were here; He'd see that it was cold and that there was no food in the house; He'd see that mama isn't strong enough to work so hard. And He'd see how papa was and He'd do something about papa. Yes, He would!" "Francie ..." the boy looked around the room uneasily. Francie saw that he was uneasy. "I'm getting too big to tease him," she thought. Aloud she said, "All right, Neeley." They talked about other things until Katie came home. Katie came in with a rush. She had a bundle of wood blocks which she had bought for two cents, a can of condensed milk and three bananas in a bag. She stuffed paper and the wood into the range and had a fire going in no time. "Well, children, I guess we'll have to have oatmeal for supper tonight." "Again?" groaned Francie. "It won't be so bad," said mama. "We have condensed milk and I brought bananas to slice on top." "Mama," ordered Neeley, "don't mix my condensed milk with the oatmeal. Let it stay on top." "Slice the bananas and cook them with the oatmeal," suggested Francie. "I want to eat my banana whole," protested Neeley. Mama settled the argument. "I'll give you each a banana and you eat it the way you want." When the oatmeal was cooked, Katie filled two soup plates full, set them on the table, punched two holes in the can of milk and set a banana by each plate. "Aren't you going to eat, Mama?" asked Neeley. "I'll eat after. I'm not hungry now." Katie sighed. Francie said, "Mama, if you don't feel like eating, why don't you play the piano so it's like a restaurant while we're eating." "It's cold in the front room." "Light the oil stove," chorused the children. "All right." Katie took a portable oil stove from the cupboard. "Only you know I don't play so good." "You play grand, Mama," said Francie sincerely. Katie was pleased. She knelt to light the oil stove. "What do you want me to play?" "Come, Little Leaves," called Francie. "Welcome, Sweet Springtime," shouted Neeley. "I'll play 'Little Leaves' first," decided mama, "because I didn't give Francie a birthday present." She went into the cold front room. "I think I'll slice my banana on top of my oatmeal. I'll slice it very thin so that there's a whole lot of it," said Francie. "I'm going to eat mine whole," decided Neeley, "and slow, so that it lasts a long time." Mama was playing Francie's song, now. It was one that Mr. Morton had taught the children. She sang to the music: Come, little leaves, said the wind one day. Come o'er the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold ... "Aw, that's a baby song," interrupted Neeley. Francie stopped singing. When Katie finished Francie's song, she started to play Rubinstein's "Melody in F." Mr. Morton had taught them that song, too, calling it "Welcome, Sweet Springtime." Neeley started to sing: Welcome, sweet springtime, we greet thee to song. His voice changed suddenly from tenor to bass on the high note in "song." Francie giggled and soon Neeley was giggling so much that he couldn't sing. "You know what mama would say if she was sitting here now?" asked Francie. "What?" "She'd say, 'spring will be here before you know it.' " They laughed. "Christmas is coming soon," commented Neeley. "Remember when we were children," said Francie, who had just finished being thirteen, "how we used to smell if Christmas was coming?" "Let's see if we can still smell it," Neeley said impulsively. He opened the window a crack and put his nose to it. "Yup." "What does it smell like?" "I smell snow. Remember how, when we were kids we used to look up at the sky and holler, 'Feather boy, feather boy, shake down some feathers from the sky.' "And when it snowed, we thought there was a feather boy up there. Let me smell," she asked suddenly. She put her nose to the crack. "Yes, I can smell it. It smells like orange peels and Christmas trees put together." They closed the window. "I never snitched on you that time you got the doll when you said your name was Mary." "No," said Francie gratefully. And I didn't tell on you either, the time you made a cigarette out of coffee grounds and when you smoked it, the paper caught fire and fell on your blouse and burned a big hole in it. I helped you hide it." "You know," mused Neeley, "mama found that blouse and sewed a patch over the hole and she never asked me about it." "Mama is funny," said Francie. They pondered awhile over their mother's inscrutable ways. The fire was dying down now but the kitchen was still warm. Neeley sat on top of the far end of the stove where it wasn't so hot. Mama had warned him that he'd get piles from sitting on a hot stove. But Neeley didn't care. He liked his backside to be warm. The children were almost happy. The kitchen was warm and they were fed and mama's playing made them seem safe and comfortable. They reminisced about past Christmases, or, as Francie put it, they talked about olden times. While they were talking, someone pounded on the door. "It's papa," said Francie. "No. Papa always sings coming up the stairs so we know it's him." "Neeley, papa hasn't sung coming home since that night. ..." "Let me in!" shouted Johnny's voice and he beat on the door as though he would break it down. Mama came running out from the front room. Her eyes looked very dark in her white face. She opened the door. Johnny lunged in. They stared at him. They had never seen papa looking like that. He was always so neat and now his tuxedo jacket was dirty as though he had been lying in the gutter and his derby hat was bashed in. He didn't own an overcoat or gloves. His cold red hands were trembling. He lunged to the table. "No, I'm not drunk," he said. "Nobody said ..." began Katie. At last I'm through with it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!" He pounded the table. They knew he was speaking the truth. "I haven't touched a drop since that night ..." he broke off suddenly. "But no one would believe me any more. No one. ..." "There, Johnny," said mama soothingly. "What's the matter, Papa?" asked Francie. "Sh! Don't bother your father," said mama. She spoke to Johnny. "There's coffee left from this morning, Johnny. It's nice and hot and we've got milk tonight. I was waiting until you came home so that we could eat together." She poured coffee. "We ate already," said Neeley. "Hush!" mama told him. She put milk into the coffee and sat opposite Johnny. "Drink it, Johnny, while it's hot." Johnny stared at the cup. Suddenly he pushed it from him and Katie drew a sharp breath as it clattered to the floor. Johnny buried his head in his arms and sobbed shudderingly. Katie went to him. "What's the matter, Johnny, what's the matter?" she asked soothingly. Finally he sobbed out: "They threw me out of the Waiters' Union today. They said I was a bum and a drunk. They said they'd never give me another job as long as I live." He controlled his sobs for a moment and his voice was frightened as he said, "as long as I live!" He wept bitterly. "They wanted me to turn in my Union button." He put his hand over the tiny green and white button he wore in his lapel. Francie's throat got tight as she remembered how he often said he wore it like an ornament, a rose. He was so proud to be a Union man. "But I wouldn't give it up," he sobbed. "That's nothing, Johnny. You just get a good rest and get on your feet again and they'll be glad to take you in. You're a good waiter and the best singer they've got." "I'm no good any more. I can't sing any more. Katie, they laugh at me now when I sing. The last few jobs I had, they hired me to give the people a laugh. It's come to that, now. I'm finished." He sobbed wildly; he sobbed as though he never could stop. Francie wanted to run into the bedroom and hide her head under the pillow. She edged toward the door. Mama saw her. "Stay here!" she said sharply. She spoke to papa again. "Come, Johnny. Rest awhile and you'll feel better. The oil stove is lit and I'll put it in the bedroom and it will be nice and warm. I'll sit with you until you fall asleep." She put her arms around him. Gently, he put her arms away and went into the bedroom alone, sobbing more quietly. Katie spoke to the children. "I'm going to stay with papa for awhile. Keep on talking or doing whatever you were doing." The children stared at her numbly. "What are you looking at me like that for?" her voice broke. "Nothing's the matter." They looked away. She went into the front room to get the oil stove. Francie and Neeley did not look at each other for a long time. Finally he said, "Do you want to talk about olden times?" "No," said Francie. XXXVI JOHNNY died three days later. He had gone to bed that night and Katie had sat by him until he went to sleep. Later she slept with Francie so as not to disturb him. Sometime during the night he got up, dressed quietly and went out. He did not return the next night. The second day they began looking for him. They looked all over but Johnny hadn't been in any of his accustomed haunts for a week. The second night, McShane came over to take Katie to a nearby Catholic Hospital. On the way over he told her, as gently as he could, about Johnny. Johnny had been found early that morning huddled in a doorway. He was unconscious when a cop found him. His tuxedo jacket was buttoned up over his undershirt and the cop saw the St. Anthony's medal around his neck and called up the Catholic Hospital ambulance. There were no marks of identification on him. Later the cop made his report at the station house and gave a description of the unconscious man. In the routine of checking the reports, McShane came across the description. His sixth sense told him who the man was. He went to the hospital and saw that it was Johnny Nolan. Johnny was still living when Kate got there. He had pneumonia, the doctor told her, and there wasn't a chance. It was merely a question of hours. Already he was in the coma that came before death. They took Katie to him. His bed was in a long corridor-like ward. There were fifty other beds in the ward. Katie thanked McShane and said goodbye. He went away knowing that she wanted to be alone with Johnny. There was a screen, connoting dying, around Johnny's bed. They brought a chair for Katie and she sat there all day watching him. He was breathing harshly and there were dried tears on his face. Katie stayed there until he died. He had never opened his eyes. He had not spoken a word to his wife. It was night when she came home. She decided not to tell the children until the morning. "Let them have a night's sleep behind them," she thought, "one more night of griefless sleep." She told them only that their father was in the hospital and very sick. She said no more. There was something about the way she looked that discouraged the children from asking questions. Just as dawn came, Francie woke. She looked across the narrow bedroom and saw mama sitting next to Neeley's bed and looking down into his face. Her eyes were dark underneath and she looked as though she had been sitting there all night. When she saw that Francie was awake, she told her to get up and get dressed right away. She shook Neeley gently to awaken him and told him the same thing. She went out into the kitchen. The bedroom was gray and cold and Francie shivered as she got into her clothes. She waited for Neeley, not wanting to go out to mama alone. Katie was sitting by the window. They came before her and stood waiting. "Your father is dead," she told them. Francie stood numb. There was no feeling of surprise or grief. There was no feeling of anything. What mama just said had no meaning. "You're not to cry for him," ordered mama. Her next words had no sense either. "He's out of it now and maybe he's luckier than we are." An orderly at the hospital was in the pay of an undertaker whom he notified as soon as a death occurred. This wide-awake undertaker gained an advantage over his competitors in that he went after the business while the others waited for the business to come after them. This enterprising fellow called on Katie early in the morning. "Mrs. Nolan," he said, surreptitiously referring to the slip of paper on which the orderly had written her name and address, "I sympathize with you in your great grief. I give you a thought: What has come to you has to come to all of us." "What do you want?" asked Katie bluntly. "To be your friend." He hurried on before she could misunderstand. "There are details connected with ... ah ... the remains, I mean ..." again a quick look at the slip, "I mean Mr. Nolan. I ask you to look on me as a friend who brings comfort at a time when ... who will ... well, I want you to leave everything in my hands." Katie understood. "How much would you charge for a simple funeral?" "Now don't you worry about costs," he hedged. "I'll give him a fine funeral. There's no man I respected more than Mr. Nolan." (He had never known Mr. Nolan.) "I'll make it my personal business to see that he gets the best there is. Don't worry about the money." "I won't. Because there's none to worry about." He wet his lips. "Aside from the insurance money of course." It was a question, not a statement. "There's insurance. A little." "Ah!" He rubbed his hands together happily. "There's where I can be of service. There's red tape connected with collecting insurance. Take a long time before you get the money. Now supposing you (and understand I'm not charging you for this) let me take care of it. You just sign this," he whisked a paper out of his pocket, "turning your policy over to me. I'll advance the money and collect on the policy." All undertakers gave this "service." It was a trick to ascertain how much insurance there was. Once they knew the amount, the funeral cost eighty per cent of it. They had to leave a little money for mourning clothes to keep the people satisfied. Katie got the policy. As she put it on the table, his practiced eye picked out the amount: two hundred dollars. He appeared not to have looked at the policy. After Katie had signed the paper, he talked of other things for awhile. Finally, as if coming to a decision, he said: "Tell you what I'll do, Mrs. Nolan. I'll give the departed a first-class four- coach funeral with a nickel handle coffin for one hundred and seventy-five dollars. That's my regular two- hundred-and-fifty-dollar job and I'm not making a penny on it." "Why are you doing it then for?" asked Katie. He wasn't at all put out. "I'm doing it because I liked Mr. Nolan. A splendid man and a hard-working man." He noticed the surprised look Katie gave him. "I don't know," she hesitated. "A hundred and seventy-five …" "That includes the mass, too," he put in hastily. "All right," said Katie dully. She was tired of talking about it. The undertaker picked up the policy and pretended to see the amount for the first time. "Say! This is for two hundred," he said in stagey surprise. That means you got twenty-five dollars coming to you after the funeral is paid." He dug into his pocket stretching his leg out straight before him to do so. "Well, I always say that a little cash comes in handy at a time like this ... at any time, if you ask me." He chuckled understandingly. "So I'll just advance you the balance out of my own pocket.'. He put twenty-five dollars in new bills on the table. Katie thanked him. He wasn't fooling her but she made no protest. She knew that was the way things were done. He was only working at his trade. He asked her to get the death certificate from the officiating doctor. "And please inform them that I'll call for the re ... I mean for the depart ... well, I'll come and get Mr. Nolan." When Katie went to the hospital again, she was taken to the doctor's office. The priest of the parish was there. He was trying to supply information for the making out of the death certificate. When he saw Katie, he made the sign of the cross in blessing and then shook her hand. "Mrs. Nolan can tell you more than I can," said the priest. The doctor asked necessary questions; the full name and place of birth and date of birth and so on. Finally Katie asked him a question. "What are you writing down there-what he died from, I mean." "Acute alcoholism and penumonia." "They said he died of pneumonia." "That was the direct cause of death. But this acute alcoholism was a definite contributing factor; probably the main cause of death, if you wish the truth." "I don't want you to write down," said Katie slowly and steadily, "that he died from drinking too much. Write that he died of penumonia alone." "Madam, I have to state the entire truth." "He's dead. What can it mean to you what he died of?" "The law requires ..." "Look," said Katie. "I got two nice children. They're going to grow up to amount to something. It isn't their fault that their father ... that he died from what you said. It would mean a lot to me if I could tell them that their father died of pneumonia alone." The priest took a hand in it. "You can do it, Doctor," he said, "without hurt to yourself and with benefit to others. Don't be kicking around of a poor lad that's dead and gone. Write down pneumonia which is no lie, and this lady will be remembering you in her prayers for a long time to come. Besides," he added practically, "it's no skin off your teeth." All of a sudden, the doctor recalled two things; he remembered that the priest was a member of the hospital board and he remembered that he liked being head doctor at that particular hospital. "All right," he conceded. "I'll do it. But don't let it get around. It's a personal favor to you, Father." He wrote down "pneumonia" in the blank after "Cause of death." And it was nowhere on record that John Nolan had died a drunkard. Katie used the twenty- five dollars to buy mourning clothes. She bought Neeley a new black suit with long pants. It was his first long- pants suit, and pride, pleasure and grief fought in Neeley's heart. For herself, Katie got a new black hat and a three- foot widow's veil, according to the custom of Brooklyn. Francie got new shoes which she had been needing for a long time anyhow. It was decided not to buy Francie a black coat as she was growing fast and it wouldn't fit her next winter. Mama said her old green coat would do with a black band around the arm. Francie was glad because she hated black and had worried lest her mother put her in deep mourning. The little money left over after the shopping was finished was put in the tin-can bank. The undertaker came again to report that Johnny was at his funeral parlor and was being fixed up fine and would be brought home that evening. Katie told him, rather sharply, not to give them the details. Then the blow fell. "Mrs. Nolan, I have to have the deed to your lot." "What lot?" "The cemetery plot. I need the deed to get the grave opened." "I thought that was all in the hundred and seventy-five dollars." "No, no, no! I'm giving you a bargain. The coffin alone cost me ..." "I don't like you," said Katie in her blunt way. "I don't like the business you're in. But then," she added with her amazing detachment, "I suppose someone has to bury the dead. How much is a plot?" "Twenty dollars." "Where in the world would I get ..." She stopped short. "Francie, get the screwdriver." They pried up the tin- can bank. There was eighteen dollars and sixty-two cents in it. "It's not enough," said the undertaker, "but I'll lay out the rest." He held out his hand for the money. "I'll get all the money together," Katie told him. "But I'll not turn over the money until I have the deed in my hand." He fussed and argued and finally went away saying he'd bring back the deed. Mama sent Francie over to Sissy's house to borrow two dollars. When the undertaker came back with the deed, Katie, remembering something her mother had said fourteen years ago read it slowly and carefully. She made Francie and Neeley read it too. The undertaker stood first on one foot, then on the other. When all three Nolans were satisfied that the deed was in order, Katie handed over the money. "Why should I want to cheat you, Mrs. Nolan?" he asked plaintively as he put the money away carefully. "Why should anyone want to cheat anybody?" she asked in return. "But they do." The tin-can bank stood in the middle of the table. It was fourteen years old and its strips were battered. "Do you want me to nail it back down, Mama?" asked Francie. "No," said mama slowly. "We won't need it any more. You see, we own a bit of land now." She placed the folded deed on top of the clumsy star bank. Francie and Neeley remained out in the kitchen all the time the coffin was in the front room. They even slept in the kitchen. They didn't want to see their father in the coffin. Katie seemed to understand and did not insist that they go in and look at their father. The house was full of flowers. The Waiters' Union, which had thrown Johnny out less than a week before, sent around an enormous pillow of white carnations with a purple ribbon running diagonally across it on which were the words in gold letters: Our Brother. The cops from the precinct, in memory of the capture of the murderer, sent a cross of red roses. Sergeant McShane sent a sheaf of lilies. Johnny's mother, the Rommelys and some of the neighbors sent flowers. There were flowers from dozens of Johnny's friends that Katie had never heard of. McGarrity, the saloon keeper, sent a wreath of artificial laurel leaves. "I'd throw it in the ash can," said Evy indignantly when she read the card. "No," said Katie gently, "I can't blame McGarrity. Johnny didn't have to go there." (Johnny owed McGarrity over thirty-eight dollars at the time of his death. For some reason, the saloon keeper said nothing to Katie about it. He cancelled the debt silently.) The flat was sickly with the combined scents of roses, lilies and carnations. Forever after, Francie hated those flowers, but it pleased Katie to know how much people had thought of Johnny. A few moments before they were to close the coffin lid on Johnny, Katie came out to the kitchen to the children. She put her hands on Francie's shoulders and spoke low. "I heard some neighbors whispering. They said you won't look at your father because he wasn't a good father to you." "He was a good father," said Francie fiercely. "Yes, he was," agreed Katie. She waited, letting the children make their own decision. "Come on, Neeley," said Francie. Hand in hand, the children went in to their father. Neeley looked quickly, then, afraid he would start crying, he ran out of the room. Francie stood there with her eyes on the ground, afraid to look. Finally she lifted her eyes. She couldn't believe that papa wasn't living! He wore his tuxedo suit which had been cleaned and pressed. He had on a fresh dicky and collar and a carefully-tied bow tie. There was a carnation in his lapel and, above it, his Union button. His hair was shining and golden and as curling as ever. One of the locks was out of place and had fallen down on the side of his forehead a little. His eyes were closed as though he were sleeping lightly. He looked young and handsome and well-cared for. She noticed for the first time how finely arched his eyebrows were. His small mustache was trimmed and looked as debonair as ever. All the pain and grief and worry had left his face. It was smooth and boyish-looking. Johnny was thirty-four years old when he died. But he looked younger now; like a boy just past twenty. Francie looked at his hands, crossed so casually over a silver crucifix. There was a circlet of whiter skin on his third finger where he used to wear the signet ring that Katie had given him when they married. (Katie had taken it off to give to Neeley when he grew up.) It was queer to see papas hands so quiet when she remembered them as always trembling. Francie noticed how narrow and sensitive-looking they were with the long and tapering fingers. She stared steadily at his hands and thought she saw them move. Panic churned up in her and she wanted to run away. But the room was full of people watching her. They would say she was running away because ... He had been a good father. He had! He had! She put her hand on his hair and put the lock back in place. Aunt Sissy came and put her arm around her and whispered, "It's time." Francie stepped back to stand with mama while they closed the lid. At the mass, Francie knelt on one side of mama and Neeley on the other. Francie kept her eyes on the floor so that she wouldn't have to look at the flower- covered coffin standing on trestles before the altar. Once she stole a look at her mother. Katie was kneeling, staring straight ahead, her face white and quiet under the widow's veil. When the priest stepped down and walked around the coffin sprinkling holy water at the four corners of it, a woman sitting across the aisle sobbed wildly. Katie, jealous and fiercely possessive even in death, turned sharply to look at the woman who dared weep for Johnny. She looked well at the woman, then turned her head away. Her thoughts were like torn bits of paper blowing around. "Hildy O'Dair is old for her age," she thought. "It's like powder was sprinkled on her yellow hair. But she's not much older than me ... thirty- two or three. She was eighteen when I was seventeen. You go your way and I'll go my way. You mean you'll go her way. Hildy, Hildy ... he's my feller, Katie Rommely ... Hildy, Hildy ... but she's my best friend ... I'm not much good, Hildy ... I shouldn't have led you on ... you go your ... Hildy, Hildy. Let her cry, let her cry," thought Katie. "Someone who loved Johnny should cry for him and I can't cry. Let her. Katie, Johnny's mother, and Francie and Neeley rode out to the cemetery in the first coach behind the hearse. The children sat with their backs to the driver. Francie was glad because she couldn't see the hearse which led the procession. She saw the coach which followed. Aunt Evy and Aunt Sissy were in that one alone. Their husbands couldn't come because they were working and Granma Mary Rommely was staying home to mind Sissy's new baby. Francie wished she were riding in the second coach. Ruthie Nolan wept and lamented during the whole of the ride. Katie sat in stony quiet. The carriage was close and smelled of damp hay and stale horse manure. The smell, the closeness, the riding backwards and the tension gave Francie an unfamiliar feeling of sickness. At the cemetery, there was a plain wooden box standing beside a deep hole. They put the cloth covered casket with its shiny handles into the plain box. Francie looked away when they lowered it into the grave. It was a gray day and a chill wind was blowing. Little whirls of frozen dust eddied about Francie's feet. A short distance away, at a week-old grave, some men were stripping the withered flowers from the wire frames of the floral pieces heaped on the grave. They worked methodically, keeping the withered flowers in a neat heap and piling up the wire frames carefully. Theirs was a legitimate business. They bought this concession from the cemetery officials and sold the wire frames to the florists who used them over and over again. No one complained because the men were very scrupulous about not tearing off the flowers until they were well withered. Someone pushed a lump of cold damp earth into Francie's hand. She saw that mama and Neeley were standing at the edge of the grave and dropping their handful of earth into it. Francie walked slowly to the edge, closed her eyes and opened her hand slowly. She heard a soft thud after a second, and that feeling of sickness came back again. After the burial, the coaches went in different directions. Each mourner was to be taken to his own home. Ruthie Nolan went off with some mourners who lived near her. She didn't even say goodbye. All during the services, she had refused to speak to Katie and the children. Aunt Sissy and Evy got into the carriage with Katie and Francie and Neeley. There wasn't room for five people so Francie had to sit on Evy's lap. They were all very quiet on the way home. Aunt Evy tried to cheer them up by telling some new stories about Uncle Willie and his horse. But no one smiled because no one listened. Mama made the coach stop at a barber shop around the corner from their house. "Go in there," she told Francie, "and get your father's cup." Francie didn't know what she meant. "What cup?" she asked. "Just ask for his cup." Francie went in. There were two barbers but no customers. One of the barbers sat on one of the chairs in a row against the wall. His left ankle rested on his right knee and he cradled a mandolin. He was playing "O, Sole, Mio." Francie knew the song. Mr. Morton had taught it to them saying the title was "Sunshine." The other barber was sitting in one of the barber chairs looking at himself in the long mirror. He got down from the chair as the girl came in. "Yes?" he asked. "I want my father's cup." "The name?" "John Nolan." "Ah, yes. Too bad." He sighed as he took a mug from the row of them on a shelf. It was a thick white mug with "John Nolan" written on it in gold and fancy block letters. There was a worn-down cake of white soap at the bottom of it and a tired-looking brush. He pried out the soap and put it and the brush in a bigger unlettered cup. He washed Johnny's cup. While Francie waited, she looked around. She had never been inside a barber shop. It smelled of soap and clean towels and bay rum. There was a gas heater which hissed companionably. The barber had finished the song and started it over again. The thin tinkle of the mandolin made a sad sound in the warm shop. Francie sang Mr. Morton's words to the song in her mind. Oh, what's so fine, dear, As a day of sunshine. The storm is past at last. The sky is blue and clear. Everyone has a secret life, she mused. Papa never spoke about the barber shop, yet he had come here three times a week to be shaved. Fastidious Johnny had bought his own cup, emulating men who were in better circumstances. He wouldn't be shaved with lather from the common cup. Not Johnny. He had come there three times a week-when he had the money-and sat in one of those chairs and looked in that mirror and talked with the barber about-maybe-whether the Brooklyns had a good ball team that year or whether the Democrats would get in as usual. Perhaps he had sung when that other barber played the mandolin. Yes, she was sure that he had sung. Singing had come easier than breathing to him. She wondered if, when he had to wait, he read The Police Gazette lying on that bench? The barber gave her the washed and dried cup. "Johnny Nolan was a fine feller," he said. "Tell the mama that I, his barber, said this." "Thank you," whispered Francie gratefully. She went out closing the door on the sad sound of the mandolin. Back in the coach, she held out the cup to Katie. "That's for you to have," said mama. "Neeley will have papa's signet ring." Francie looked at her father's name in gold and whispered "Thank you" gratefully for the second time in five minutes. Johnny had been on earth for thirty-four years. Less than a week ago, he had walked on those streets. And now the cup, the ring and two unironed waiter's aprons at home were the only concrete objects left to connote that a man had once lived. There were no other physical reminders of Johnny, as he had been buried in all the clothes he owned with his studs and his fourteen-carat gold collar button. When they got home, they found that the neighbors had been in and straightened up the flat. The furniture had been put back in place in the front room and the withered leaves and fallen flower petals swept out. The windows had been opened and the rooms aired out. They had brought coal and made a great fire in the kitchen range and put a fresh white cloth on the table. The Tynmore girls had brought up a cake which they had baked themselves and it stood on a plate and was already sliced. Floss Gaddis and her mother had bought a whole lot of sliced bologna. It took two plates to hold it. There was a basket of freshly sliced rye bread and the coffee cups were set out on the table. There was a potful of freshly made coffee warming on the stove and someone had set a pitcher of real cream in the middle of the table. They had done all this while the Nolans were away. Then they had left, locked the door behind them and put the key under the mat. Aunt Sissy, Evy, mama, Francie, and Neeley sat at the table. Aunt Evy poured out the coffee. Katie sat for a long time looking at her cup. She remembered the last time Johnny had sat at that table. She did what Johnny had done; she pushed the cup away with her arm, put her head down on the table and cried in great ugly tearing sobs. Sissy put her arms around her and spoke in her gentle caressing voice. "Katie, Katie, don't cry so. Don't cry so, else the child you'll soon be bringing into this world will be a sad child." XXXVII KATIE stayed in bed the day after the funeral and Francie and Neeley wandered around the flat stunned and bewildered. Towards evening, Katie got up and made some supper for them. After they had eaten, she urged the children to go for a little walk, saying they needed the air. Francie and Neeley walked up Graham Avenue towards Broadway. It was a bitterly cold and a still night but there was no snow. The streets were empty. It was three days after Christmas and children were home playing with their new toys. The street lights were bleak and bright. A small icy wind coming in from the sea blew close to the ground. It whirled bits of dirty papers along the gutters. They had grown out of childhood in the last few days. Christmas as Christmas had passed unnoticed since their father had died on Christmas day. Neeley's thirteenth birthday had been lost somewhere in those last few days. They came to the brilliantly-lighted façade of a big vaudeville house. Since they were reading children and read everything they came across, they stopped and automatically read the list of acts playing that week. Underneath the sixth act, was an announcement in large letters. "Here next week! Chauncy Osborne, Sweet Singer of Sweet Songs. Don't miss him!" Sweet Singer ... Sweet Singer … Francie had not shed a tear since her father's death. Neither had Neeley. Now Francie felt that all the tears she had were frozen together in her throat in a solid lump and the lump was growing ... growing. She felt that if the lump didn't melt soon and change back into tears, she too would die. She looked at Neeley. Tears were falling out of his eyes. Then her tears came, too. They turned into a dark side street and sat on the edge of the sidewalk with their feet in the gutter. Neeley, though weeping, remembered to spread his handkerchief on the curb so that his new long pants wouldn't get dirty. They sat close together because they were cold and lonesome. They wept long and quietly, sitting there in the cold street. At last, when they could cry no more, they talked. "Neeley, why did papa have to die?" "I guess God wanted him to die." "Why?" "Maybe to punish him." "Punish him for what?" "I don't know," said Neeley miserably. "Do you believe that God put papa on this world?" "Yes." "Then He wanted him to live, didn't He?" "I guess so." "Then why did He make him die so quick?" "Maybe to punish him," repeated Neeley not knowing what else to answer. "If that's true, what good is it? Papa's dead and he don't know that he's punished. God made papa the way he was and then said to Himself, I dare you to do anything about it. I just bet He said that." "Maybe you shouldn't talk about God like that," said Neeley apprehensively. "They say God's so great," said Francie scornfully, and knows everything and can do everything. If He's so great, why didn't He help papa instead of punishing him like you said?" "I just said maybe." "If God has charge of all the world," said Francie, "and the sun and the moon and the stars and all the birds and trees and flowers and all the animals and people, you'd think He'd be too busy and too important-wouldn't you-to spend so much time punishing one man-one man like papa." "I don't think you should talk about God like that," said Neeley uneasily. "He might strike you down dead." "Then let Him," cried Francie fiercely. "Let Him strike me down dead right here in the gutter where I sit!" They waited fearfully. Nothing happened. When Francie spoke again, she was quieter. "I believe in the Lord, Jesus Christ, and His Mother, Holy Mary. Jesus was a living baby once. He went barefooted like we do in the summer. I saw a picture where He was a boy and had no shoes on. And when He was a man, He went fishing, like papa did once. And they could hurt Him too, like they couldn't hurt God. Jesus wouldn't go around punishing people. He knew about people. So I will always believe in Jesus Christ." They made the sign of the cross as Catholics do when mentioning Jesus' name. Then she put her hand on Neeley's knee and spoke in a whisper. "Neeley, I wouldn't tell anybody but you, but I don't believe in God anymore." "I want to go home," said Neeley. He was shivering. When Katie let them in, she saw that their faces were tired, yet peaceful. "Well, they've cried it out," she thought. Francie looked at her mother, then looked away quickly. "While we were gone," she thought, "she cried and cried until she couldn't cry any more." The weeping wasn't mentioned aloud by any one of them. "I thought you'd come home cold," said mama, "so I made a warm surprise for you." "What?" asked Neeley. "You'll see." The surprise was "hot chocolate" which was cocoa and condensed milk made into a paste and boiling water stirred into it. Katie poured the thick rich stuff into the cups. "And that's not all," she added. She took three marshmallows from a paper bag in her apron pocket and popped one into each cup. "Mama!" said the children simultaneously and ecstatically. "Hot Chocolate" was something extra special,' usually reserved for birthdays. "Mama is really somebody,:" thought Francie as she held her marshmallow down with her spoon and watched the melting white sworls vein the dark chocolate. "She knows we've been crying but she's not asking questions about it. Mama never ..." Suddenly the right word about mama came to Francie. "Mama never fumbles." No, Katie never fumbled. When she used her beautifully-shaped but worn- looking hands, she used them with surety, whether it was to put a broken flower into a tumbler of water with one true gesture, or to wring out a scrub cloth with one decisive motion-the right hand turning in, and the left out, simultaneously. When she spoke, she spoke truly with the plain right words. And her thoughts walked in a clear uncompromising line. Mama was saying: "Neeley's getting too big to sleep in the same room with his sister. So I fixed the room your ..." she barely hesitated over the next word, "... father and I used to have. That's Neeley's bedroom now." Neeley's eyes jumped to his mother's. A room of his own! A dream come true; two dreams come true, long pants and a room … His eyes saddened then, as he thought of how these good things had come to him. "And I'll share your room, Francie." Instinctive tact made Katie put it that way instead of saying, "You'll share my room." I wish I had my own room," thought Francie with a flare of jealousy. "But it's right, I guess that Neeley have it. There are only two bedrooms and he couldn't sleep with mama." Knowing Francie's thought, Katie said, "And when it gets warm again, Francie can have the front room. We'll put her cot in there and put a nice cover on it in the daytime and it will be like a private sitting room. All right, Francie?" "All right, Mama." After awhile, mama said: "We forgot the reading the last few nights but now we'll start again." "So things will go on just the same," thought Francie, a little surprised, as she took the Bible from the mantelpiece. "Being," said mama, "that we lost Christmas this year, let's skip the part we're supposed to read and go to the birth of the Baby Jesus. We'll take turns reading. You start, Francie." Francie read. ... and so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her first- born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in the manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Katie sighed sharply. Francie stopped reading and looked up inquiringly. "It's nothing," said mama. "Go on reading." "No, it's nothing," Katie thought. "It's the time when I should feel life." Again the unborn child trembled faintly within her. "Was it because he knew of this coming child," she wondered silently, "that he stopped drinking at the last?" She had whispered to him that they were to have another child. Had he tried to be different when he knew? And knowing, did he die in the trying to be a better man? "Johnny ... Johnny …" She sighed again. And they read, each in turn, of the birth of Jesus, and reading, they thought of Johnny dying. But each kept his thoughts. When the children were ready to go to bed, Katie did something very unusual. It was unusual because she was not a demonstrative woman. She held the children close to her and kissed them good night. "From now on," she said, "I am your mother and your father:" XXXVIII JUST before Christmas vacation ended, Francie told mama that she wasn't going back to school. "Don't you like school?" Mama asked. "Yes, I do. But I'm fourteen now and I can get my working papers easy." "Why do you want to go to work?" "To help out." "No, Francie. I want you to go back to school and graduate. It's only a few more months. June will be here before you know it. You can get your working papers for this summer. Maybe Neeley, too. But you're both going to high school in the fall. So forget working papers and go back to school." "But, Mama, how'll we get along till summer?" "We'll manage." Katie was not as confident as she sounded. She missed Johnny in more ways than one. Johnny had never worked steadily but there had been the unexpected Saturday or Sunday night job with the three dollars it brought in. Then, too, when things got too terrible, Johnny had had a way of pulling himself together for a little while to get them over the bad places. But now, there was no Johnny. Katie took stock. The rent was paid as long as she could keep those three tenements clean. There was a dollar and a half a week from Neeley's paper route. That would keep them in coal if they used a fire only at night. But wait! Twenty cents weekly insurance premium had to come out of that. (Katie was insured for a dime a week and each of the children for a nickel.) Well, a bit less coal and a little earlier to bed would take care of that. Clothes? Not to be thought of. Lucky Francie had those new shoes and Neeley the suit. The big question, then, was food. Maybe Mrs. McGarrity would let her do the washing again. That would be a dollar a week. Then she'd get a few outside cleaning jobs. Yes, they'd get along somehow. They got through to the end of March. By that time Katie was unwieldy. (The baby was due in May.) The ladies for whom she worked winced and looked away as they saw her, big with child, standing at the ironing board in their kitchens; or saw her in an awkward sprawling position on her hands and knees scrubbing their floors. They had to help her out of pity. Soon they realized that they were paying a cleaning woman and doing most of the work themselves anyhow. So, one after another, they told her they didn't need her any more. A day came when Katie didn't have the twenty cents for the insurance collector. He was an old friend of the Rommelys and knew Katie's circumstances. "I'd hate to see your policies lapse, Mrs. Nolan. Especially after you kept them up all these years." "You wouldn't lapse me just because I got behind a little in my payments?" "I wouldn't. But the company would. Look! Why don't you cash in the children's policies?" "I didn't know you could do that." "Few people know. They stop paying premiums and the company keeps mum. Time passes and the company just keeps the money already paid in. I'd lose my job if they knew I told you about this. But here's how I look at it: I insured your father and mother and all you Rommely girls and your husbands and children, and, I don't know, but I carried so many messages back and forth among you about birth and sickness and death that I feel like part of the family." "We couldn't do without you," said Katie. "Here's what you do, Mrs. Nolan. Cash in your children's policies but keep your own. If anything happens to one of the children, God forbid, you could manage to get them buried. Whereas if something happened to you, also God forbid, they couldn't get you buried without insurance money, now could they?" "No, they couldn't. I must keep my own policy up. I wouldn't want to be buried as a pauper in Potter's Field. That's something they could never rise above; neither they, nor their children, nor their children's children. So I'll keep my policy and take your advice about the children's. Tell me what I have to do." The twenty-five dollars that Katie got for the two policies got them through until the end of April. In five more weeks the child would be born. In eight more weeks, Francie and Neeley would graduate from grade school. There were those eight weeks to be gotten through somehow. The three Rommely sisters sat around Katie's kitchen table in conference. "I'd help if I could," said Evy. "But you know Will's not been right since that horse kicked him. He's fresh to the boss and doesn't get along with the men and it's gotten so that not a horse will go out with him. They put him on stable work, sweeping out manure and dumping broken bottles. They cut him to eighteen a week and that doesn't go far with three children. I'm looking for odd cleaning jobs myself." "If I could think of some way," began Sissy. "No," said Katie firmly. "You're doing enough by taking Mother to live with you." That's right," said Evy. "Kate and I used to worry so about her living alone in one room and going out cleaning to make a few pennies." "Mothers no expense and no trouble," said Sissy. "And my John don't mind having her around. Of course, he only earns twenty a week. And now there's the baby. I wanted to get my old job back but Mother's too old to take care of baby and the house. She's eighty-three now. I could work but I'd have to hire somebody to look after Mother and the baby. If I had a job, I could help you out, Katie." "You just can't do it, Sissy. There's no way," said Katie. "There's only one thing to do," said Evy. "Take Francie out of school and let her get working papers." "But I want her to graduate. My children will be the first ones in the Nolan family to get diplomas." "You can't eat a diploma," said Evy. "Haven't you any men friends who could help you?" asked Sissy. "You're a very pretty woman, you know." "Or will be when she gets her shape back again," put in Evy. Katie thought briefly of Sergeant McShane. "No," she said. "I have no men friends. There's always been Johnny and no one else." "I guess Evy's right then," decided Sissy. "I hate to say it, but you've got to put Francie to work." "Once she leaves grammar school without graduating, she'll never be, able to get into high school," protested Katie. "Well," sighed Evy, "there's always the Catholic Charities." "When the time comes," said Katie quietly, "that we have to take charity baskets, I'll plug up the doors and windows and wait until the children are sound asleep and then turn on every gas jet in the house." "Don't talk like that," said Evy sharply. "You want to live, don't you?" "Yes. But I want to live for something. I don't want to live to get charity food to give me enough strength to go back to get more charity food." "Then it comes back to this again," said Evy. "Francie's got to get out and work. It's got to be Francie because Neeley is only thirteen and they won't give him his working papers." Sissy put her hand on Katie's arm. "It won't be so terrible. Francie's smart and reads a lot and that girl will get herself educated somehow." Evy stood up. "Look! We've got to go." She put a fifty-cent piece on the table. Anticipating Katie's refusal, she spoke belligerently. "And don't think that's a present. I expect to be paid back someday." Katie smiled. "You needn't holler so. I don't mind taking money from my sister." Sissy took a short cut. As she leaned over to kiss Katie's cheek in goodbye, she slipped a dollar bill in her apron pocket. "If you need me," she said, "send for me and I'll come, even if it's in the middle of the night. But send Neeley. It's not safe for a girl to walk through those dark streets past the coal yards." Katie sat alone at the kitchen table far into the night. "I need two months ... just two months," she thought. "Dear God, give me two months. It's such a little time. By that time, my baby will be born and I'll be well again. By that time, the children will be graduated from public school. When I'm boss of my own mind and my own body, I don't need to ask You for anything. But now my body is boss over me and I've got to ask You for help. Just two months ... two months ..." She waited for that warm glow that meant that she had established communication with her God. There was no glow. She tried again. "Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, you know how it is. You had a child. Holy Mary ..." She waited. There was nothing. She placed Sissy's dollar and Evy's fifty-cent piece on the table. "That will get us through three more days," she thought. "After that ... ?" Not aware of what she did, she whispered; "Johnny, wherever you are, pull yourself together just one more time. One more time. She waited again and this time the glow came. And it so happened that Johnny helped them. McGarrity, the saloon keeper, couldn't get Johnny out of his mind. Not that McGarrity's conscience bothered him; no, nothing like that. He didn't force men to come into his saloon. Aside from keeping the door hinges so well oiled that the slightest touch made them swing open easily, he offered no more inducements than other saloon keepers. His free lunch was no better than theirs and there was no beguiling entertainment other than that spontaneously contributed by his customers. No, it wasn't his conscience. He missed Johnny. That was it. And it wasn't the money, either, because Johnny always owed him. He had liked having Johnny around because he gave class to the place. It was something, all right, to see that slender young fellow standing debonairly at the bar among the truck drivers and ditch diggers. "Sure," admitted McGarrity, "Johnny Nolan drank more than was good for him. But if he didn't get it here, he would have got it somewhere else. But he wasn't a rummy. He never got to cursing or brawling after he had a few drinks. Yes," decided McGarrity, "Johnny had been all right." The thing that McGarrity missed was Johnny talking. "How that fellow could talk," he thought. "Why he'd tell me about those cotton fields down south or about the shores of Araby or sunny France just like he'd been there instead of getting the information out of those songs he knew. I sure liked to hear him talk about those far- off places," he mused. "But best of all, I liked to hear him talk about his family." McGarrity used to have a dream about a family. This dream family lived far away from the saloon; so far that he had to hop a trolley to get home in the early morning after he locked up the saloon. The gentle wife of his dreams waited up for him and had hot coffee and something nice to eat ready. After eating, they'd talk ... talk about other things than the saloon. He had dream children-clean, pretty, smart children who were growing up sort of ashamed that their father ran a saloon. He was proud of their shame because it meant that he had the ability of begetting refined children. Well, that had been his dream of marriage. Then he had married Mae. She had been a curvy, sensuous girl with dark red hair and a wide mouth. But after a while of marriage, she turned into a stout blowsy woman, known in Brooklyn as "the saloon type." Married life had been fine for a year or two, then McGarrity woke up one morning and found that it was no good. Mae wouldn't change into his dream wife. She liked the saloon. She insisted that they rent rooms above it. She didn't want a house in Flushing; she didn't want to do housework. She liked to sit in the saloon's back room day and night and laugh and drink with the customers. And the children that Mae gave him ran the streets like hoodlums and bragged about their father owning a saloon. To his grievous disappointment, they were proud of it. He knew that Mae was unfaithful to him. He didn't care so long as it didn't get around to the extent that men laughed at him behind his back. Jealousy had left him years ago when physical desire for Mae left him. He gradually grew indifferent about sleeping with her or with any other woman. Somehow, good talking had gotten tied up with good sex in his mind. He wanted a woman to talk to, one to whom he could tell all his thoughts; and he wanted her to talk to him, warmly, wisely and intimately. If he could find such a woman, he thought, his manhood would come back to him. In his dumb fumbling way, he wanted union of mind and soul along with union of body. As the years passed, the need of talking intimately with a woman who was close to him became an obsession. In his business, he observed human nature and came to certain conclusions about it. The conclusions lacked wisdom and originality; in fact, they were tiresome. But they were important to McGarrity because he had figured them out for himself. In the first years of their marriage, he had tried to tell Mae about these conclusions, but all she said was, "I can imagine." Sometimes she varied by saying, "I can just imagine." Gradually then, because he could not share his inner self with her, he lost the power of being a husband to her and she was unfaithful to him. McGarrity was a man with a great sin on his soul. He hated his children. His daughter, Irene, was Francie's age. Irene was a pink eyed girl and her hair was of such a pale red that it, too, could be called pink. She was mean and stupid. She had been left back so many times that at fourteen she was still in the sixth grade. His son, Jim, ten years old, had no outstanding characteristic excepting that his buttocks were always too fat for his breeches. McGarrity had another dream; it was that Mae would come to him and confess that the children were not his. This dream made him happy. He felt that he could love those children if he knew they were another man's. Then he could see their meanness and their stupidity objectively; then he could pity them and help them. As long as he knew they were his, he hated them because he saw all of his own and Mae's worst traits in them. In the eight years that Johnny had been patronizing McGarrity's saloon, he had spoken daily to McGarrity in praise of Katie and the children. McGarrity played a secret game during those eight years. He pretended that he was Johnny and that he, McGarrity, was talking so about Mae and his children. "Want to show you something," Johnny said once, proudly, as he pulled a paper from his pocket. "My little girl wrote this composition in school and got 'A' on it and she's only ten years old. Listen. I'll read it to you." As Johnny read, McGarrity pretended that it was his little girl who had written the story. Another day, Johnny brought in a pair of crudely-made wood book ends and placed them on the bar with a flourish. "Want to show you something," he said proudly. "My boy, Neeley, made these in school." My boy, Jimmy, made these in school," said McGarrity proudly to himself as he examined the book ends. Another time, to start him talking, McGarrity had asked, "Think we'll get in the war, Johnny?" "Funny thing," Johnny had answered. "Katie and I sat up till near morning talking about that very thing. I convinced her finally that Wilson will keep us out of it." How would it be, McGarrity thought, if he and Mae sat up all, night to talk about that, and how would it be if she said, "You're right, Jim." But he didn't know how it would be because he knew that could never happen. So when Johnny died, McGarrity lost his dreams. He tried to play the game by himself but it didn't work out. He need someone like Johnny to start him off. About the time that the three sisters sat in Katie's kitchen talking, McGarrity got an idea. He had more money than he knew how to spend, and nothing else. Maybe through Johnny's children he could buy the way of dreaming again. He suspected that Katie was hard up. Maybe he could scare up a little easy work for Johnny's kids to do after school. He'd be helping them out ... God knows he could afford it, and maybe he'd get something in return. Maybe they would talk to him the way they must have talked to their father. He told Mae he was going up to see Katie about some work for the children. Mae told him, cheerfully enough, that he'd be thrown out on his ear. McGarrity didn't think he'd be thrown out on his ear. As he shaved for the visit, he recalled the day that Katie had come in to thank him for the wreath. After Johnny's funeral, Katie went around thanking each person who had sent flowers. She had walked straight through McGarrity's front door disdaining the deviousness of the side door marked "Ladies' Entrance." Ignoring the staring men hanging on the bar, she had come straight to where McGarrity was. Seeing her, he had tucked up one bottom end of his apron into the belt, signifying that he was off duty for the moment and had come from behind the bar to meet her. "I came to thank you for the wreath," she said. "Oh that," he said, relieved. He thought she had come to bawl him out. "It was thoughtful of you." "I liked Johnny." "I know." She put her hand out. He looked at it dumbly for a moment before he got the idea that she wanted to shake him by the hand. As he wrung her hand, he asked, "No hard feelings?" "Why?" she answered. "Johnny was free, white and over twenty-one." She had turned then and walked out of the saloon. No, decided McGarrity, such a woman wouldn't throw him out on his ear if he came with well-meant intentions. He sat ill at ease on one of the kitchen chairs talking to Katie. The children were supposed to be doing their homework. But Francie, head bent deceptively over her book, was listening to Mr. McGarrity. "I talked it over with my Missus," dreamed McGarrity, "and she agreed with me that we could use your girl. No hard work, you understand, just making the beds and washing a few dishes. I could use the boy downstairs, peeling eggs and cutting cheese into hunks, you know, for the free lunch at night. He wouldn't be anywhere near the bar. He'd work in the back kitchen. It would be for an hour or so after school and half a day on Saturday. I'd pay each two dollars a week." Katie's heart jumped. "Four dollars a week," she figured to herself "and the dollar and a half from the paper route. Both of them could stay in school. There'd be enough to eat. It would get us through." "What do you say, Mrs. Nolan?" he asked. "It's up to the children," she answered. "Well?" He threw his voice in their direction. "What do you say?" Francie pretended to tear herself away from her book. "What did you say?" "Would you like to help Mrs. McGarrity around the house?" "Yes, sir," said Francie. "And you?" He looked at Neeley. "Yes, sir," echoed the boy. "That's settled." He turned to Katie. "Of course it's only temporary until we can get a regular woman to take over the house and kitchen work." "I'd rather it was temporary, anyhow," said Katie. "You might be a little short." He worked his hand down into his pocket. "So I'll pay the first week's salary in advance." "No, Mr. McGarrity. If they earn the money, they'll have the privilege of collecting it and bringing it home themselves at the end of the week." "All right." But instead of taking his hand from his pocket, he closed it over the thick roll of bills. He thought, "I've got so much money that buys me nothing. And they haven't got anything." He had an idea. "Mrs. Nolan, you know how Johnny and I done business. I gave him credit and he turned his tips over to me. Well, when he died, he was a little ahead." He took out the thick roll of bills. Francie's eyes popped when she saw all that money. McGarrity's idea was to say that Johnny was twelve dollars ahead and to give Katie that sum. He looked at Katie as he took the rubber band off the money. Her eyes narrowed and he changed his mind about the twelve dollars. He knew she'd never believe it. "Of course, it isn't much," he said casually. "Just two dollars. But I figure it belongs to you." He detached two bills and held them out to her. Katie shook her head. "I know there is no money owing us. If you told the truth, you'd say that Johnny owed you." Ashamed at being caught, McGarrity put the thick roll back in his pocket where it felt uncomfortable against his thigh. But, Mr. McGarrity, I do thank you for your kind intentions," Katie said. Her last few words released McGarrity's tongue. He started to talk; he spoke of his boyhood in Ireland, of his mother and father and the many brothers and sisters. He spoke of his dream marriage. He told her everything that had been in his thought for years. He didn't run down his wife and children. He left them out of his story entirely. He told about Johnny; how Johnny had spoken daily of his wife and children. "Take those curtains," McGarrity said, waving a thick hand at the half curtains made of yellow calico with a red rose design. "Johnny told me how you ripped up an old dress of yours and made kitchen curtains out of it. He said it made the kitchen look fine, like the inside of a Gypsy wagon." Francie, who had abandoned the pretense of study, picked up McGarrity's last two words. "Gypsy wagon," she thought, looking at the curtains with new eyes. "So papa had said that. I didn't think he noticed the new curtains at the time. At least he didn't say anything. But he had noticed. He had said that nice thing about them to this man." Hearing Johnny spoken of so made Francie almost believe that he wasn't dead. "So papa had said things like that to this man." She stared at McGarrity with new interest. He was a short stocky man with thick hands, a short red neck and thinning hair. "Who'd ever guess," thought Francie, "looking at the outside of him, that he was so different inside?" McGarrity talked for two hours without stopping. Katie listened intently. She was not listening to McGarrity talking. She was listening to McGarrity talking about Johnny. When he stopped for a second, she gave him little transitional replies, such as "Yes?" or "Then what?" or "And then ... ?" When he fumbled for a word, she offered him one which he accepted gratefully. And as he talked, a remarkable thing happened. He felt his lost manhood stirring within him. It wasn't the physical fact of Katie in the room with him. Her body was swollen and distorted and he couldn't look at her without wincing inwardly. It wasn't the woman. It was the talking to her that was doing it. It grew dark in the room. McGarrity stopped talking. He was hoarse and tired. But it was a new peaceful kind of tiredness. He thought, reluctantly, that he had to get back. The saloon would be filling up with men on their way home from work, stopping in for a pre- supper drink. He didn't like Mae behind the bar when a crowd of men were there. He got to his feet slowly. "Mrs. Nolan," he said fumbling with his brown derby, "could I come up here once in awhile to talk?" She shook her head slowly. "Just to talk?" he repeated pleadingly. "No, Mr. McGarrity," she said as gently as she could; He sighed and went away. Francie was glad to be so busy. It kept her from missing papa too much. She and Neeley got up at six in the morning and helped mama with the cleaning for two hours before they got ready for school. Mama couldn't work hard now. Francie polished the brass bell plates in the three vestibules and cleaned each banister spoke with an oiled cloth. Neeley swept out the cellars and swept down the carpeted stairs. Both of them got the filled ash cans up on the curb each day. It had been a problem because the two of them together couldn't so much as budge the heavy cans. Francie got the idea of tipping over the cans, dumping the ashes on the cellar floor, carrying the empty cans up to the curb and then refilling them with coal buckets. It worked fine, even if it meant a lot of trips up and down the cellar. That left only the linoleum-laid halls for mama to scrub. Three of the tenants offered to scrub their own hallways until after Katie had had her baby and that helped a whole lot. After school, the children had to go to church for "instruction" since both were being confirmed that spring. After instruction, they worked for McGarrity. As he had promised, the work was easy. Francie made up four tumbled beds and washed a few breakfast dishes and swept the rooms. It took less than an hour. Neeley had the same schedule as Francie, except that his paper route was added on. Sometimes he didn't get home for supper until eight o'clock. He worked in the kitchen back of McGarrity's saloon. His job was to take the shells off four dozen hard-boiled eggs, cut hard cheese into inch cubes and stick a toothpick in each cube, and slice big pickles lengthwise. McGarrity waited a few days until the children got used to working for him. Then he decided it was time to have them talk to him the way Johnny had. He went into the kitchen, sat down, and watched Neeley working. "He's the spitting image of his father," thought McGarrity. He waited a long time letting the boy get used to him there, then he cleared his throat. "Make any wooden book ends lately?" he asked. "No ... no, sir," stammered Neeley, startled at the odd question. McGarrity waited. Why didn't the boy start talking? Neeley shelled eggs faster. McGarrity tried again. "Think Wilson will keep us out of the war?" "I don't know," said Neeley. McGarrity waited a long time. Neeley thought he was checking up on the way he worked. Anxious to please, the boy worked so fast that he was finished ahead of time. He placed the last shelled egg in the glass bowl and looked up. "Ah! Now he's going to talk to me," thought McGarrity. "Is that all you want done?" asked Neeley. "That's all." Still McGarrity waited. "I guess I'll go, then," ventured Neeley. "All right, son," sighed McGarrity. He watched the boy walk out of the back door. "If he'd only turn around and say something ... something ... personal," thought McGarrity. But Neeley didn't turn around. McGarrity tried Francie the next day. He came upstairs to the flat, sat down and said nothing. Francie got a little frightened and started sweeping towards the door. "If he comes at me," she thought, "I can run out." McGarrity sat quiet for a long time, thinking he was getting her used to him. He didn't know he was frightening her. "Write any grade A, number one compositions lately?" he asked. "No, sir." He waited awhile. "Do you think we'll get into this war?" "I ... I don't know." She edged closer to the door. He thought, "I'm scaring her. She thinks I'm like that fellow in the hallway." Aloud he said, "Don't be afraid, I'm going. You can lock the door after me, if you want." "Yes, sir," she said. After he had gone, Francie thought: "I guess he only wanted to talk. But I have nothing to say to him." Mae McGarrity came up once. Francie was on her knees trying to poke out some dirt from behind the water pipes under the sink. Mae told her to get up and forget it. "Lord love you, child," she said. "Don't be killing yourself working. This flat will be standing here long after you and I are dead and gone." She took a mound of rosy jello out of the icebox, cut it in half and slid a portion on another plate. She garnished it liberally with whipped cream, plunked two spoons on the table, sat down and indicated that Francie do the same. "I'm not hungry," lied Francie. "Eat anyhow, to be sociable," Mae said. It was the first time Francie had ever eaten jello and whipped cream. It was so good, she had to remember her manners and not gobble it down. As she ate, she thought, "Why Mrs. McGarrity's all right. Mr. McGarrity's all right, too. Only I guess they aren't all right to each other." Mae and Jim McGarrity sat alone at a little round table in back of the saloon eating their usual hurried and silent supper. Unexpectedly, she placed her hand on his arm. He trembled at the unexpected touch. His small light eyes looked into her large mahogany-colored ones and saw pity in them. "It won't work out, Jim," she said gently. Excitement churned up in him. "She knows!" he thought. "Why ... why ... she understands." "There's an old saying," Mae continued. "Money won't buy everything." "I know," he said. "I'll let them go, then." "Wait until a couple of weeks after her kid is born. Give them a show." She got up and walked out to the bar. McGarrity sat there, torn apart by his feelings. "We held a conversation," he thought in wonder. "No names were mentioned and nothing was said exactly, in the words. But she knew what I was thinking and I knew what she was thinking." He hurried after his wife. He wanted to hold on to that understanding. He saw Mae standing at the end of the bar. A husky teamster had his arm around her waist and was whispering something in her ear. She had her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter. As McGarrity came in, the teamster removed his arm sheepishly and moved down to stand with a group of men. As McGarrity went behind the bar, he looked into his wife's eyes. They were blank and had no understanding in them. McGarrity's face fell into the old lines of grievous disappointment as he started his evening's work. Mary Rommely was getting old. She was no longer able to go about Brooklyn alone. She had a longing to see Katie before her confinement, so she gave the insurance collector a message. "When a woman gives birth," she told him, "death holds her hand for a little while. Sometimes he doesn't let go. Tell my youngest daughter that I would see her once more before her time comes." The collector gave the message. The following Sunday, Katie went over to see her mother, taking Francie with her. Neeley begged off, saying he had promised to pitch for the Ten Eycks who were trying to get up a ball game in the lots. Sissy's kitchen was big and warm and sunny and spotlessly clean. Granma Mary Rommely was sitting by the stove in a low rocker. It was the only piece of furniture she had brought from Austria and it had stood by the hearth in her family's hut for more than a hundred years. Sissy's husband sat by the window, holding the baby while he gave it its bottle. After Mary and Sissy had been greeted, Francie and Katie greeted him. "Hello, John," said Katie. "Hello, Kate," he answered. "Hello, Uncle John." "Hello, Francie." He never said another word during the entire visit. Francie stared at him, wondering about him. The family regarded him as temporary, as they had regarded Sissy's other husbands and lovers. Francie wondered whether he, himself, felt temporary. His real name was Steve but Sissy always referred to him as "my John" and when the family spoke of him, they called him "The John" or "Sissy's John." Francie wondered whether the men in the publishing house where he worked called him John, too. Did he ever protest? Did he ever say, "Look here, Sissy. My name is Steve and not John. And tell your sisters to call me Steve, too." "Sissy, you're getting stouter," mama was saying. "It's natural for a woman to put on a little weight after she's had a baby," said Sissy with a straight face. She smiled at Francie. "Would you like to hold the baby, Francie?" "Oh, yes!" Without a word, Sissy's tall husband got up, gave over the baby and its bottle to Francie, and still without a word, walked out of the room. No one commented on his going. Francie sat in his vacated chair. She had never held a baby in her arms before. She touched the baby's soft round cheek with her fingers as she had seen Joanna do. A thrill started at her finger tips, went up her arm, and through her entire body. "When I get big," she decided, "I'll always have a new baby in the house." While she held the baby, she listened to mama and granma talking and watched Sissy making up a month's supply of noodles. Sissy took a ball of stiff yellow dough, rolled it flat with the rolling pin, then rolled the flat dough up like a jelly roll. With a sharp knife, she cut the roll into paper-thin strips, unwound the strips and hung them on a rack made of slender dowel sticks, which stood before the kitchen stove. This was to dry out the noodles. Francie felt that there was something different about Sissy. She wasn't the old Aunt Sissy. It wasn't that she was a bit less slender than usual; the being different was something that did not have to do with the way she looked. Francie puzzled over it. Mary Rommely wanted to hear every word of news and Katie told her everything, starting from the end and working back. First she told of the children working for McGarrity's, and how the money they brought in was keeping them. Then she went back to the day McGarrity had sat in her kitchen and talked about Johnny. She ended up with saying: "I tell you, Mother, if McGarrity hadn't come along when he did, I don't know what would have happened. I was so low, that just a few nights before that, I had prayed to Johnny to help me. That was foolish. I know." "Not foolish," said Mary. "He heard you and he helped you." "A ghost can't help anyone, Mother," said Sissy. "Ghosts are not always those who pass through closed doors," said Mary Rommely. "Katie has told how her husband used to talk to this saloon man. In all those years of the talking, Yohnny gave away pieces of himself to this man. When Katie called on her man for help, the pieces of him came together in this man, and it was Yohnny within the saloon man's soul that heard and came to her help." Francie turned it over in her mind. "If that is so," she thought, "then Mr. McGarrity gave us back all those pieces of papa when he talked so long about him. There is nothing of papa in him now. Maybe that's why we can't talk to him the way he wants us to." When it was time to leave, Sissy gave Katie a shoebox full of noodles to take home. As Francie kissed her grandmother in goodbye, Mary Rommely held her close and whispered in her own language: "In the month to come, give unto thy mother more than obedience and respect. She will have great need of love and understanding." Francie didn't understand a word of what her grandmother had said, but she answered, "Yes, Granma." Going home in the trolley, Francie held the shoebox in her lap because mama had no lap now. Francie thought deep thoughts during the ride. "If what granma Mary Rommely said is true, then it must be that no one ever dies, really. Papa is gone, but he's still here in many ways. He's here in Neeley who looks just like him and in mama who knew him so long. He's here in his mother who began him and who is still living. Maybe I will have a boy some day who looks like papa and has all of papa's good without the drinking. And that boy will have a boy. And that boy will have a boy. It might be there is no real death." Her thoughts went to McGarrity. "No one would ever believe there was any part of papa in him." She thought of Mrs. McGarrity and how she had made it easy for her to sit down and eat that jello. Something clicked in Francie's mind! She knew all of a sudden what was different about Sissy. She spoke to her mother. "Aunt Sissy doesn't use that strong sweet perfume any more, does she, Mama?" "No. She doesn't have to, any more." "Why?" "She's got her baby now and a man to look after her and the baby." Francie wanted to ask more questions but mama had her eyes closed and was leaning her head back against the seat. She looked white and tired and Francie decided not to bother her any more. She'd have to figure it out for herself. "It must be," she thought, "that this using strong perfume is tied up somehow with a woman wanting a baby and wanting to find a man who can give her a baby and look after it and her too." She put that nugget of knowledge away with all the others that she was continually collecting. Francie was beginning to get a headache. She didn't know whether it was caused by the excitement of holding the baby, the bouncing trolley car, the idea of papa or the discovery about Sissy's perfume. Maybe it was because she was getting up so early in the mornings now, and being so busy all day. Maybe it was because it was the time in the month when she could look for a headache anyhow. "Well," Francie decided, "I guess the thing that is giving me this headache is life-and nothing else but." "Don't be silly," said mama quietly, still leaning back with her eyes closed. "Aunt Sissy's kitchen was too hot. I have a headache, myself." Francie jumped. Was it getting so that mama could look right into her mind, even with her eyes closed? Then she remembered that she had forgotten she was thinking and had said that last thought about life out loud. She laughed for the first time since papa had died and mama opened her eyes and smiled. XXXIX FRANCIE and Neeley were confirmed in May. Francie was almost fourteen and a half years old and Neeley was just a year younger. Sissy, who was an expert seamstress, made Francie's simple white muslin dress. Katie managed to buy her white kid slippers and a pair of long white silk stockings. They were Francie's first silk stockings. Neeley wore the black suit he got for his father's funeral. There was a legend in the neighborhood that any three wishes made on that day, would come true. One had to be an impossible wish, another a wish that you could make come true yourself, and the third had to be a wish for when you grew up. Francie's impossible wish was that her straight brown hair change into golden curly hair like Neeley's. Her second wish was that she'd have a nice speaking voice like mama and Evy and Sissy, and her third wish, for when she was grown up, was that she'd travel all over the world. Neeley wished, one: that he'd become very wealthy; two, that he'd get better marks on his report card; and, three: that he wouldn't drink like papa when he grew up. There was an iron- bound convention in Brooklyn that children must have their picture taken by a regular photographer when they were confirmed. Katie couldn't afford to have pictures made. She had to be content with letting Flossie Gaddis, who had a box camera, take a snapshot. Floss posed them on the edge of the sidewalk and snapped the picture, unaware that a trolley lumbered by at the instant of exposure. She had the snapshot enlarged and framed and presented it to Francie as a Confirmation Day present. Sissy was there when the picture arrived. Katie held it and they all examined it over her shoulder. Francie had never been photographed before. For the first time, she saw herself as others saw her. She was standing stiff and straight on the edge of the curb, her back to the gutter and her dress blowing sidewise in the wind. Neeley stood close to her, was a head taller, and looked very wealthy and handsome in his freshly pressed black suit. The sun had slanted over the roofs in such a way that Neeley was in the sun and his face was clear and bright, while Francie looked dark and angry in the shadow. Behind both, was the blurred trolley going by. Sissy said, "I bet that's the only confirmation picture in the world with a trolley car in it." "It's a good picture," said Katie. "They look more natural standing on the street than in front of the picture- man's cardboard church window." She hung it up over the mantelpiece. "What name did you take, Neeley?" Sissy asked. "Papa's. Now, I'm Cornelius John Nolan." "That's a good name for a surgeon," commented Katie. "I took mama's name," said Francie importantly. "Now my full name is Mary Frances Katherine Nolan." Francie waited. Mama did not say that was a good name for a writer. "Katie, have you any pictures of Johnny?" Sissy asked. "No. Just the one of both of us taken on our wedding day. Why?" "Nothing. Only time passes so, doesn't it?" "Yes," sighed Katie. "That's one of the few things we can be sure of." Confirmation was over and Francie didn't have to go to instruction any more. She had an extra hour daily which she was devoting to the novel she was writing to prove to Miss Garnder, the new English teacher, that she did know about beauty. Since her father's death, Francie had stopped writing about birds and trees and My Impressions. Because she missed him so, she had taken to writing little stories about him. She tried to show that, in spite of his shortcomings, he had been a good father and a kindly man. She had written three such stories which were marked "C" instead of the usual "A." The fourth came back with a line telling her to remain after school. All the children had gone home. Miss Garnder and Francie were alone in the room with the big dictionary in it. Francie's last four compositions lay on Miss Garnder's desk. "What's happened to your writing, Frances?" asked Miss Garnder. "I don't know." "You were one of my best pupils. You wrote so prettily. I enjoyed your compositions. But these last ones ..." she flicked at them contemptuously. "I looked up the spelling and took pains with my penmanship and ..." "I'm referring to your subject matter." "You said we could choose our own subjects." "But poverty, starvation and drunkenness are ugly subjects to choose. We all admit these things exist. But one doesn't write about them." "What does one write about?" Unconsciously, Francie picked up the teacher's phraseology. "One delves into the imagination and finds beauty there. The writer, like the artist, must strive for beauty always." "What is beauty?" asked the child. "I can think of no better definition than Keats': 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty.' " Francie took her courage into her two hands and said, "Those stories are the truth." "Nonsense!" exploded Miss Garnder. Then, softening her tone, she continued: "By truth, we mean things like the stars always being there and the sun always rising and the true nobility of man and mother- love and love for one's country," she ended anti- climatically. "I see," said Francie. As Miss Garnder continued talking, Francie answered her bitterly in her mind. "Drunkenness is neither truth nor beauty. It's a vice. Drunkards belong in jail, not in stories. And poverty. There is no excuse for that. There's work enough for all who want it. People are poor because they're too lazy to work. There's nothing beautiful about laziness. (Imagine mama lazy!) "Hunger is not beautiful. It is also unnecessary. We have well-organized charities. No one need go hungry." Francie ground her teeth. Her mother hated the word "charity" above any word in the language and she had brought up her children to hate it too. "Now I'm not a snob," stated Miss Garnder. "I do not come from a wealthy family. My father was a minister with a very small salary." (But it was a salary, Miss Garnder.) "And the only help my mother had was a succession of untrained maids, mostly girls from the country." (I see. You were poor, Miss Garnder, poor with a maid.) "Many times we were without a maid and my mother had to do all the housework herself." (And my mother, Miss Garnder, has to do all her own housework, and yes, ten times more cleaning than that.) "I wanted to go to the state university but we couldn't afford it. My father had to send me to a small denominational college." (But admit you had no trouble going to college.) "And believe me, you're poor when you go to such a college. I know what hunger is, too. Time and time again my father's salary was held up and there was no money for food. Once we had to live on tea and toast for three days." (So you know what it is to be hungry, too.) "But I'd be a dull person if I wrote about nothing but being poor and hungry, wouldn't I?" Francie didn't answer. "Wouldn't I?" repeated Miss Garnder emphatically. "Yes ma'am." "Now your play for graduation." She took a thin manuscript from her desk drawer. "Some parts are very good indeed; other parts, you've gone off. For instance," she turned a page, "here Fate says: 'And Youth, what is thy ambition?' And the boy answers: 'I would be a healer. I would take the broken bodies of men and mend them.' Now that's a beautiful idea, Frances. But you spoil it here. 'Fate: That's what thou would'st be. But see! This is what thou shalt be.' Light shines on old man soldering bottom of ash can. Old Man: 'Ah, once I thought to be a mender of men. Now I'm a mender of ..." Miss Garnder looked up suddenly. "You didn't by any chance mean that to be funny, did you, Frances?" "Oh, no, ma'am." "After our little talk you can see why we can't use your play for graduation." "I see." Francie's heart all but broke. "Now Beatrice Williams has a cute idea. A fairy waves a wand and girls and boys in costume come out and there's one for each holiday in the year and each one says a little poem about the holiday he represents. It's an excellent idea but unfortunately Beatrice cannot make rhymes. Wouldn't you like to take that idea and write the verses? Beatrice wouldn't mind. We can put a note on the program that the idea comes from her. That's fair enough, isn't it?" "Yes, ma'am. But I don't want to use her ideas. I want to use my own." That's commendable, of course. Well, I won't insist." She stood up. "I've taken all this time with you because I honestly believe that you have promise. Now that we've talked things out, I'm sure you'll stop writing those sordid little stories." Sordid. Francie turned the word over. It was not in her vocabulary. "What does that mean- sordid?" "What - did - I - tell - you - when - you - don't - know - a - word," sing- songed Miss Garnder drolly. "Oh! I forgot." Francie went to the big dictionary and looked up the word. Sordid: Filthy. Filthy? She thought of her father wearing a fresh dicky and collar every day of his life and shining his worn shoes as often as twice a day. Dirty. Papa had his own mug at the barber shop. Base. Francie passed that up not knowing exactly what it meant. Gross. Never! Papa was a dancer. He was slender and quick. His body wasn't gross. Also mean and low. She remembered a hundred and one little tendernesses and acts of thoughtfulness on the part of her father. She remembered how everyone had loved him so. Her face got hot. She couldn't see the next words because the page turned red under her eyes. She turned on Miss Garnder, her face twisted with fury. "Don't you ever dare use that word about us!" "Us?" asked Miss Garnder blankly. "We were talking about your compositions. Why, Frances!" Her voice was shocked. "I'm surprised! A well-behaved girl like you. What would your mother say if she knew you had been impertinent to your teacher?" Francie was frightened. Impertinence to a teacher was almost a reformatory offense in Brooklyn. "Please excuse me. Please excuse me," she repeated abjectly. "I didn't mean it." "I understand," said Miss Garnder gently. She put her arm around Francie and led her to the door. "Our little talk has made an impression on you, I see. Sordid is an ugly word and I'm glad you resented my using it. It shows that you understand. Probably you don't like me any more, but please believe that I spoke for your own good. Someday you'll remember what I said and you'll thank me for it." Francie wished adults would stop telling her that. Already the load of thanks in the future was weighing her down. She figured she'd have to spend the best years of her womanhood hunting up people to tell them that they were right and to thank them. Miss Garnder handed her the "sordid" compositions and the play, saying, "When you get home, burn these in the stove. Apply the match to them yourself. And as the flames rise, keep saying: 'I am burning ugliness. I am burning ugliness.' " Walking home from school, Francie tried to figure the whole thing out. She knew Miss Garnder wasn't mean. She had spoken for Francie's good. Only it didn't seem good to Francie. She began to understand that her life might seem revolting to some educated people. She wondered, when she got educated, whether she'd be ashamed of her background. Would she be ashamed of her people; ashamed of handsome papa who had been so lighthearted, kind and understanding; ashamed of brave and truthful mama who was so proud of her own mother, even though granma couldn't read or write; ashamed of Neeley who was such a good honest boy? No! No! If being educated would make her ashamed of what she was, then she wanted none of it. "But I'll show that Miss Garnder," she vowed. "I'll show her I've got an imagination. I certainly will show her." She started her novel that day. Its heroine was Sherry Nola, a girl conceived, born and brought up in sweltering luxury. The story was called THIS IS I and it was the untrue story of Francie's life. Francie had twenty pages written now. So far, it ran to minute descriptions of the lush furnishings of Sherry's house, rhapsodies over Sherry's exquisite clothes, and course by course accounts of fabulous meals consumed by the heroine. When it was finished, Francie planned to ask Sissy's John to take it over to his shop and get it published for her. Francie had a fine dream about how it would be when she presented her book to Miss Garnder. The scene was all worked out in her mind. She went over the dialogue. FRANCIE (As she gives book to Miss Garnder.) I believe you'll find nothing sordid in this. Please consider it as my term's work. I hope you won't mind its being published. (Miss Garnder's jaw drops open. Francie takes no notice.) It's a bit easier to read print, don't you think? (As Miss Garnder reads, Francie stares out window, unconcernedly.) MISS GARNDER (After reading.) Why Frances! This is wonderful! FRANCIE What? (With a start of remembrance.) Oh, the novel. I dashed it off at odd moments. It doesn't take long to write things of which you know nothing. When you write of actual things, it takes longer, because you have to live them first. Francie crossed that out. She wouldn't want Miss Garnder to suspect her feelings had been hurt. She rewrote it. FRANCIE What? (Recalling.) Oh! The novel. I'm glad you like it. MISS GARNDER (Timidly.) Frances, could ... could I ask you to autograph it for me? FRANCIE But of course. (Miss Garnder uncaps her fountain pen and presents it, pen-point end towards herself, to Francie. Francie writes: "Compliments of M. Frances K. Nolan.") MISS GARNDER (Examining autograph.) What a distinctive signature! FRANCIE It's merely my legal name. MISS GARNDER (Timidly.) Frances? FRANCIE Please feel as free to speak to me as in the old days. MISS GARNDER Could I ask you to write, "To my friend, Muriel Garnder" above your signature? FRANCIE (After a barely perceptible pause.) And why not? (With a twisted smile.) I've always written what you asked me to write. (Writes inscription.) MISS GARNDER (Low whisper.) Thank you. FRANCIE Miss Garnder ... not that it matters, now ... but would you grade this work ... just for old times' sake? (Miss Garnder takes red pencil. Writes large "A Plus" on book.) It was such a rosy dream that Francie started the next chapter in a fever of excitement. She'd write and write and get it done quickly so the dream could come true. She wrote: "Parker," Sherry Nola asked her personal maid, "what's cook giving us for dinner tonight?" "Breast of pheasant under glass, I believe, with hothouse asparagus and imported mushrooms and pineapple mousse, Miss Sherry." "It sounds horribly dull," observed Sherry. "Yes, Miss Sherry," agreed the maid respectfully. "You know, Parker, I'd like to indulge a whim of mine." "Your whims are the household's commands." "I'd like to see a lot of simple deserts and choose my dinner from among them. Please bring me a dozen charlotte russe, some strawberry shortcake and a quart of ice cream-make it chocolate, a dozen lady fingers and a box of French chocolates." "Very good, Miss Sherry." A drop of water fell on the page. Francie looked up. No, the roof wasn't leaking, it was merely her mouth watering. She was very, very hungry. She went to the stove and looked into the pot. It had a pale bone in it, surrounded by water. There was some bread in the bread box. It was a bit hard but better than nothing. She cut a slice and poured a cup of coffee and dipped the bread into the coffee to soften it. As she ate, she read what she had just written. She made an astonishing discovery. "Look here, Francie Nolan," she told herself, "in this story you're writing exactly the same thing you wrote in those stories Miss Garnder didn't like. Here, you're writing that you're very hungry. Only you're writing it in a twisted round-about silly way." Furious with the novel, she ripped the copy-book apart and stuffed it into the stove. When the flames began licking on it, her fury increased and she ran and got her box of manuscripts from under her bed. Carefully putting aside the four about her father, she crammed the rest of them into the stove. She was burning all her pretty "A" compositions. Sentences came out clearer for an instant before a sheet blackened and crumbled. A giant poplar, tall and high, serene and cool against the sky. Another: Softly the blue skies arch overhead. 'Tis a perfect October day. The end of another sentence ... hollyhocks like distilled sunsets and larkspur like concentrate of heaven. "I never saw a poplar and I read somewhere about the sky arching and I never saw those flowers except in a seed catalogue. And I got A's because I was a good liar." She poked the papers to make them burn faster. As they changed into ashes, she chanted, "I am burning ugliness. I am burning ugliness." As the last flame died away, she announced dramatically to the water boiler, "There goes my writing career." All of a sudden, she was frightened and lonely. She wanted her father, she wanted her father. He couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. In a little while, he'd come running up the stairs singing, "Molly Malone." She'd open the door and he'd say, "Hello, Prima Donna." And she'd say, "Papa, I had a terrible dream. I dreamed you were dead." Then she'd tell him what Miss Garnder had said and he'd find the words to convince her that everything was all right. She waited, listening. Maybe it was a dream. But no, no dream lasted that long. It was real. Papa was gone forever. She put her head down on the table and sobbed. "Mama doesn't love me the way she loves Neeley," she wept. "I tried and tried to make her love me. I sit close to her and go wherever she goes and do whatever she asks me to do. But I can't make her love me the way papa loved me." Then she saw her mother's face in the trolley car when mama sat with her head back and her eyes closed. She remembered how white and tired mama had looked. Mama did love her. Of course she did. Only she couldn't show it in the ways that papa could. And mama was good. Here, she expected the baby any minute and she was still out working. Supposing mama died when she had the baby? Francie's blood turned icy at the thought. What would Neeley and she do without mama? Where could they go? Evy and Sissy were too poor to take them. They'd have no place to live. They had no one in all the world but mama. Dear God," Francie prayed, "don't let mama die. I know that I told Neeley that I didn't believe in You. But I do! I do! I just said that. Don't punish mama. She didn't do anything bad. Don't take her away because I said I didn't believe in You. If You let her live, I'll give You my writing. I'll never write another story again if You'll only let her live. Holy Mary, ask your son, Jesus, to ask God not to let my mother die." But she felt that her prayer was of no use. God remembered that she had said that she didn't believe in Him and He'd punish her by taking mama as He had taken papa. She became hysterical with terror and thought of her mother as already dead. She rushed out of the flat to look for her. Katie wasn't cleaning in their house. She went into the second house and ran up the three flights of stairs, calling "Mama!" She wasn't in that house. Francie went into the third and last house. Mama wasn't on the first floor. Mama wasn't on the second floor. There was one floor left. If mama wasn't there, then she was dead. She screamed: "Mama! Mama!" "I'm up here," came Katie's quiet voice from the third floor. "Don't holler so." Francie was so relieved that she all but collapsed. She didn't want her mother to know she had been crying. She searched for her handkerchief. Not having it, she dried her eyes on her petticoat and walked up the last flight slowly. "Hello, Mama." "Has something happened to Neeley?" "No, Mama." (She always thinks of Neeley first.) "Well, hello then," said Katie smiling. Katie surmised that something had gone wrong in school to upset Francie. Well, if she wanted to tell her. ... "Do you like me, Mama?" "I'd be a funny person, wouldn't I, if I didn't like my children." "Do you think I'm as good-looking as Neeley?" She waited anxiously for mama's answer because she knew that mama never lied. Mama's answer was a long time in coming. "You have very pretty hands and nice long thick hair." "But do you think I'm as good-looking as Neeley?" persisted Francie, wanting her mother to lie. "Look, Francie, I know that you're getting at something in a roundabout way and I'm too tired to figure it out. Have a little patience until after the baby gets here. I like you and Neeley and I think you're both nice enough looking children. Now please try not to worry me." Francie was instantly contrite. Pity twisted her heart as she saw her mother, so soon to bear a child, sprawled awkwardly on her hands and knees. She knelt beside her mother. "Get up, Mama, and let me finish this hall. I have time." She plunged her hand into the pail of water. "No!" exclaimed Katie sharply. She took Francie's hand out of the water and dried it on her apron. "Don't put your hands in that water. It has soda and lye in it. Look what it's done to my hands." She held out her shapely but work-scarred hands. "I don't want your hands to get like that. I want you to have nice hands always. Besides, I'm almost finished." "If I can't help, can I sit on the stairs and watch?" "If you've nothing better to do." Francie sat watching her mother. It was so good to be there and know that mama, was alive and close by. Even the scrubbing made a safe, pleasant sound. Swish-a swish-a swish-a swish-a went the brush. Slup-a slup-a slup- slup went the rag wiping up. Klunk, flump went the brush and rag as mama dropped them into the pail. Skrunk, skrunk went the pail as mama pushed it to the next area. "Haven't you any girl friends to talk to, Francie?" "No. I hate women." "That's not natural. It would do you good to talk things over with girls your own age." "Have you any women friends, Mama?" "No, I hate women," said Katie. "See? You're just like me." "But I had a girl friend once and I got your father through her. So you see, a girl friend comes in handy sometimes." She spoke jokingly, but her scrub brush seemed to swish out, you-go- your-way, I'll-go-my-way. She fought back her tears. "Yes," she continued, "you need friends. You never talk to anybody but Neeley and me, and read your books and write your stories." "I've given up writing." Katie knew then that whatever was on Francie's mind had to do with her compositions. "Did you get a bad mark on a composition today?" "No," lied Francie, amazed as always by her mother's guess-work. She got up. "I guess it's time for me to go to McGarrity's now." "Wait!" Katie put her brush and scrub rag in the pail. "I'm finished for the day." She held out her hands. "Help me to get up." Francie grasped her mother's hands. Katie pulled heavily on them as she got to her feet clumsily. "Walk back home with me, Francie." Francie carried the pail. Katie put one hand on the banister and put her other arm around Francie's shoulder. She leaned heavily on the girl as she walked downstairs slowly, Francie keeping time with her mother's uncertain steps. "Francie, I expect the baby any day now and I'd feel better if you were never very far away from me. Stay close to me. And when I'm working, come looking for me from time to time to see that I'm all right. I can't tell you how much I'm counting on you. I can't count on Neeley because a boy's no use at a time like this. I need you badly now and I feel safer when I know you're nearby. So stay close to me for awhile." A great tenderness for her mother came into Francie's heart. "I won't ever go away from you, Mama," she said. "That's my good girl." Katie pressed her shoulder. "Maybe," thought Francie, "she doesn't love me as much as she loves Neeley. But she needs me more than she needs him and I guess being needed is almost as good as being loved. Maybe better." XL TWO days, Francie came home for lunch and did not return to school in the afternoon. Mama was in bed. After Neeley was told to go back to school, Francie wanted to get Sissy or Evy but mama said it wasn't time, yet. Francie felt important being in sole charge. She cleaned the flat and looked over the food in the house and planned their supper. Every ten minutes, she plumped up her mother's pillow and asked whether she wanted a drink of water. Soon after three, Neeley rushed in out of breath, flung his books in a corner and asked whether it was time to run for anybody yet. Katie smiled at his eagerness and said it was no use taking Evy or Sissy away from their own affairs until it was necessary. Neeley went off to work with instructions to ask McGarrity if he could do Francie's work as well as his own since Francie had to stay home with their mother. McGarrity not only agree but helped the boy with the free lunch so that Neeley was all finished at four-thirty. They had supper early. The sooner Neeley started with his papers, the quicker he'd be finished. Mama said she didn't want anything except a cup of hot tea. Mama didn't want the tea after Francie brewed it. Francie worried because she wouldn't eat anything. After Neeley left on his paper route, Francie brought in a bowl of stew and tried to make her mother eat it. Katie lashed out at her; told her to leave her alone; that when she wanted something to eat, she'd ask for it. Francie poured it back into the pot trying to hold back the hurt tears. She had only meant to help. Mama called her again and didn't seem mad anymore. "What time is it? asked Katie. "Five to six." "Are you sure the clock isn't slow?" "No, Mama." "Maybe it's fast, then." She seemed so worried that Francie looked out the front window at jeweler Woronov's large street clock. "Our clock's right," reported Francie. "Is it dark out yet?" Katie had no way of knowing because even at bright noon only a dull gray light filtered through the airshaft window. "No, it's still light outdoors." "It's dark in here," said Katie fretfully. "I'll light the night candle." Bracketed to the wall was a small shelf holding a plaster statue of the blue- robed Virgin Mary with her hands held out supplicatingly. At the foot of the image, was a thick red glass filled with yellow wax and a wick. Next to it, was a vase holding paper red roses. Francie put a lighted match to the wick. The candlelight glowed dully and ruby red through the thick glass. "What time is it?" Katie asked after a little while. "Ten after six." "You're sure the clock is neither slow nor fast?" "Just exactly right." Katie seemed satisfied. But five minutes later, she again demanded the time. It was as if she had an important rendezvous to keep and was fearful of being late. At half past six, Francie told her the time again and added that Neeley would be home in an hour. "The minute he comes in, send him for Aunt Evy. Tell him not to take the time to walk. Find a nickel carfare for him and tell him, Evy, because she lives closer than Sissy." "Mama, suppose the baby comes all of a sudden and I don't know what to do?" "I couldn't be that lucky- to have a baby all of a sudden. What time is it?" "Twenty-five to seven." "Sure?" "I'm sure. Mama, even if Neeley is a boy it would've been better if he stayed with you instead of me." "Why?" "Because he's always such a great comfort to you." She said it without malice or jealousy. It was a simple statement of fact. "While I ... I ... just don't know the right things to say to make you feel better." "What time is it?" "A minute after twenty- five to seven." Katie was silent for a long time. When she spoke, she said the words quietly, as if speaking to herself. "No, men shouldn't be around at that time. Yet, women make them stand next to them. They want them to hear every moan and groan and see every drop of blood and hear every tear of the flesh. What is this twisted pleasure they get out of making the man suffer along with them? They seem to be taking revenge because God made them women. What time is it?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued: "Before they're married, they'd die if a man saw them in curl crimpers or with their corsets off. But when they have a baby, they want him to see them in the ugliest way a woman can be seen. I don't know why. I don't know why. A man thinks of the pain and agony that came to her out of their being together and then it isn't good anymore to him. That's why many men start being unfaithful after the baby. ..." Katie hardly realized what she was saying. She was missing Johnny so terribly and thinking so, to rationalize his not being there. "Besides, there is this: If you love someone, you'd rather suffer the pain alone to spare them. So keep your man out of the house when your time comes." "Yes, Mama. It's five after seven." "See if Neeley's coming." Francie looked and had to report that Neeley wasn't in sight yet. Katie's mind went back to what Francie had said about Neeley being a comfort. "No, Francie, it's you who's the comfort to me now." She sighed. "If it's a boy, we'll call him Johnny." "It will be nice, Mama, when there are four of us again." "Yes, it will." After that, Katie didn't say anything for awhile. When next she asked the time, Francie told her it was a quarter past seven and that Neeley would be home soon. Katie instructed her to wrap Neeley's nightshirt, toothbrush, a clean towel and a bit of soap in a newspaper, as Neeley was to remain at Evy's house for the night. Francie made two more trips to the street with the bundle under her arm before she saw Neeley coming. He was running down the street. She ran to meet him; gave him the bundle, carfare and instructions, and told him to hurry. "How's mama?" he asked. "Good." "You sure?" "Sure. I hear a trolley coming. You better run." Neeley ran. When Francie got back, she saw that her mother's face was bathed in sweat and that there was blood on her lower lip as though she had bitten through it. "Oh, Mama, Mama!" She shook her mother's hand and held it to her own cheek. "Wring a cloth out of cold water and wipe my face," mama whispered. After Francie had done so, Katie went back to what was incompleted in her mind. "Of course, you're a comfort to me." Her mind veered off to something that seemed irrelevant but wasn't. "I've always been meaning to read your A compositions but I never had the time. I've a little time now. Would you like to read one to me?" "I can't. I burned them all up." "You thought about them, and wrote them, and handed them in, and got marks on them, and thought about them some more, and then you burned them up. And all through that, I never read one of them." "That's all right, Mama. They weren't much good." "It's on my conscience." "They weren't much good, Mama, and I know you never had the time." Katie thought, "But I always had time for anything the boy did. I made time for him." She continued her thought aloud. "But then, Neeley needs more encouragement. You can go on with what you have inside you, like I can. But he needs so much from outside." "That's all right, Mama," Francie repeated. "I couldn't do any different than I did," said Katie. "But it will always be on my conscience just the same. What time is it?" "Nearly seven-thirty." "The towel again, Francie." Katie's mind seemed to be trying to clutch at something. "And isn't there one left you can read?" Francie thought of the four about her father, what Miss Garnder had said about them, and answered, "No." "Then read something from the Shakespeare book." Francie got the book. "Read about ' 'twas on a night like this,' I'd like to have something pretty in my mind just before the baby comes." The print was so small that Francie had to light the gas to read. As the light flared up, she had a good look at her mother's face. It was gray and contorted. Mama didn't look like mama. She looked like Granma Mary Rommely in pain. Katie winced away from the light and Francie shut it off quickly. "Mama, we've read these plays so many times over, that I almost know them by heart. I don't need a light or the book, Mama. Listen!" She recited: The moon shines bright!-In such a night as this When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees And they did make no noise; in such a night Troilus ... "What time is it?" "Seven-forty." ... methinks mounted the Trojan walls, And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents Where Cressida lay the night. "And did you ever find out who Troilus was, Francie? And Cressida?" "Yes, Mama." "Someday you must tell me. When I have time to listen." "I will, Mama." Katie moaned. Francie wiped the sweat away again. Katie held out her two hands as she had done that day in the hall. Francie took the hands and braced her feet. Katie pulled and Francie thought her arms would come out of their sockets. Then mama relaxed and let go. So the next hour passed. Francie recited passages she knew by heart- Portia's speech, Marc Antony's funeral oration, "Tomorrow and tomorrow"- the obvious things that are remembered from Shakespeare. Sometimes Katie asked a question. Sometimes she put her hands over her face and moaned. Without knowing she did so, and taking no note of the answer, she kept asking the time. Francie wiped off her face at intervals, and three or four times in that hour, Katie held out her two hands to Francie. When Evy arrived at half past eight, Francie all but died of pure relief. "Aunt Sissy will be along in half an hour," announced Evy as she rushed into the bedroom. After a look at Katie, Evy pulled the sheet from Francie's cot, knotted one end to Katie's bedpost and put the other end in Katie's hand. "Try pulling on that for a change," she suggested. "What time is it?" whispered Katie after she had taken a tremendous tug on the sheet; a tug that made the sweat stand out on her face again. "What do you care," answered Evy, cheerfully. "You're not going any place." Katie started a smile but a pain spasm wiped it off her face. "We can do with a better light," decided Evy. "But the gas light hurts her eyes," objected Francie. Evy took the glass globe from the parlor fixture, coated the outside with soap and attached it to the bedroom fixture. When she lit the gas, there was a soft diffused light without glare. Although it was a warm May night, Evy built a fire in the range. She snapped out orders to Francie. Francie rushed around filling the kettle with water and placing it over the flames. She scoured the enameled wash basin and poured a bottle of sweet oil in it and set it on the back of the stove. The soiled clothes were dumped out of the wash basket and it was lined with a ragged but clean blanket and set up on two chairs near the stove. Evy put all the dinner plates in the oven to heat and instructed Francie to put hot plates into the basket, remove them when they cooled and substitute other hot plates. "Has your mother any baby clothes?" she asked. "What kind of people do you think we are?" asked Francie scornfully as she displayed a modest layette consisting of four handmade flannel kimonos, four bands, a dozen hand-hemmed diapers and four threadbare shirts which she and Neeley had worn in turn as babies. "And I made everything myself, excepting the shirts," admitted Francie proudly. "Hm. I see your mother's looking for a boy," commented Evy, examining the blue feather stitching on the kimonos. "Well, we shall see." When Sissy arrived, the two sisters went into the bedroom, ordering Francie to wait outside. Francie listened to them talking. "It's time to get the midwife," Sissy said. "Does Francie know where she lives?" "I didn't make arrangements," Katie said. "There just isn't five dollars in the house for a midwife." "Well, maybe Sissy and I can raise the money," began Evy, "if ..." "Look," Sissy said. "I bore ten-no-eleven children. You had three and Katie had two. Among us, we had sixteen children. We ought to know enough to bring a baby." "All right. We'll bring the baby," decided Evy. Then they closed the bedroom door. Now Francie could hear the sound of their voices but couldn't hear what they said. She resented her aunts shutting her out like that, especially when she had been in complete charge until they came. She took the cool plates from the basket, put them into the oven and took out two heated plates. She felt all alone in the world. She wished that Neeley was home so that they could talk about olden times. Francie opened her eyes with a start. She couldn't have been drowsing, she thought. She just couldn't have. She felt the plates in the basket. They were cold. Quickly she substituted hot plates. The basket had to be kept warm for the baby. She listened to the sounds from the bedroom. They had changed since she nodded. There was no more leisurely moving to and fro; no more quiet talking. Her aunts seemed to be running back and forth with quick short steps and their voices came in short sentences. She looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. Evy came out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. "Here's fifty cents, Francie. Go out and get a quarter pound of sweet butter, a box of soda crackers and two navel oranges. Tell the man you want navel. Say they're for a sick lady." "But all the stores are closed." "Go down to Jewtown. They're always open." "I'll go in the morning." "Do as you're told," said Evy sharply. Francie went unwillingly. Going down the last flight of stairs, she heard a hoarse guttural scream. She stopped, undecided whether to run back or to continue. She remembered Evy's sharp command and continued down the stairs. As she reached the door, there was another and more agonized scream. She was glad to get out on to the street. In one of the flats, the ape-like teamster, ordering his unwilling wife to prepare for bed, heard Katie's first scream and ejaculated, "Jesus!" When the second scream came, he said, "I hope to Christ she don't keep me awake all night." His childlike bride wept as she unfastened her dress. Flossie Gaddis and her mother were sitting in their kitchen. Floss was sewing on another costume, one of white satin intended for her delayed marriage to Frank. Mrs. Gaddis was knitting on a gray sock for Henny. Henny was dead, of course, but all of his life the mother had knit socks for him and she couldn't let go of the habit. Mrs. Gaddis dropped a stitch when the first scream came. Floss said: "The men have all the fun and women, the pain." The mother said nothing. She trembled when next Katie cried out. "It seems funny," said Floss, "to be making a costume with two sleeves." "Yes." They worked awhile in silence before Floss spoke again. "I wonder are they worth it? The children, I mean." Mrs. Gaddis thought of her dead son and her daughter's withered arm. She said nothing. She bent her head over her knitting. She had come around to the place where she dropped a stitch. She concentrated on picking it up. The spare Tynmore spinsters lay in their hard virginal bed. They groped for each other's hands. "Did you hear it, Sister?" asked Miss Maggie. "Her time has come," answered Miss Lizzie. "That's why I didn't marry Harvey-long ago when he asked me. I was afraid of that. So afraid." "I don't know," Miss Lizzie said. "Sometimes I think it's better to suffer bitter unhappiness and to fight and to scream out, and even to suffer that terrible pain, than just to be ... safe." She waited until the next scream died away. "At least she knows she's living." Miss Maggie had no answer. The flat across the hall from the Nolans was vacant. The remaining flat in the house was occupied by a Polish dock walloper, his wife and their four kids. He was filling a glass from a can of beer on the table when he heard Katie. "Women!" he grunted contemptuously. "Shut up, you," snarled his wife. And all the women in the house tensed each time Katie cried out, and they suffered with her. It was the only thing the women held in common-the sure knowledge of the pain of giving birth. Francie had to walk a long way up Manhattan Avenue before she found a Jewish Dairy open. She had to go to another store for the crackers and then find a fruit stand that had navel oranges. As she came back, she glanced at the large clock in Knipe's Drug Store, and noted that it was nearly half past ten. She didn't care what time it was except that it seemed so important to her mother. When she walked into the kitchen, she felt a difference. There was a new quiet feeling and an indefinable smell, new and faintly fragrant. Sissy was standing with her back to the basket. "What do you think," she said. "You have a baby sister." "Mama?" "Your mother's fine." "So that's why I was sent to the store." "We thought you knew too much already for fourteen," said Evy coming out of the bedroom. "I just want to know the one thing," said Francie fiercely. "Did mama send me out?" "Yes, Francie, she did," said Sissy gently. "She said something about sparing those you love." "All right then," said Francie mollified. "Don't you want to see the baby?" Sissy stepped aside. Francie lifted the blanket from the baby's head. The baby was a beautiful little thing with white skin and downy black curls which grew down into a point on her forehead, like mama's. The baby's eyes opened briefly. Francie noticed that they were a milky blue. Sissy explained that all new babies had blue eyes and that probably they'd be dark as coffee beans as she grew older. "It looks like mama," Francie decided. "That's what we thought," said Sissy. "Is it all right?" "Perfect," Evy told her. "Not crooked or anything?" "Certainly not. Where do you get such ideas?" Francie didn't tell Evy how she was afraid the baby would be born crooked because mama had worked on her hands and knees up to the last minute. "May I go in and see mama?" she asked humbly, feeling like a stranger in her own home. "You can bring the plate in to her." Francie took the plate holding two buttered crackers in to her mother. "Hello, Mama." "Hello, Francie." Mama looked like mama again, only very tired. She couldn't raise her head so Francie held the crackers while she ate them. After they were gone, Francie stood holding the empty plate. Mama said nothing. It seemed to Francie that she and mama were strangers again. The closeness of the last few days was gone. "And you had a boy's named picked out, Mama." "Yes. But I don't mind a girl, really." "She's pretty." "She'll have black curling hair. And Neeley has blond curling hair. Poor Francie got the straight brown hair." "I like straight brown hair," Francie said defiantly. She was dying to know the baby's name but mama seemed like such a stranger now that she didn't like to ask outright. "Shall I write the information out to send to the Board of Health?" "No. The priest will send it in when she's christened." "Oh!" Katie recognized the disappointment in Francie's tone. "But bring in the ink and the book and I'll let you write down her name." Francie took the Gideon Bible that Sissy had swiped nearly fifteen years ago, from the mantelpiece. She looked at the four entries on the flyleaf. The first three were in Johnny's fine careful hand. January 1, 1901. Married. Katherine Rommely and John Nolan. December 15, 1901. Born. Frances Nolan. December 23, 1902. Born. Cornelius Nolan.. The fourth entry was in Katie's firm back-hand slant. December 25, 1915. Died. John Nolan. Age, 34. Sissy and Evy followed Francie in to the bedroom. They, too, were curious as to what Katie would name the baby. Sarah? Eva? Ruth? Elizabeth? "Write this down." Katie dictated. "May 28, 1916. Born." Francie dipped her pen in the ink bottle. "Annie Laurie Nolan." "Annie! Such an ordinary name," groaned Sissy. "Why, Katie? Why?" demanded Evy patiently. "A song that Johnny sang once," explained Katie. As Francie wrote the name, she heard the chords; she heard her father singing, "And 'twas there that Annie Laurie." ... Papa ... papa. ... "... a song, he said, that belonged to a better world," Katie went on. "He would have liked the child named after one of his songs." "Laurie is a pretty name," said Francie. And Laurie became the baby's name. XLI LAURIE was a good baby. She slept contentedly most of the time. When she was awake, she put in the time lying quietly and trying to focus her berry brown eyes on her infinitesimal fist. Katie nursed the baby, not only because it was the instinctive thing to do, but because there was no money for fresh milk. Since the baby couldn't be left alone, Katie started her work at five in the morning, doing the other two houses first. She worked until nearly nine when Francie and Neeley left for school. Then she cleaned her own house leaving the door of her flat ajar in case Laurie cried. Katie went to bed immediately after supper each night and Francie saw so little of her mother that it seemed as if mama had gone away. McGarrity didn't fire them after the baby's birth as he had planned. He really needed them now because his business boomed suddenly in that spring of 1916. His saloon was crowded all the time. Great changes were taking place in the country, and his customers, like Americans everywhere, had to get together to talk things over. The corner saloon was their only gathering place, the poor man's club. Francie, working in the flat above the saloon, heard their raised voices through the thin floor boards. Often she paused in her work and listened. Yes, the world was changing rapidly and this time she knew it was the world and not herself. She heard the world changing as she listened to the voices. It's a fact. They're gonna stop making liquor and in a few years the country will be dry. A man that works hard has a right to his beer. Tell that to the president and see how far you get. This is a people's country. If we don't want it dry, it won't be dry. Sure it's a people's country but they're gonna push prohibition down your throat. By Jesus, I'll make my own wine, then. My old man used to make it in the old country. You take a bushel of grapes. ... G'wan! They'll never give wimmen the vote. Don't lay any bets on it. If that comes, my wife votes like I do, otherwise I'll break her neck. My old woman wouldn't go to the polls and mix in with a bunch of bums and rummies. … a woman president. That might be. They'll never let a woman run the government. There's one running it right now. Like hell! Wilson can't turn around and go to the bathroom 'less he asks Mrs. Wilson if it's okay by her. Wilson's an old woman himself. He's keeping us out of war. That college professor! What we need in the White House is a sound politician and not a school teacher. ... automobiles. Soon the horse will be a thing of the past. That feller out in Dee-troit's making cars so cheap that soon every working man can have one. A laborer driving his own car! You should live so long! Airplanes! Just a crazy fad. Won't last long. The moving pitchers is here to stay. The thee-ayters is closing up one by one in Brooklyn. Take me: I'd rather see this here Charlie Chaplin any day than this here Corset Payton the wife goes for. ... wireless. Greatest thing ever invented. Words come through the air, mind you, without wires. You need a kind of a machine to ketch it and earphones to listen in. ... They call it twilight sleep and a woman don't feel a thing when the kid comes. So when this friend tells my wife, she says that it's about time they invented something like that. What're you talking about! Gaslight's out of date. They're putting 'lectricity even in the cheapest tenements. Don't know what's got into the youngsters nowadays. They're all dance crazy. Dance ... dance ... dance. ... So I changed my name from Schultz to Scott. The judge says what do you want to go and do that fort Schultz is a good name. He was German himself, see? Listen, Mac, I says ... that's just how I talked to him; judge or no judge. I'm through with the old country, I says. After what they done to them Belgian babies, I says, I want no part of Germany. I'm an American now, I says, and I want an American name. And we're heading straight for war. Man, I can see it coming. All we got to do is to elect Wilson again this fall. He'll keep us out of war. Don't bet on them campaign promises. When you got a Democrat president, you got a war president. Lincoln was a Republican. But the south had a Democrat president and they was the ones started the Civil War. I ask you how long we gotta stand for it? The bastards sunk another one of our ships. How many do they gotta sink before we get up enough nerve to go over there and lick hell out of them? We got to stay out. This country's getting along fine. Let them fight their own wars without dragging us in. We don't want war. War's declared, I'll enlist the next day. You can talk. You're past fifty. They wouldn't take you. I'd sooner go to jail than to war. A feller's got to fight for what he thinks is right. I'd be glad to go. I got nothing to worry about. I got a double hernia. Let the war come. They'll need us working men then to build their ships and their guns. They'll need the farmer to grow their food. Then watch them come sucking around us. Us laborers will have the God- damned capitalists by the throat. They won't tell us. We'll tell them, By Jesus, we'll make them sweat. War can't come quick enough to suit me. Like I'm telling you. Everything is machines. I heard a joke the other day. Feller and his wife going around getting food, clothes, everything out of machines. So they come to this baby machine and the Teller puts money in and out comes a baby. So the feller turns around and says, give me the good old days. The good old days! Yeah. I guess they're gone forever. Fill 'em up again, Jim. And Francie, pausing in her sweeping to listen, tried to put everything together and tried to understand a world spinning in confusion. And it seemed to her that the whole world changed in between the time that Laurie was born and graduation day. XLII FRANCIE hardly had time to get used to Laurie when graduation night came around. Katie couldn't go to both graduations so it was decided that she go to Neeley's. And that was right. Neeley shouldn't be deprived because Francie had felt like changing schools. Francie understood but felt a bit hurt just the same. Papa would have gone to see her graduate if he were living. They arranged that Sissy go with Francie. Evy would stay with Laurie. On the last night in June, 1916, Francie walked for the last time to the school she so loved. Sissy, quiet and changed since she got her baby, walked sedately beside her. Two firemen passed and Sissy never so much as noticed and there had been a time when Sissy couldn't resist a uniform. Francie wished Sissy hadn't changed. It made her feel lonesome. Her hand crept into Sissy's and Sissy squeezed it. Francie was comforted. Sissy was still Sissy underneath. The graduates sat in the front part of the auditorium and the guests in the back. The principal made an earnest speech to the children about how they were going out into a troubled world and about how it would be up to them to build a new world after the war which was sure to come to America. He urged them on to higher education so that they would be better equipped for this world building. Francie was impressed and vowed in her heart that she'd help carry the torch like he said. Then came the graduation play. Francie's eyes burned with unshed tears. As the diluted dialogue droned on, she thought, "My play would have been better. I would have taken the ash can out. I would have done whatever Teacher said if she had only let me write the play." After the play, they marched up, got their diplomas and were graduates at last. The oath of allegiance to the flag and the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner" clinched it. And now came the time of Francie's Gethsemane. It was the custom to present bouquets to the girl graduates. Since flowers were not allowed in the auditorium, they were delivered to the classrooms where the teachers placed them on the recipient's desk. Francie had to go back to her room to get her report card; also her pencil box and autograph book from her desk. She stood outside nerving herself for the ordeal, knowing her desk would be the only one without flowers. She was sure, because she hadn't told mama about the custom, knowing there was no money at home for such things. Deciding to get it over with, she went in and walked straight to the teacher's desk, not daring to look at her own. The air was thick with flower scents. She heard the girls chattering and squealing with delight over their flowers. She heard the exchange of triumphant admiration. She got her report card: four "A's" and one "C" minus." The latter was her English mark. She used to be the best writer in school and here she ended up barely passing English. Suddenly, she hated the school and all the teachers, especially Miss Garnder. And she didn't care about not getting flowers. She didn't care. It was a silly custom, anyway. "I'll go to my desk and get my things," she decided. "And if anyone speaks to me, I'll tell them to shut up. And then I'll walk out of this school forever and not say goodbye to anyone." She raised her eyes. "The desk without flowers on it will be mine." But there were no empty desks! There were flowers on every single one! Francie went to her desk, reasoning that a girl had placed one of her bouquets there for a moment. Francie planned to pick it up and hand it to the owner saying coolly, "Do you mind? I have to get something out of my desk." She picked up the flowers-two dozen dark red roses on a sheaf of ferns. She cradled them in her arm, the way the other girls did, and pretended for a moment that they were hers. She looked for the owner's name on the card. But her own name was on the card! Her name! The card said: For Francie on graduation day. Love from Papa. Papa! The writing was in his fine careful hand, in the black ink from the bottle in the cupboard at home. Then it was all a dream, a long mixed-up dream. Laurie was a dream, and the working at McGarrity's, and the graduation play, and the bad mark in English. She was waking up now and everything would be all right. Papa would be waiting out in the hall. But there was only Sissy in the hall. "Then papa is dead," she said. "Yes," said Sissy. "And it's six months now." "But he can't be, Aunt Sissy. He sent me flowers." "Francie, about a year ago he gave me that card all written out and two dollars. He said, 'When Francie graduates, send her some flowers for me-in case I forget.' " Francie started to cry. It wasn't only because she was sure, now, that nothing was a dream; it was because she was unstrung from working too hard and worrying about mama; because she didn't get to write the graduation play; because she got a bad mark in English; because she had been too well prepared not to receive flowers. Sissy took her to the girls' washroom and pushed her into a booth. "Cry loud and hard," she ordered, "and hurry up. Your mother will be wondering what's keeping us." Francie stood in the booth, clutching her roses and sobbing. Each time the washroom door opened and chattering announced incoming girls, she flushed the toilet so that the noise of the water would drown out her sobs. Soon she was over it. When she came out, Sissy had a handkerchief wet with cold water to hand her. As Francie mopped her eyes, Sissy asked whether she felt better. Francie nodded yes, and begged her to wait a moment while she said her goodbyes. She went into the principal's office and shook hands with him. "Don't forget the old school, Frances. Come back and see us sometime," he said. "I will," promised Francie. She went back to say goodbye to her classroom teacher. "We'll miss you, Frances," said Teacher. Francie got her pencil box and autograph book from her desk. She started to say goodbye to the girls. They crowded around her. One put her arm around her waist and two others kissed her cheek. They called out goodbye messages. "Come to my house to see me, Frances." "Write to me, Frances, and let me know how you're getting along." "Frances, we have a telephone now. Ring me up sometime. Ring me up tomorrow." "Write something in my autograph book, huh, Frances? So's I can sell it when you get famous." "I'm going to summer camp. I'll put down my address. Write to me. Hear, Frances?" "I'm going to Girls High in September. You come to Girls High, too, Frances." "No. Come to Eastern District High with me." "Girls High!" "Eastern District!" "Erasmus Hall High's the best. You come there, Frances, with me and we'll be friends all through high school. I'll never have any other friend but you, if you'll come." "Frances, you never let me write in your autograph book." Me neither." "Gimme, gimme." They wrote in Francie's all but empty book. "They're nice," Francie thought. "I could have been friends with them all the time. I thought they didn't want to be friends. It must have been me that was wrong." They wrote in the book. Some wrote small and cramped; others, loose and sprawling. But all the writing was the handwriting of children. Francie read as they wrote: I wish you luck, I wish you joy. I wish you first, a baby boy. And when his hair begins to curl, I wish you then, a baby girl. -Florence Fitzgerald. When you are married And your husband gets cross, Sock him with the poker, And get a divorce. -Jeannie Leigh. When night draws back the curtain, And pins it with a star, Remember I am still your friend, Though you may wander far. -Noreen O'Leary. Beatrice Williams turned to the last page in the book and wrote: Way back here and out of sight, I sign my name, just for spite. She signed it, Your Fellow Writer, Beatrice Williams. "She would say fellow writer," thought Francie still jealous about the play. Francie got away at last. Out in the hall she said to Sissy, "Just one more goodbye." "It's taking you the longest time to graduate," protested Sissy good- naturedly. Miss Garnder sat at her desk in her brilliantly lighted room. She was alone. She wasn't popular and so far no one had been in to say goodbye. She looked up eagerly as Francie entered. "So you've come to say goodbye to your old English teacher," she said, pleased. "Yes, ma'am." Miss Garnder couldn't let it go at that. She had to be a teacher. "About your mark: You haven't turned in work this term. I should have failed you. But at the last moment, I decided to pass you so that you could graduate with your class." She waited. Francie said nothing. "Well? Aren't you going to thank me?" "Thank you, Miss Garnder." "You remember our little chat?" "Yes, ma'am." "Why did you turn stubborn and stop handing in work, then?" Francie had nothing to say. It was something she couldn't explain to Miss Garnder. She held out her hand. "Goodbye, Miss Garnder." Miss Garnder was taken aback. "Well-goodbye, then," she said. They shook hands. "In time to come, you'll see I was right, Frances." Francie said nothing. "Won't you?" Miss Garnder asked sharply. "Yes, ma'am." Francie went out of the room. She did not hate Miss Garnder anymore. She didn't like her, but she felt sorry for her. Miss Garnder had nothing in all the world excepting a sureness about how right she was. Mr. Jenson stood on the school steps. He took each child's hand in both of his and said, "Goodbye and God bless you." He added a personal message for Francie. "Be good, work hard, and reflect credit on our school." Francie promised that she would. On the way home, Sissy said, "Look! Let's not tell your mother who sent the flowers. It will start her to remembering and she's just about getting well after Laurie." They agreed to say that Sissy bought the flowers. Francie removed the card and put it in her pencil box. When they told mama the lie about the flowers, she said, "Sissy, you shouldn't have spent your money." But Francie could tell that mama was pleased. The two diplomas were admired and everyone agreed that Francie's was the prettiest on account of Mr. Jenson's fine handwriting. "The first diplomas in the Nolan family," said Katie. "But not the last I hope," said Sissy. "I'm going to see to it that each of my children have three," said Evy, "grade school, high school and college." "In twenty-five years," said Sissy, "our family will have a stack of diplomas this high." She stood on tiptoe and measured six feet from the ground. Mama examined the report cards for the last time. Neeley had "B" in conduct, the same in physical education and "C" in all his other subjects. Mama said, "That's good, son." She looked past Francie's "A's" and concentrated on the "C minus." "Francie! I'm surprised. How did this happen?" "Mama, I don't want to talk about it." "And in English, too. Your best subject." Francie's voice notched up higher as she repeated, "Mama, I don't want to talk about it." "She always wrote the best compositions in school," explained Katie to her sisters. "Mama! " It was almost a scream. "Katie! Stop it!" ordered Sissy sharply. "All right, then," surrendered Katie, suddenly aware that she was nagging and ashamed of herself. Evy jumped in with a change of subject. "Do we have that party, or don't we?" she asked. "I'm putting my hat on," Katie said. Sissy stayed with Laurie while Evy, mama, and the two graduates went to Scheefly's Ice-Cream Saloon for the party. Scheefly's was crowded with graduation parties. The kids had their diplomas with them and the girls brought their bouquets. There was a mother or a father-sometimes both, at each table. The Nolan party found a free table at the back of the room. The place was a medley of shouting kids, beaming parents and rushed waiters. Some kids were thirteen, a few fifteen, but most of them Francie's age- fourteen. Most of the boys were Neeley's classmates and he had a great time hollering greetings across the room. Francie hardly knew the girls, nevertheless she waved and called out to them as gaily as though they had been close friends for years. Francie was proud of mama. The other mothers had graying hair and most of them were so fat that their backsides slopped over the edges of the chair. Mama was slender and didn't look at all like going on thirty-three. Her skin was as smoothly clear and her hair as black and curling as it had ever been. "Put her in a white dress," thought Francie, "with a bunch of roses in her arms, and she'd look like any fourteen-year-old graduate- except for the line between her eyes that cut deeper since papa died." They ordered. Francie had a mental list of all the soda flavors. She was going down the list so that she could say she had tasted all the kinds of sodas in the world. Pineapple was next and she ordered that. Neeley ordered the old standby, chocolate soda, and Katie and Evy chose plain vanilla ice cream. Evy made up little stories about the people in the place and kept Francie and Neeley laughing. Francie studied her mother from time to time. Mama wasn't smiling at Evy's jokes. She ate her ice cream slowly and the line between her eyes deepened and Francie knew that she was figuring something out. "My children," thought Katie, "have more education at thirteen and fourteen than I have at thirty-two. And still it isn't enough. When I think of how ignorant I was at their age. Yes, and even when I was married and had a baby. Imagine. I believed in witch's charms, then-what the midwife told me about the woman in the fish market. They started in way ahead of me. They were never that ignorant. "I got them graduated from grade school. I can't do more for them. All my plans ... Neeley, a doctor, Francie in college ... can't work them out now. The baby. ... Have they enough in them to get somewhere alone? I don't know. The Shakespeare ... the Bible. ... They know how to play piano but they've stopped practicing now. I taught them to be clean and truthful and not to take charity. Is that enough, though? "They'll have a boss to please, soon, and new people to get along with. They'll get into other ways. Good? Bad? They won't sit home with me nights if they work all day. Neeley will be off with his friends. And Francie? Reading. ... Away to the library ... a show ... a free lecture or band concert. Of course, I'll have the baby. The baby. She'll get a better start. When she graduates, the other two might see her through high school. I must do better for Laurie than I did for them. They never had enough to eat, never had right clothes. The best I could do wasn't enough. And now they have to go out to work and they're still little children. Oh, if I could only get them into high school this fall! Please God! I'll give twenty years off my life. I'll work night and day. But I can't, of course. No one to stay with the baby." Her thoughts were broken into by a wave of singing that rolled over the room. Some one started a popular anti-war song and the rest took it up. I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier. I brought him up to be my pride and joy ... [2] Katie resumed her thoughts. "There is no one to help us. No one." She thought briefly of Sergeant McShane. He had sent a big basket of fruit when Laurie was born. She knew he was retiring from the police force in September. He was going to run for Assemblyman from Queens, his home borough, next Election. Everyone said he'd be sure to get in. She had heard that his wife was very sick, might not live to see her husband elected. "He'll marry again," thought Katie. "Of course. Some woman who knows all about social life ... help him ... the way a politicians wife must." She stared at her work-worn hands for a long time, then put them under the table as though she were ashamed of them. Francie noticed. "She's thinking of Sergeant McShane," she guessed, remembering how mama had put on her cotton gloves that time long ago at the outing when McShane had looked at her. "He likes her," thought Francie. "I wonder does she know it? She must. She seems to know everything. I bet she could marry him if she wanted to. But he needn't think I'd ever call him father. My father is dead and no matter who mama marries, he will only be Mr. So-and-So to me." They were finishing the song. There'd be no wars today, If mothers all would say, I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier. Neeley, " thought Katie. "Thirteen. If war does come here, it will be over before he gets old enough to go, thank God." Now Aunt Evy was singing softly to them, making up a parody on the song. Who dares to place a mustache on his shoulder. "Aunt Evy, you're terrible," said Francie as she and Neeley screamed with laughter. Katie jerked out of her thoughts and looked up and smiled. Then the waiter laid down the check and they all grew silent, watching Katie. "I hope she's not fool enough to tip him," thought Evy. "Does mama know you're supposed to leave a nickel tip?" thought Neeley. "I hope so." "Whatever mama does," thought Francie, "it will be the right thing." It wasn't the custom to tip in the ice-cream saloons except on special parties when you were supposed to leave a nickel. Katie saw that the check was for thirty cents. She had one coin in her old purse, it was a fifty-cent piece which she laid on the check. The waiter took it away and brought back four nickels which he laid in a row. He hovered nearby waiting for Katie to pick up three of them. She looked at the four nickels. "Four loaves of bread," she thought. Four pair of eyes watched Katie's hand. Katie never hesitated once she put her hand on the money. With a sure gesture, she pushed the four nickels towards the waiter. "Keep the change," she said grandly. Francie had all she could do not to stand up on her chair and cheer. "Mama is somebody," she kept saying to herself. The waiter scooped up the nickels happily and rushed away. "Two sodas shot," groaned Neeley. "Katie, Katie, how foolish," protested Evy. "I bet it's your last money, too." "It is. But it may be our last graduation, too." "McGarrity pays us four dollars tomorrow," said Francie, defending her mother. "And he fires us tomorrow too," added Neeley. "There'll be no money after that four dollars until they get jobs, then," concluded Evy. "I don't care," said Katie. "For once I wanted us to feel like millionaires. And if twenty cents can make us feel rich, it's a cheap price to pay." Evy recalled how Katie let Francie pour her coffee down the sink and said nothing more. There were many things she didn't understand about her sister. The parties were breaking up. Albie Seedmore, the leggy son of a prosperous grocer, came over to their table. "Go-to-the-movies-with- me-tomorrow-Francie?" He asked all on a breath. "I'll pay," he added hastily. (A movie house was letting the graduates attend the Saturday matinee two-for- a-nickel providing they brought their diplomas along as proof.) Francie looked at her mother. Mama nodded her consent. "Sure, Albie," accepted Francie. "See you. Two. Tomorrow." He loped off. "Your first date," said Evy. "Make a wish." She held out her little finger and crooked it. Francie hooked her little finger into Aunt Evy's. "I wish I could always wear a white dress and carry red roses and that we could always throw money around like we did tonight," wished Francie. BOOK FOUR XLIII "YOU got the idea now," said the forelady to Francie. "You'll make a good stemmer in time." She went away and Francie was on her own; the first hour of the first day of her first job. Following the forelady's instructions, her left hand picked up a foot length of shiny wire. Simultaneously her right hand picked up a narrow strip of dark green tissue paper. She touched the end of the strip to a damp sponge, then, using the thumb and first two fingers of each hand as a rolling machine, she wound the paper on the wire. She placed the covered wire aside. It was now a stem. At intervals, Mark, the pimply-faced utility boy, distributed the stems to the "pet'lers" who wired paper rose petals to them. Another girl strung a calyx up under the rose and turned it over to the "leafer" who pried a unit, three dark glossy leaves on a short stem, from a block of leaves, wired the unit to the stem and turned the rose over to the "finisher," who wound a strip of heavier-textured green paper around the calyx and down the stem. The stem, calyx, rose and leaves were now one and seemed to have grown so. Francie's back hurt and a shooting pain ran through her shoulder. She must have covered a thousand stems, she figured. Surely it was time for lunch. She turned around to look at the clock and found that she had been working just one hour! "Clock watcher," commented a girl derisively. Francie looked up, startled, but said nothing. She got a rhythm to her work and it seemed to come easier. One. She set aside the covered wire. And a half. She picked up a new wire and a strip of paper. Two. She moistened the paper. Three- four-five-six-seven-eight- nine-ten. The wire was covered. Soon the rhythm became instinctive, she didn't have to count and it wasn't necessary to concentrate. Her back relaxed and her shoulder stopped aching. Her mind was freed and she started to figure things out. "This could be a whole life," she thought. "You work eight hours a day covering wires to earn money to buy food and to pay for a place to sleep so that you can keep living to come back to cover more wires. Some people are born and kept living just to come to this. Of course, some of these girls will marry; marry men who have the same kind of life. What will they gain? They'll gain someone to hold conversations within the few hours at night between work and sleep." But she knew the gain wouldn't last. She had seen too many working couples who, after the children came and the bills piled up, rarely communicated with each other except in bitter snarls. "These people are caught," she thought. "And why? Because" (remembering her grandmother's repeated convictions), "they haven't got enough education." Fright grew in Francie. Maybe it would be so that she'd never get to high school; maybe she'd never have more education than she had at that moment. Maybe all her life she'd have to cover wires ... cover wires. ... One ... and a half ... two ... three-four-five- sax-seven-eight-nine-ten. The same unreasoning terror came on her that had come when, as an eleven-year-old child, she had seen the old man with the obscene feet in Losher's Bakery. In her panic, she speeded up her rhythm so that she'd have to concentrate on her work and not have room to think. "New broom," observed a finisher cynically. "Trying to make a hit with the boss," was the opinion of a pet'ler. Soon even the speeding up became automatic and again Francie's mind was free. Covertly, she studied the girls at the long table. There were a dozen of them, Poles and Italians. The youngest looked sixteen and the oldest, thirty, and all were swarthy. For some unaccountable reason, all wore black dresses, evidently not realizing how unbecoming black was to dark skins. Francie was the only one wearing a gingham wash dress and she felt like a silly baby. The sharp-eyed workers noticed her quick stares and retaliated with their own peculiar brand of hazing. The girl at the head of the table started it. "Somebody at this table is got a dirty face," she announced. "Not me," answered the others one by one. When Francie's turn came they stopped work and waited. Not knowing what to answer, Francie remained silent. "New girl says nothing," summarized the ringleader. "So she's got the dirty face." Francie's face got hot but she worked faster hoping they'd drop the whole thing. "Somebody is got a dirty neck." It started all over again. "Not me," answered the girls in order. When it came to Francie's turn, she too said, "Not me." But instead of appeasing them, it gave them more material to work on. "New girl says her neck ain't dirty." "She says!" "How does she know? Can she see her own neck?" "Would she admit it if it was dirty?" "They want me to do something," puzzled Francie. "But what? Do they want me to get mad and curse at them? Do they want me to give up this job? Or do they want to see me cry the way that little girl did long ago when I watched her clean the blackboard erasers? Whatever they want, I won't do it!" She bent her head over the wires and made her fingers fly faster. The tiresome game went on all morning. The only respites were when Mark, the utility boy, came in. Then they let up on Francie a little in order to work on him. "New girl, watch out for Mark," they warned her. "He was arrested twice for rape and once for white slavery." The accusations were crudely ironical considering the obvious effeminacy of Mark. Francie saw how the unfortunate boy flushed a brick red at each taunt and she felt sorry for him. The morning wore on. When it seemed that it would never end, a bell rang announcing lunch time. The girls dropped their work, hauled out paper bags of lunch, ripped the bags open to form a tablecloth, spread out their onion-garnished sandwiches and started to eat. Francie's hands were hot and sticky. She wanted to wash them before she ate so she asked her neighbor where the washroom was. "No spik Eng-leash," answered the girl in exaggerated greenhorn dialect. "Nix verstandt," said another who had been taunting her in idiomatic English all morning. "What's a washroom?" asked a fat girl. "Where they make washers," replied a wit. Mark was collecting boxes. He stood in the doorway, his arms laden, made his Adam's apple go up and down twice, and Francie heard him speak for the first time. "Jesus Christ died on the cross for people like you," he announced passionately, "and now you won't show a new girl where the terlet is." Francie stared at him, astonished. Then she couldn't help it-it had sounded so funny-she burst out laughing. Mark gulped, turned and disappeared down the hall. Everything changed then. A murmur ran round the table. "She laughed!" "Hey! The new girl laughed!" "Laughed!" A young Italian girl linked her arm in Francie's and said, "Come on, new girl. I'll show you the terlet." In the washroom, she turned on the water for Francie, punched down on the glass bowl of liquid soap and hovered over Francie solicitously while she washed her hands. When Francie would have dried her hands on the snowy, obviously- unused roller towel, her guide snatched her away. "Don't use that towel, new girl." "Why? It looks clean." "It's dangerous. Some of the girls working here is clappy and you'll catch it if you use the towel." "What'll I do?" Francie waved her wet hands. "Use your petticoat like we do." Francie dried her hands on her petticoat eyeing the deadly towel with horror. Back in the workroom, she found that they had flattened her paper bag and set out the two bologna sandwiches mama had fixed for her. She saw that someone had placed a nice red tomato on her paper. The girls welcomed her back with smiles. The one who had led the taunts all morning, took a long swig out of a whiskey bottle and then passed it to Francie. "Take a drink, new girl," she ordered. "Them samwishes is dry going down alone." Francie shrank back and declined hastily. "Go ahead! It's only cold tea." Francie thought of the washroom towel and shook her head "no" emphatically. "Ah!" exclaimed the girl. "I know why you don't drink from my bottle. In the terlet, Anastasia scared you. Don't you believe her, new girl. The boss started that clappy talk hisself so's we wouldn't use the towels. That way he saves a couple dollars each week on laundry." "Yeah?" said Anastasia, "I don't see none of youse using the towel." "Hell, we only got half a hour for lunch. Who wants to waste time washing hands? Drink up, new girl." Francie took a long drink from the bottle. The cold tea was strong and refreshing. She thanked the girl and then tried to thank the donor of the tomato. Immediately each girl in turn denied giving it. "What are you talking about?" "What termater?" "Don't see no termater." "New girl brings a termater for lunch and don't even remember." So they teased her. But now there was something warmly companionable about the teasing. Francie enjoyed the lunch period and was glad she had found out what they wanted from her. They had just wanted her to laugh-such a simple thing and so hard to find out. The rest of the day passed pleasantly. The girls told her not to break her neck-that it was seasonable work and they'd all be laid off when the fall orders had been made up. The quicker the orders were finished, the sooner they'd be fired. Francie, pleased at being taken into the confidence of these older, more experienced workers, obligingly slowed down. They told jokes all afternoon and Francie laughed at them all, whether they were funny or just plain dirty. And her conscience bothered her only a little bit when she joined the others in tormenting Mark, the martyr, who didn't know that if he would laugh but once, his troubles in the shop would be over. It was a few minutes past noon on Saturday. Francie stood at the foot of the Flushing Avenue station of the Broadway El waiting for Neeley. She held an envelope containing five dollars-her first week's pay. Neeley was bringing home five dollars too. They had agreed to arrive home together and make a little ceremony out of giving the money to mama. Neeley worked as errand boy in a downtown New York brokerage house. Sissy's John had gotten him the job through a friend already working there. Francie envied Neeley. Each day he crossed the great Williamsburg Bridge and went into the strange big city while Francie walked to her work on the north side of Brooklyn. And Neeley ate in a restaurant. Like Francie, he had brought his lunch the first day but the boys made fun of him, calling him the country boy from Brooklyn. After that, mama gave him fifteen cents a day for lunch. He told Francie how he ate in a place called the Automat where you put a nickel in a slot and coffee and cream came out together-not too little, not too much, just a cupful. Francie wished she could ride across the bridge to work and eat in the Automat instead of carrying sandwiches from home. Neeley ran down the El steps. He carried a flat package under his arm. Francie noticed how he put his feet down at an angle so that the whole foot was on the step instead of just the heel part. This gave him sure footing. Papa had always come down stairs that way. Neeley wouldn't tell Francie what was in the package, saying that would spoil the surprise. They stopped in a neighborhood bank which was just about to close for the day and asked a teller to give them new one-dollar bills in exchange for their old money. "What do you want new bills for?" asked the teller. "It's our first pay and we'd like to bring it home in new money," explained Francie. "First pay, eh?" said the teller. "That takes me back. It certainly takes me back. I remember when I took home my first pay. I was a boy at the time ... working on a farm in Manhasset, Long Island. Well, sir. ..." He went off into a biographical sketch while people in line shuffled impatiently. He ended, "... and when I turned my first pay over to my mother, the tears stood in her eyes. Yes, sir, the tears stood in her eyes." He tore the wrapper from a bundle of new bills and exchanged their old money. Then he said, "And here's a present for you." He gave each a fresh-minted gold-looking penny which he took from the cash drawer. "New 1916 pennies," he explained. "The first in the neighborhood. Don't spend them, now. Save them." He took two old coppers from his pocket and put them in the drawer to make up the deficiency. Francie thanked him. As they moved away, she heard the man next in line say as he leaned his elbow on the ledge, "I remember when I brought my first pay home to my old lady." As they went out, Francie wondered whether everyone in line would tell about his first pay. "Everyone who works," said Francie, "has this one thing together: They remember about bringing home their first pay." "Yeah," agreed Neeley. As they turned a corner, Francie mused, "And the tears stood in her eyes." She had never heard that expression before and it caught her fancy. "How could that be?" Neeley wanted to know. "Tears have no legs. They can't stand." "He didn't mean that. He meant it like when people say, 'I stood in bed all day.' "But 'stood' is no word that way." "It is so," countered Francie. "Here in Brooklyn 'stood' is like the past tense of 'stay.' "I guess so;" agreed Neeley. "Let's walk down Manhattan Avenue instead of Graham." "Neeley, I have an idea. Let's make a tin-can bank without telling mama and nail it in your closet. We'll start it off with these new pennies and if mama gives us any spending money, we'll each put ten cents in every week. We'll open it Christmas and buy presents for mama and Laurie." "And for us, too," stipulated Neeley. "Yeah. I'll buy one for you and you buy one for me. I'll tell you what I want when the time comes." It was agreed. They walked briskly, outdistancing loitering kids homeward bound from the junk shops. They looked towards Carney's as they passed Scholes Street and noticed the crowd outside of Cheap Charlie's. "Kids," said Neeley contemptuously, jingling some coins in his pockets. "Remember, Neeley, when we used to go out selling junk?" "That was a long time ago." "Yeah," agreed Francie. It was, in fact, two weeks since they had dragged their last haul to Carney's. Neeley presented the flat package to mama. "For you and Francie," he said. Mama unwrapped it. It was a pound box of Loft's peanut brittle. "And I didn't buy it out of my salary, either," explained Neeley mysteriously. They made mama go into the bedroom for a minute. They arranged the ten new bills on the table, then called mama out. "For you, Mama," said Francie with a grand wave of her hand. "Oh, my!" said Mama. "I can hardly believe it." "And that's not all," said Neeley. He took eighty cents in change from his pocket and placed it on the table. "Tips for running errands fast," he explained. "I saved 'em all week. There was more, but I bought the candy." Mama slid the change across the table to Neeley. "All the tips you make, you keep for spending money," she said. (Just like papa, thought Francie.) "Gee! Well, I'll give Francie a quarter out of it." "No." Mama got a fifty- cent piece from the cracked cup and gave it to Francie. "That's Francie's spending money. Fifty cents a week." Francie was pleased. She hadn't expected that much of an allowance. The children overwhelmed their mother with thanks. Katie looked at the candy, at the new bills and then at her children. She bit her lip, turned suddenly and went into the bedroom, closing the door after her. "Is she mad about something?" whispered Neeley. "No," said Francie. "She's not mad. She just didn't want us to see her start crying." "How do you know she's going to cry?" " 'Cause. When she looked at the money, I saw that tears stood in her eyes." XLIV FRANCIE had been working two weeks when the layoff came. The girls exchanged looks while the Boss explained that it was just for a few days. "A few days, six months long," explained Anastasia for Francie's information. The girls were going over to a Greenpoint factory which needed hands for winter orders, poinsettias and artificial holly wreaths. When the layoff came there, they'd go on to another factory. And so on. They were Brooklyn migratory workers following seasonal work from one part of the borough to the other. They urged Francie to go along with them but she wanted to try new work. She figured that since she had to work, she'd get variety in it by changing her job each chance she got. Then, like the sodas, she could say she had tried every work there was. Katie found an ad in The World that said a file clerk was wanted; beginner considered, age sixteen, state religion. Francie bought a sheet of writing paper and an envelope for a penny and carefully wrote an application and addressed it to the ad's box number. Although she was only fourteen, she and her mother agreed that she could pass for sixteen easily. So she said she was sixteen in the letter. Two days later, Francie received a reply on an exciting letter head: a pair of shears lying on a folded newspaper with a pot of paste nearby. It was from the Model Press Clipping Bureau on Canal Street, New York, and it asked Miss Nolan to report for an interview. Sissy went shopping with Francie and helped her buy a grownup dress and her first pair of high-heeled pumps. When she tried on her new outfit, mama and Sissy swore that she looked sixteen except for her hair. Her braids made her look very kiddish. "Mama, please let me get it bobbed," begged Francie. "It took you fourteen years to grow that hair," said mama, "and I'll not let you have it cut off." "Gee, Mama, you're 'way behind the time." "Why do you want short hair like a boy?" "It would be easier to care for." "Taking care of her hair should be a woman's pleasure." "But Katie," protested Sissy, "all the girls are bobbing their hair nowadays." "They're fools, then. A woman's hair is her mystery. Daytimes, it's pinned up. But at night, alone with her man, the pins come out and it hangs loose like a shining cape. It makes her a special secret woman for the man." "At night, all cats are gray," said Sissy wickedly. "None of your remarks," said Katie sharply. "I'd look just like Irene Castle if I had short hair," persisted Francie. "They make Jew women cut off their hair when they marry, so no other man will look at them. Nuns get their hair cut off to prove they're done with men. Why should any young girl do it when she doesn't have to?" Francie was about to reply when mama said, "We'll have no more arguments." "All right," said Francie. "But when I'm eighteen, I'll be my own boss. Then you'll see." "When you're eighteen, you can shave your scalp for all I care. In the meantime ..." She wound Francie s two heavy braids around her head and pinned them in place with bone hairpins which she took from her own hair. "There!" She stepped back and surveyed her daughter. "It looks just like a shining crown," she announced dramatically. It does make her look at least eighteen," conceded Sissy. Francie looked in the mirror. She was pleased that she looked so old the way mama had fixed her hair. But she wouldn't give in and say so. "All my life I'll have headaches carrying this load of hair around," she complained. "Lucky you, if that's all gives you a life of headaches," said mama. Next morning, Neeley escorted his sister to New York. As the train came on to the Williamsburg Bridge after leaving Marcy Avenue station, Francie noticed that many people seated in the car rose as if in accord and then sat down again. "Why do they do that, Neeley?" "Just as you get on the Bridge, there's a bank with a big clock. People stand up to look at the time so's they know whether they're early or late for work. I betcha a million people look at that clock every day," figured Neeley. Francie had anticipated a thrill when she rode over that Bridge for the first time. But the ride wasn't half as thrilling as wearing grown-up clothes for the first time. The interview was short. She was hired on trial. Hours, nine to five-thirty, half an hour for lunch, salary, seven dollars a week to start. First, the Boss took her on a tour of inspection of the Press Clipping Bureau. The ten readers sat at long sloping desks. The newspapers of all the states were divided among them. The papers poured into the Bureau every hour of every day from every city in every state of the Union. The girls marked and boxed items sought and put down their total and their own identifying number on the top of the front page. The marked papers were collected and brought to the printer who had a hand press containing an adjustable date apparatus, and racks of slugs before her. She adjusted the paper's date on her press, inserted the slug containing the name, city, and state of the newspaper and printed as many slips as there were items marked. Then, slips and newspaper went to the cutter who stood before a large slanting desk and slashed out the marked items with a sharp curved knife. (In spite of the letterhead, there wasn't a pair of shears on the premises.) As the cutter slashed out the items, throwing the discarded paper to the floor, a sea of newspaper rose as high as her waist each fifteen minutes. A man collected this waste paper and took it away for baling. The clipped items and slips were turned over to the paster who affixed the clippings. to the slips. Then they were filed, collected and placed in envelopes and mailed. Francie got on to the filing system very easily. In two weeks, she had memorized the two thousand or so names or headings on the file box. Then she was put into training as a reader. For two more weeks, she did nothing but study the clients' cards which were more detailed than the file box headings. When an informal examination proved that she had memorized the orders, she was given the Oklahoma papers to read. The Boss went over her papers before they went to the cutter and pointed out her mistakes. When she got expert enough not to need checking, the Pennsylvania papers were added. Soon after she was given the New York state papers, and now had three states to read. By the end of August, she was reading more papers and marking more items than any other reader in the Bureau. She was fresh to the work, anxious to please, had strong clear eyes (she was the only reader not wearing glasses), and had developed a photographic eye very quickly. She could take in an item at a glance and note immediately whether it was something to mark. She read between a hundred and eighty and two hundred newspapers a day. The next best reader averaged from a hundred to a hundred and ten papers. Yes, Francie was the fastest reader in the Bureau- and the poorest paid. Although she had been raised to ten dollars a week when she went on reading, her runner-up received twenty- five dollars a week and the other readers received twenty. Since Francie never became friendly enough with the girls to be taken into their confidence, she had no way of knowing how grossly underpaid she was. Although Francie liked reading newspapers and was proud to earn ten dollars a week, she was not happy. She had been excited about going to work in New York. Since such a tiny thing as a flower in a brown bowl at the library had thrilled her so, she expected that the great city of New York would thrill her a hundred times more. But it was not so. The Bridge had been the first disappointment. Looking at it from the roof of her house, she had thought that crossing it would make her feel like a gossamer- winged fairy flying through the air. But the actual ride over the Bridge was no different than the ride above the Brooklyn streets. The Bridge was paved in sidewalks and traffic roads like the streets of Broadway and the tracks were the same tracks. There was no different feeling about the train as it went over the Bridge. New York was disappointing. The buildings were higher and the crowds thicker; otherwise it was little different from Brooklyn. From now on, would all new things be disappointing, she wondered? She had often studied the map of the United States and crossed its plains, mountains, deserts, and rivers in her imagination. And it had seemed a wonderful thing. Now she wondered whether she wouldn't be disappointed in that, too. Supposing, she thought, she was to walk across this great country. She'd start out at seven in the morning, say, and walk westward. She'd put one foot down in front of the other to cover distance, and, as she walked to the west, she'd be so busy with her feet and with the realization that her footsteps were part of a chain that had started in Brooklyn, that she might think nothing at all of the mountains, rivers, plains, and deserts she came upon. All she'd notice was that some things were strange because they reminded her of Brooklyn and that other things were strange because they were so different from Brooklyn. "I guess there is nothing new, then, in the world," decided Francie unhappily. "If there is anything new or different, some part of it must be in Brooklyn and I must be used to it and wouldn't be able to notice it if I came across it." Like Alexander the Great, Francie grieved, being convinced that there were no new worlds to conquer. She adapted herself to the split-second rhythm of the New Yorker going to and from work. Getting to the office was a nervous ordeal. If she arrived one minute before nine, she was a free person. If she arrived a minute after, she worried because that made her the logical scapegoat of the Boss if he happened to be n a bad mood that day. So she learned ways of conserving bits of seconds. Long before the train ground to a stop at her station, she pushed her way to the door to be one of the first expelled when it slid open. Out of the train, she ran like a deer, circling the crowd to be the first up the stairs leading to the street. Walking to the office, she kept close to the buildings so she could turn corners sharply. She crossed streets kittycorner to save stepping off and on an extra pair of curbs. At the building, she shoved her way into the elevator even though the operator yelled "Car's full!" And all this maneuvering to arrive one minute before, instead of after nine! Once she left home ten minutes earlier to have more time. In spite of no need of hurry, she still pushed her way out of the train, flew up the steps, rushed through the streets economically and crowded into a full elevator. She was fifteen minutes early. The big room was echoingly empty and she felt desolate and lost. When the other workers rushed in seconds before nine, Francie felt like a traitor. The next morning, she slept ten minutes longer and returned to her original timing. She was the only Brooklyn girl in the Bureau. The others came from Manhattan, Hoboken, the Bronx, and one commuted from Bayonne, New Jersey. Two of the oldest readers there, sisters, had originally come from Ohio. The first day Francie worked at the Bureau one of the sisters said to her, "You have a Brooklyn accent." It had sounded like a shocked accusation and made Francie self-conscious of her speech. She took to pronouncing words carefully, lest she say things like "goil" for "girl," and "apperntment" instead of "appointment." There were but two people in the Bureau to whom she could talk without embarrassment. One was the Boss-manager. He was a Harvard graduate and in spite of a broad "a" which he used indiscriminately, his speech was plain and his vocabulary less affected than those of the readers, most of whom had graduated from high school and had picked up an extensive vocabulary from years of reading. The other person was Miss Armstrong, who was the only other college graduate. Miss Armstrong was the special city reader. Her desk was isolated in the choicest corner of the room where there was a north and an east window, the best light for reading. She read nothing but the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, and New York City newspaper. A special messenger brought her each edition of the New York City newspaper soon after it left the presses. When her papers were read up, she didn't have to pitch in, as the other readers did, and help the girls who were behind. She crocheted or manicured her nails while waiting for the next edition. She was the highest paid, receiving thirty dollars a week. Miss Armstrong was a kindly person and she took a helpful interest in Francie and tried to draw her out in conversation so that she wouldn't feel lonely. Once in the washroom, Francie overheard a remark about Miss Armstrong being the Boss' mistress. Francie had heard of, but never seen one of those fabulous beings. Immediately, she examined Miss Armstrong closely as a mistress. She saw that Miss Armstrong wasn't pretty; her face was almost simian with its wide mouth and flat thick nostrils, and her figure was merely passable. Francie looked at her legs. They were long, slender and exquisitely molded. She wore the sheerest of flawless silk stockings, and expensively- made high-heeled pumps shod her beautifully-arched feet. "Beautiful legs, then, is the secret of being a mistress," concluded Francie. She looked down at her own long thin legs. "I'll never make it, I guess." Sighing, she resigned herself to a sinless life. There was a class system in the Bureau engendered by the cutter, printer, paster, paper baler, and delivery boy. These workers, illiterate but sharp- witted, who for some reason called themselves The Club, assumed that the better- educated readers looked down on them. In retaliation, they stirred up as much trouble as possible among the readers. Francie's loyalties were divided. By background and education, she belonged to The Club class but by ability and intelligence she belonged to the reader' class. The Club was shrewd enough to feel this division in Francie and tried to use her as a go- between. They informed her of trouble-making office rumors, expecting that she would relay them to the reader and create dissension. But Francie wasn't friendly enough with the readers to exchange gossip with them and the rumors died with her. So one day, when the cutter told her that Miss Armstrong was leaving in September, and that she, Francie, was to be promoted to the city reader job, Francie assumed this to be a rumor invented to arouse jealousy among the reader, all of whom expected the city reading job when and if Miss Armstrong resigned. She thought it was preposterous, that she, a girl of fourteen, with nothing but a grade school education, would be considered eligible to take over the work of a thirty- year-old college graduate like Miss Armstrong. It was nearing the end of August and Francie was worried because mama hadn't mentioned anything about her going to high school. She wanted desperately to go back to school. All the years of talk about higher education she had heard from her mother, grandmother, and aunts not only made her anxious to get more education, but gave her an inferiority complex about her present lack of education. She remembered with affection the girls who had written in her autograph book. She wanted to be one of them again. They came out of the same life as she did; they were no further along. Her natural place was going to school with them, not working competitively with older women. She didn't like working in New York. The crowds continually swarming about her made her tremble. She felt that she was being pushed into a way of life that she wasn't ready to handle. And the things she dreaded worst about working in New York was the crowded El trains. There had been that time in the train when, hanging from a strap and so tightly wedged in the crowd that she couldn't so much as lower her arm, she had felt a man's hand. No matter how she twisted and squirmed, she couldn't get away from that hand. When she swayed with the crowd as the cars swerved, the hand tightened. She was unable to twist her head to see whose hand it was. She stood in desperate futility, helplessly enduring the indignity. She could have called out and protested but she was too ashamed to call public attention to her predicament. It seemed an eternity before the crowd thinned out enough for her to move to a different part of the car. After that, standing in a crowded train became a dreaded ordeal. One Sunday, when she and mama brought Laurie over to see granma, Francie told Sissy about the man on the train, expecting that Sissy would comfort her. But her aunt treated it as a great joke. "So a man pinched you on the El," she said. "I wouldn't let that bother me. It means you're getting a good shape and there are some men who can't resist a woman's shape. Say! I must be getting old! It's been years since anybody pinched me on the El. There was a time when I couldn't ride in a crowd without coming home black and blue," she said proudly. "Is that anything to brag about?" asked Katie. Sissy ignored that remark. "The day will come, Francie," she said, "when you're forty-five and have a shape like a bag of horses' oats tied in the middle. Then you'll look back and long for the old days when men wanted to pinch you." "If she does look back," said Katie, "it will be because you put it in her mind and not because it's anything wonderful to remember." She turned to Francie. "As for you, learn to stand in the train without holding on to a strap. Keep your hands down and keep a long sharp pin in your pocket. If you feel a man's hand on you, stick it good with the pin." Francie did as mama said. She learned to keep her feet without holding to a strap. She kept her hand closed on a long vicious pin in her coat pocket. She hoped someone would pinch her again. She, just hoped so, so that she could stab him with the pin. "It's all very well for Sissy to talk about shapes and men, but I don't like to be pinched in the back. And when I get to be forty-five, I certainly hope that I have something nicer to look back on and long for than being pinched by a stranger. Sissy ought to be ashamed. ... "What's the matter with me, anyhow? Here I stand criticizing Sissy-Sissy who's been so darn good to me. I'm dissatisfied with my job when I should feel lucky having such interesting work. Imagine getting paid to read when I like to read so much anyhow. And everyone thinks New York is the most wonderful city in the world and I can't even get to like New York. Seems like I'm the most dissatisfied person in the whole world. Oh, I wish I was young again when everything seemed so wonderful!" Just before Labor Day, the Boss called Francie into his private office and informed her that Miss Armstrong was leaving to be married. He cleared his throat and added that Miss Armstrong was marrying him, in fact. Francie's conception of a mistress broke and scattered. She had believed that men never married their mistresses-that they cast them aside like worn-out gloves. So Miss Armstrong was to become a wife instead of a worn-out glove. Well! "So we'll need a new city reader," the Boss was saying. "Miss Armstrong herself, suggested that we ... ah ... try you out, Miss Nolan." Francie's heart jumped. She, city reader! The most coveted job in the Bureau! There had been truth, then, in The Club's rumors. Another preconceived idea gone. She had always assumed that all rumors were false. The Boss planned to offer her fifteen a week, figuring he'd get as good a reader as his future wife at half the salary. The girl should be tickled to death, too-a youngster like that ... fifteen a week. She said she was past sixteen. She looked thirteen. Of course her age was none of his business as long as she was competent. The law couldn't touch him- hiring someone under age. All he'd have to say was that she deceived him as to her true age. "There's a little raise along with the job," he said benignly. Francie smiled happily and he worried. "Have I put my foot in it?" he thought. "Maybe she didn't expect a raise." He covered his blunder hastily. a small raise after we see how you work out." "I don't know..." began Francie doubtfully. "She's over sixteen," decided the boss, "and she's going to hold me up for a big raise." To forestall her, he said, "We'll give you fifteen a week, starting. ... He hesitated. No use being too good-natured. "... starting the first of October." He leaned back in his chair feeling as gracious as God, Himself. "I mean, I don't think I'll be here much longer." "She's working me for more money," he thought. Aloud, he asked, "Why not?" "I'm going back to school after Labor Day, I think. I meant to tell you as soon as my plans were settled." "College?" "High school." "I'll have to put Pinski on city," he thought. "She's getting twenty-five now, she'll expect thirty and I'm right back where I started. This Nolan is better than Pinski, too. Damn Irma! Where does she get the idea that a woman shouldn't work after marriage? She could keep right on ... keep the money in the family ... buy a home with it." He spoke to Francie. "Oh! I'm sorry to hear that. Not that I don't approve of higher education. But I consider newspaper reading a darn fine education. It's a good, live ever-growing contemporary education. While in school … it's merely books. Dead books," he said contemptuously. "I'll ... I'll have to talk it over with my mother." "By all means. Tell her what your Boss said about education. And tell her I said," he closed his eyes and took the plunge, "that we'll pay you twenty dollars a week. Starting the first of November," he shaved off a month. "That's an awful lot of money," she said in all honesty. "We believe in paying our workers well so they stick with us. And ... ah ... Miss Nolan, please don't mention your future salary. It's more than anyone else is getting," he lied, "and if they found out ..." he spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "You understand? No washroom gossip." Francie felt gracious as she set his mind at ease by assuring him that she'd never betray him in the washroom. The Boss started to sign letters, indicating that the interview was over. "That's all, Miss Nolan. And we must have your decision the day after Labor Day." "Yes, sir." Twenty dollars a week! Francie was stunned. Two months ago, she was glad to earn five dollars a week. Uncle Willie only earned eighteen a week and he was forty. Sissy's john was smart and earned but twenty-two- fifty a week. Few men in her neighborhood earned as much as twenty a week and they had families, too. "With that money, our troubles would be over," thought Francie. "We could pay rent on a three-room flat somewhere, mama wouldn't have to go out to work and Laurie wouldn't he left alone so much. I guess I'd be mighty important if I could manage something like that. "But I want to go back to school!" She recalled the constant harping on education in the family. Granma: It will raise you up on the face of the earth. Evy: Each of my three children will get three diplomas. Sissy: And when mother goes-pray God not for a long time yet-and baby is big enough to start kindergarten, I'm going out to work again. And I'll bank my pay and when Little Sissy grows up, I'll put her in the best college there is. Mama: And I don't want my children to have the same hardworking life I have. Education will fix it so that their lives are easier. "Still it's such a good job," thought Francie. "That is, good right now. But my eyes will get worn out from the work. All the older readers have to wear glasses. Miss Armstrong said a reader's only good as long as her eyes hold out. Those other readers were fast, too, when they first started. Like me. But now their eyes. ... I must save my eyes … not read away from the job. If mama knew I could get twenty a week, maybe she wouldn't send me back to school and I couldn't blame her. We've been poor so long. Mama is very fair in all things but this money, might make her see things in a different way and it wouldn't be her fault. I won't tell her about the raise until after she decides about school." Francie spoke to mama about school and mama said, yes, they'd have to talk about it. They'd talk about it right after supper that night. After finishing their supper coffee, Katie announced needlessly (since everybody knew it), that school was opening next week. "I want both of you to go to high school but it's working out that only one of you can start this fall. I'm saving every cent I can out of your pay so that next year, both of you will be back in school." She waited. She waited a long time. Neither of the children answered. "Well? Don't you want to go to high school?" Francie's lips were stiff as she spoke. So much depended on mama, and Francie wanted her words to make a good impression. "Yes, Mama. I want to go: back to school more'n I'll ever want anything in my life." "I don't want to go," said Neeley. "Don't make me go back to school, Mama. I like to work and I'm going to get a two-dollar raise the first of the year." "Don't you want to be a doctor?" "No. I want to be a broker and make lots of money like my bosses. I'll get on to the stock market and make a million dollars some day." "My son will be a great doctor." "How do you know? I might turn out like Dr. Hueller on Maujer Street with an office in a basement flat and always wear a dirty shirt like him. Anyhow, I know enough. I don't need to go back to school." "Neeley doesn't want to go back to school," said Katie. She spoke to Francie almost pleadingly. "You know what that means, Francie." Francie bit her lip. It wouldn't do to cry. She must keep calm. She must keep thinking clearly. "It means," said mama, "that Neeley has to go back to school." "I won't!" cried Neeley. "I won't go back no matter what you say! I'm working and earning money and I want to keep on. I'm somebody now with the fellers. If I go back to school, I'm just a punk kid again. Besides, you need my money, Mama. We don't want to be poor again." "You'll go back to school," announced Katie quietly. "Francie's money will be enough." "Why do you make him go when he doesn't want to," cried Francie, "and keep me out of school when I want to go so much?" "Yeah," agreed Neeley. "Because if I don't make him, he'll never go back," said mama, "where you, Francie, will fight and manage to get back somehow." "Why are you so sure all the time?" protested Francie. "In a year I'll be too old to go back. Neeley's only thirteen. He'll still be young enough next year." "Nonsense. You'll only be fifteen next fall." "Seventeen," corrected Francie, "going on eighteen; too old to start." "What kind of silly talk is that?" "Not silly. On the job, I'm sixteen. I have to look and act sixteen instead of fourteen. Next year I'll be fifteen in years but two years older in the way I'm living; too old to change back into a school girl." "Neeley will go back to school next week," said Katie stubbornly, "and Francie will go back next year." "I hate both of you," shouted Neeley. "And if you make me go back, I'll run away from home. Yes, I will!" He ran out slamming the door. Katie's face set in lines of misery and Francie felt sorry for her. "Don't worry, Mama. He won't run away. He just said that." The instant relief that came into her mother's face angered Francie. "But I'm the one who'll go away and I won't make a speech about it. When the time comes that you don't need what I earn, I'll leave." "What's gotten into my children who used to be so good?" asked Katie poignantly. "Years have gotten into us." Katie looked puzzled. Francie explained: "We never did get working papers." "But they were hard to get. The priest wanted a dollar for each baptismal certificate and I would have had to go to City Hall with you. I was nursing Laurie every two hours then, and couldn't go. We all figured it was easier for you both to claim to be sixteen and not have all the fuss." "That part was all right. But saying we were sixteen, we had to be sixteen, and you treat us like thirteen-year-old children." "I wish your father were here. He understood things about you that I can't get to understand." Pain stabbed through Francie. After it passed, she told her mother that her salary was to be doubled on November first. "Twenty dollars!" Katie's mouth fell open in surprise. "Oh, my!" That was her usual expression when anything astonished her. "When did you know?" "Saturday." "And you didn't tell me till now." "No." "You thought if I knew that it would fix my mind about you keeping on working." "Yes." "But I didn't know when I said it was right for Neeley to go back to school. You can see that I did what I thought was right and the money didn't come into it. Can't you see?" she asked pleadingly. "No, I can't see. I can only see that you favor Neeley more than me. You fix everything for him and tell me that I can find a way myself. Some day I'll fool you, Mama. I'll do what I think is right for me and it might not be right in your way." "I'm not worrying, because I know that I can trust my daughter." Katie spoke with such simple dignity that Francie was ashamed of herself. "And I trust my son. He's mad now about doing what he doesn't want to do. But he'll get over it and do well in school. Neeley's a good boy." "Yes, he's a good boy," conceded Francie, "but even if he was bad, you wouldn't notice it. But where I'm concerned ..." her voice went ragged on a sob. Katie sighed sharply but said nothing. She got up and started to clear the table. Her hand reached for a cup, and Francie, for the first time in her life, saw her mother's hand fumble. It trembled and couldn't connect with the cup. Francie put the cup in her mother's hand. She noticed a big crack in the cup. "Our family used to be like a strong cup," thought Francie. "It was whole and sound and held things well. When papa died, the first crack came. And this fight tonight made another crack. Soon there will be so many cracks that the cup will break and we'll all be pieces instead of a whole thing together. I don't want this to happen, yet I'm deliberately making a deep crack." Her sharp sigh was just like Katie's. The mother went to the washbasket in which the baby was sleeping peacefully in spite of the bitter talking. Francie saw her mother's still fumbling hands take the sleeping child from the basket. Katie sat in her rocker near the window, held her baby tightly and rocked. Francie almost went blind with pity. "I shouldn't be so mean to her," she thought. "What has she ever had but hard work and trouble? Now she has to turn to her baby for comfort. Maybe she's thinking that Laurie whom she loves so and who is so dependent on her now, will grow up to turn against her like I'm doing now." She put her hand awkwardly on her mother's cheek. "It's all right, Mama. I didn't mean it. You're right and I'll do as you say. Neeley must go to school and you and I will see that he gets through." Katie put her hand over Francie's. "That's my good girl," she said. "Don't be mad at me, Mama, because I fought you. You, yourself, taught me to fight for what I thought was right and I ... I thought I was right." "I know. And I'm pleased that you can and will fight for what you should have. And you'll always come out all right-no matter what. You're like me that way." "And that's where the whole trouble is," thought Francie. "We're too much alike to understand each other because we don't even understand our own selves. Papa and I were too different persons and we understood each other. Mama understands Neeley because he's different from her. I wish I was different in the way that Neeley is." "Then everything's all right now between us?" Katie asked with a smile. "Of course." Francie smiled back and kissed her mother's cheek. But in their secret hearts, each knew that it wasn't all right and would never be all right between them again. XLV CHRISTMAS again. But this year there was money for presents and lots of food in the icebox and the flat was always warm now. When Francie came in off the cold street she thought that the warmth was like a lover's arms around her drawing her into the room. She wondered, incidentally, exactly what a lover's arms felt like. Francie took comfort out of not returning to school in the realization that the money she earned made life easier for them. Mama had been very fair. When Francie was raised to twenty dollars a week, mama gave her five dollars a week for herself to pay for her carfare, lunches, and clothes. Also, Katie deposited five dollars each week in Francie's name in the Williamsburg Savings Bank- for college, she explained. Katie managed well on the remaining ten dollars and a dollar that Neeley contributed. It wasn't a fortune, but things were cheap in 1916 and the Nolans got along fine. Neeley had taken to school cheerfully when he found that many of his old gang were entering Eastern District High. He had his old after-school job back at McGarrity's and mama gave him one of the two dollars for pocket money. He was somebody in school. He had more spending money than most boys and he knew Julius Caesar backwards, forwards, and upside-down. When they opened the tin-can bank, there was nearly four dollars in it. Neeley added another dollar, and Francie, five, and they had ten dollars to spend for Christmas presents. The three of them went shopping the afternoon before Christmas, taking Laurie with them. First they went to buy mama a new hat. In the hat store they stood behind mama's chair while she held the baby in her lap and tried on hats. Francie wanted her to have a jade-green velvet one but there wasn't a hat of that color to be found in Williamsburg. Mama thought she ought to get a black hat. "Were buying the hat, not you," Francie told her, "and we say, no more mourning hats." "Try on this red on, Mama," suggested Neeley. "No. I'll try on that very dark green one in the window." "It's a new shade," said the woman proprietor, getting it out of the window. "We call it moss green." She set it straight on Katie's brow. With an impatient flick of her hand, Katie tilted the hat over one eye. "That's it!" declared Neeley. "Mama, you look beautiful," was Francie's verdict. "I like it," decided mama. "How much?" she asked the woman. The woman drew a long breath and the Nolans girded themselves for bargaining. "It's like this ..." began the woman. "How much?" repeated Katie inflexibly. "In New York, ten dollars would you pay for the same merchandise. But. ..." "If I wanted to pay ten dollars, I'd go to New York for a hat." "Is that a way to talk? Exact copy, same hat in Wanamaker's is seven-fifty." Pregnant pause. "I'm going to give you identical hat for five dollars." "I have exactly two dollars to spend on a hat." "Get out from my store!" shouted the woman dramatically. "All right." Katie gathered up the baby and got to her feet. "You must be so hasty?" The woman pushed her back into the chair. She thrust the hat into a paper bag. "I'm letting you take it home for four-fifty. Believe me, my own mother-in-law shouldn't have it for that price!" "I believe you," thought Katie, "especially if she's like my mother-in-law." Aloud she said: The hat's nice but I can only afford two dollars. There are lots of other hat stores and I ought to get one for that-not as good as this one but good enough to keep the wind off my head." "I want you should listen." The woman made her voice deep and sincere. "They say that by the Jews, money is everything. By me is different. When I got a pretty hat and it goes with a pretty customer, something happens to me here." She put her hand on her heart. "I get so ... profits is nothing. I give free." She pushed the bag into Katie's hand. "Take the hat for four dollars. That's what it cost me wholesale." She sighed. "Believe me, a business woman I shouldn't be. Better I should be a picture painter." And the bargaining went on. Katie knew when the price finally reached two- fifty the woman wouldn't go lower. She tested her by pretending she was leaving. But this time the woman made no attempt to stop her. Francie nodded to Neeley. He gave the woman two dollars . and fifty cents. "You shouldn't tell nobody how cheap you got it," warned the woman. "We won't," promised Francie. "Put the hat in a box." "Ten cents extra is a box-what it costs me wholesale." "A bag's good enough," protested Katie. "This is your Christmas present," said Francie, "and it goes in a box." Neeley got out another dime. The hat was wrapped in tissue and put in a box. "I give it to you so cheap, you should come back next time you buy a hat. But don't expect such bargains next time." Katie laughed. As they left, the woman said, "Wear it in good health." "Thank you." As the door closed on them, the woman whispered bitterly, "Goyem!" and spat after them. On the street Neeley said, "No wonder mama waits five years to buy a new hat if it's all that trouble." "Trouble?" said Francie. "Why, that's fun!" Next they went to Seigler's to buy a sweater suit for Laurie's Christmas. When Seigler saw Francie, he let loose a flood of abuse. "So! At last you come in mine store! Is something maybe, other dry-goods stores ain't got and you come by me? Maybe by other store is dicky penny cheaper but damaged stock, no?" He turned to Katie and explained: "So many years comes this girl by me to buy dickies and paper collars for the papa. Now for a whole year already, she don't come." "Her father died a year ago," explained Katie. Mr. Seigler gave his forehead a mighty blow with the flat of his hand. "Oil By me is so big the mouth, so my foot always goes in," he apologized. "That's all right," said Katie soothingly. "It's this way by me: Nobody tells me nothing and I don't know till now." "That's the way it always is," said Katie. "And now," he asked briskly, getting down to business, "what can I show you?" "A sweater suit for a seven months' old baby." "I got here exzactle size." He took a blue wool outfit from a box. But when they held it up to Laurie, the sweater reached only to her navel and the leggings went to just below her knees. They measured other sizes and found a two-year-old size that was just right. Mr. Seigler went into ecstasies. "I'm in dry-goods business twenty years-fifteen on Grand Stritt and five on Graham Am-yer and never ins leben do I see a seven months so big." And the Nolans glowed with pride. There was no bargaining because Seigler's was a one-price store. Neeley counted out three dollars. They put the suit on the baby then and there. She looked cute with the zitful cap pulled down over her ears. The bright blue color brought out the rosiness of her skin. You'd think she understood- the way she acted so pleased, flashing her two-toothed smile about indiscriminately. "Ach du Liebschen," crooned Seigler, hands clasped prayerfully, "she should wear it in good health." This time the wish was not nullified by his spitting after them. Mama went home with the baby and her new hat while Neeley and Francie continued their Christmas shopping. They bought small gifts for their Flittman cousins and something for Sissy's baby. Then it was time for their own gifts. "I'll tell you what I want and you can buy it for me," said Neeley. "All right. What?" "Spats." "Spats?" Francie's voice scaled up. "Pearl gray ones," he said firmly. "If that's what you want ..." she began, dubiously. "Medium size." "How do you know the size?" "I went in and tried them on yesterday." He gave Francie a dollar and a half and she bought the spats. She had the man wrap them in a gift box. On the street, she presented the package to Neeley while they frowned solemnly at each other. "From me to you. Merry Christmas," said Francie. "Thank you," he replied formally. "And now, what do you want?" "A black lace dance set in the window of that store near Union Avenue." "Is that ladies' stuff?" asked Neeley uneasily. "Uh-huh. Twenty-four waist and 32 bust. Two dollars." "You buy it. I don't like to ask for anything like that." She bought the coveted dance set-panties and brassiere made of scraps of black lace held together by narrow black satin ribbon. Neeley disapproved and muttered an ungracious, "You're welcome," to her thanks. They passed the Christmas tree curb market. "Remember the time," said Neeley, "when we let the man chuck the biggest tree at us?" "Do I! Every time I get a headache, it's in the place where the tree hit me." "And the way papa sang when he helped us get the tree up the stairs," recalled Neeley. Several times that day, the name or thought of papa had come up. And each time, Francie had felt a flash of tenderness instead of the old stab of pain. "Am I forgetting him?" she thought. "In time to come, will it be hard to remember anything about him? I guess it's like Granma Mary Rommely says: 'With time, passes all.' The first year was hard because we could say last 'lection he voted. Last Thanksgiving he ate with us. But next year it will be two years ago that he ... and as time passes it will be harder and harder to remember and keep track." "Look!" Neeley grabbed her arm and pointed to a two- foot fir tree in a wooden tub. "It's growing!" she cried out. "What did you think? They all have to grow in the beginning." "I know. Still and all you always see them cut off and get the idea that they grow chopped down. Let's buy it, Neeley." "It's awful little." "But it has roots." When they brought it home, Katie examined the tree and the line between her eyes deepened as she figured something out. "Yes," she said, "after Christmas we'll put it on the fire escape and see that it gets sun and water and, once a month, horse manure." "No, Mama," protested Francie. "You're not going to put that horse manure over on us." As small children, gathering horse manure had been one of their most dreaded chores. Granma Mary Rommely kept a row of scarlet geraniums on her window sill and they were strong and bright and clear- colored because once a month either Francie or Neeley had to go out on the streets with a cigar box and fill it with two neat rows of manure balls. On delivery, Granma made payment of two cents. Francie had been ashamed to gather horse manure. Once she had protested to Granma who had answered: "Ai, the blood runs thin in the third generation. Back in Austria, my good brothers loaded large wagons with the manure and they were strong and honorable men." "They'd have to be," Francie had thought, "to work with stuff like that." Katie was saying: "Now that we own a tree, we have to take care of it and make it grow. You can get manure in the dark of night if you're ashamed." "There's so few horses now-mostly automobiles. It's hard to get," argued Neeley. "Go on a cobblestoned street where autos don't go and if there isn't any manure, wait for a horse and follow him until there is." "Gee whiz," protested Neeley, "I'm sorry we ever bought the old tree." "What's the matter with us," said Francie. "These aren't olden times. We've got money now. All we have to do is give some old kid on the block a nickel and he'll collect it for us." "Yeah," agreed Neeley, relieved. "I should think," said mama, "that you'd want to take care of your tree with your own hands." "The difference between rich and poor," said Francie, is that the poor do everything with their own hands and the rich hire hands to do things. We're not poor any more. We can pay to have some things done for us." "I want to stay poor, then," said Katie, "because I like to use my hands." Neeley, as always, became bored when his mother and sister began one of their figuring-out conversations. To change the subject, he said, "I bet Laurie's as big as that tree." They fished the baby out of her basket and measured her against the tree. "Exzactle the same height," said Francie, imitating Mr. Seigler. "I wonder which will grow the fastest?" said Neeley. "Neeley, we've never had a puppy or a kitten. So let's make a pet out of the tree." "Aw, a tree can't be a pet." "Why can't it? It lives and breathes, doesn't it? We'll give it a name. Annie! The tree's Annie and the baby's Laurie and together, they're the song." "You know what?" asked Neeley. "No. What?" "You're crazy. That's what." "I know it and isn't it wonderful? Today I don't feel like Miss Nolan, supposed to be seventeen and head reader of The Model Press Clipping Bureau. It's like olden times when I had to let you carry the junk money. I feel just like a kid." "And you are," said Katie. "A kid just turned fifteen." "Yeah? You won't think so when you see what Neeley bought me for Christmas." "What you made me buy you," corrected Neeley. "Show mama what you made me buy you for Christmas, smarty. Just go on and show her," urged Francie. When he showed mama, her voice scaled up like Francie's when she said, "Spats?" "Just to keep my ankles warm," explained Neeley. Francie showed her dance set and mama let loose her "Oh, my!" of astonishment. "Do you think that's what fast women wear?" asked Francie hopefully. "If they do, I'm sure they all come down with pneumonia. Now let's see: What'll we have for supper?" "Aren't you going to object?" Francie was disappointed because mama wasn't making a fuss. "No. All women go through a black-lace-drawers time. You came to it earlier than most and you'll get over it sooner. I think we'll heat up the soup and have that and soup meat and potatoes. ..." "Mama thinks she knows everything," thought Francie resentfully. They attended mass together Christmas morning. Katie was having a prayer said for the repose of Johnny's soul. She looked very pretty in her new hat. The baby looked nice, too, in her new outfit. Neeley, wearing his new spats, manfully insisted on carrying the baby. As they passed Stagg Street, some boys hanging out in front of a candy store, hooted at Neeley. His face got red. Francie knew they were making fun of his spats and to save his feelings, she pretended they hooted because he was carrying a baby and she offered to take Laurie. He refused the offer. He knew as well as she did that they were making fun of his spats and he was filled with bitterness at the narrow- mindedness of Williamsburg. He decided to put the spats away in the box when he got home and not wear them again until they moved to a more decent neighborhood. Francie was wearing her lace pants and freezing. Whenever an icy wind blew her coat apart and went through her thin dress, it was as if she had no underwear on at all. "I wish-oh, how I wish I had my flannel bloomers on," she mourned. "Mama was right. A person could get pneumonia. But I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her know. I guess I'll have to put these lace things away until summer." Inside the church, they pre-empted a whole front pew by laying Laurie full length on the seat. Several latecomers, inking there was an empty seat, genuflected at the pew's entrance and prepared to enter. When they saw the baby stretched out over two places, they scowled fiercely at Katie who sat rigid and scowled back twice as fiercely. Francie thought it was the most beautiful church in Brooklyn. It was made of old gray stone and had twin spires that rose cleanly into the sky, high above the tallest tenements. Inside, the high vaulted ceilings, narrow deep-set stained-glass windows and elaborate carved altars made it a miniature cathedral. Francie was proud of the center altar because the left side had been carved by Granpa Rommely more than half a century ago when, as a young fellow lately come from Austria, he had begrudgingly given his tithe of labor to his Church. The thrifty man had gathered up the bits of gouged-out wood and taken them home. Stubbornly he had fitted and glued the scraps together and carved out three small crucifixes from the blessed wood. Mary gave one to each of her daughters, on their wedding day with instructions that the crosses were to be passed on to the first daughter in each succeeding generation. Katie's crucifix hung high on the wall over the mantelpiece at home. It would be Francie's when she married and she was proud that it had come from the wood of that fine altar. Today the altar was lovely with banked scarlet poinsettias and fir boughs with the golden points of lighted slender white candles gleaming among the leaves. The thatched crèche was inside the altar rail. Francie knew that the tiny hand- carved figures of Mary, Joseph, the kings, and shepherds were grouped about the Child in the manger as they had first been grouped a hundred years ago when they had been brought over from the old country. The priest entered, followed by the altar boys. Over his other vestments, he wore a white satin chasuble with a golden cross on the front and back. Francie knew that the chasuble was symbolic of the seamless garment, supposedly woven by Mary, that they had removed from Christ before they nailed Him to the cross. It was said that on Calvary, the soldiers, not wishing to divide the garment, had cast dice for it while Jesus was dying. Absorbed in her thoughts, Francie missed the beginning of the mass. She picked it up now, following the familiar Latin in translation. To Thee, O God, my God, I will give praise upon the harp. Why are thou sad, my soul, and why dost thou disquiet me, chanted the priest in his deep rich voice. Hope in God, for I will still give praise to Him, responded the altar-boy. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen, came the response. I will go unto the altar of God, chanted the priest. To God, Who giveth joy to my youth, came the response. Our help is in the name of the Lord. Who made Heaven and earth. The priest bowed and recited the Confiteor. Francie believed with all her heart that the altar was Calvary and that again Jesus was offered up as a sacrifice. As she listened to the consecrations, one for His Body and one for His Blood, she believed that the words of the priest were a sword which mystically separated the Blood from the Body. And she knew, without knowing how to explain why, that Jesus was entirely present, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the wine in the golden chalice and in the bread on the golden plate. "It's a beautiful religion," she mused, "and I wish I understood it more. No. I don't want to understand it all. It's beautiful because it's always a mystery, like God Himself is a mystery. Sometimes I say I don't believe in God. But I only say that when I'm mad at Him ... Because I do! I do! I believe in God and Jesus and Mary. I'm a bad Catholic because I miss mass once in awhile and I grumble when, at confession, I get a heavy penance for something I couldn't help doing. But good or bad, I am a Catholic and I'll never be anything else. "Of course, I didn't ask to be born a Catholic no more than I asked to be born an American. But I'm glad it turned out that I'm both these things." The priest ascended the curved steps to the pulpit. "Your prayers are requested," intoned his magnificent voice, "for the repose of the soul of John Nolan." "Nolan ... Nolan ..." sighed the echoes of the vaulted ceiling. With a sound like an anguished whisper, nearly a thousand people knelt to pray briefly for the soul of a man only a dozen of them had known. Francie began the prayer for the souls in Purgatory. Good Jesus, Whose loving heart was ever troubled by the sorrows of others, look with pity on the soul of our dear one in Purgatory. Oh You, Who loved Your own, hear my cry for mercy. ... XLVI "IN TEN more minutes," announced Francie, "it will be 1917." Francie and her brother were sitting side by side with their stockinged feet inside the oven of the kitchen range. Mama, who had given strict orders to be called five minutes before midnight, was resting on her bed. "I have a feeling," continued Francie, "that 1917 will be more important than any year we've ever had." "You say that about every year," claimed Neeley. "First, 1915 was going to be the most important. Then 1916, and now, 1917." "It will be important. For one thing, in 1917, I'll be sixteen for real instead of just in the office. And other important things have started already. The landlord's putting in wires. In a few weeks we'll have 'lectricity instead of gas." "Suits me." "Then he's going to rip out these stoves and put in steam heat." "Gee, I'll miss this old stove. Remember how in olden times," (two years ago!) "I used to sit on the stove?" "And I used to be afraid you'd catch on fire." "I feel like sitting on the stove right now." "Go ahead." He sat on the surface furthest away from the firebox. It was pleasantly warm but not hot. "Remember," Francie went on, "how we did our examples on this hearthstone, and the time papa got us a real blackboard eraser and then the stone was like the blackboard in school, only lying down?" "Yeah. That was a long time ago. But look! You can't claim 1917's going to be important because we'll have 'lectricity and steam heat. Other flats have had 'em for years. That's nothing important." "The important thing about this year is that we'll get, into the war." "When?" "Soon. Next week ... next month." "How do you know?" "I read the papers every day, brother-two hundred of 'em." "Oh, boy! I hope it lasts 'til I'm old enough to join the navy." "Who's joining the navy?" They looked around, startled. Mama was standing in the bedroom doorway. "We're just talking, Mama," explained Francie. "You forgot to call me," said mama . reproachfully, and I thought I heard a whistle. It must be New Year's now." Francie threw open the window. It was a frosty night without a wind. All was still. Across the yards, the backs of the houses were dark and brooding. As they stood at the window, they heard the joyous peal of a church bell. Then other bell sounds tumbled over the first pealing. Whistles came in. A siren shrieked. Darkened windows banged open. Tin horns were added to the cacophony. Someone fired off a blank cartridge. There were shouts and catcalls. 1917! The sounds died away and the air was filled with waiting. Someone started to sing: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind ... The Nolans picked up the song. One by one, the neighbors joined in. And they all sang. But as they sang something disquieting came among them. A group of Germans were singing a round. The German words crowded into "Auld Lang Syne." Ja, das ist ein Gartenhaus, Gartenhaus, Gartenhaus. Ach, du schoenes, Ach, du schoenes, Ach, du schoenes Gartenhaus. Someone shouted: "Shut up, you lousy heinies!" In answer, the German song swelled mightily and drowned out "Auld Lang Syne." In retaliation, the Irish shouted a parody of the song across the dark back yards. Yeah, das is a God- damned song, God-damned song, God-damned song. Oh, du lousy, Oh, du lousy, Oh, du lousy heinie song. Windows could be heard shutting as the Jews and Italians withdrew leaving the fight to the Germans and Irish. The Germans sang lustier and more voices came in until they killed the parody even as they had killed "Auld Lang Syne." The Germans won. They finished their interminable rounds in shouting triumph. Francie shivered. "I don't like Germans," she said. "They're so ... so persistent when they want something and they've always got to be ahead." Once more the night was quiet. Francie grabbed her mother and Neeley. "All together now," she ordered. The three of them leaned out of the window and shouted; "Happy New Year, everybody!" An instant of silence, then out of the dark a thick Irish brogue shouted: "Happy New Year, youse Nolans!" "Now who could that be?" puzzled Katie. "Happy New Year, you dirty Irish mick!" Neeley screamed back. Mama clapped her hand over his mouth and pulled him away while Francie slammed the window down. All three of them were laughing hysterically. "Now you did it!" gasped Francie, laughing so hard that she cried. "He knows who we are and he'll come around here and fi ... fi … fight," gurgled Katie so weak from laughing that she had to hold on to the table. "Who ... who ... was it?" "Old man O'Brien. Last week he cursed me out of his yard, the dirty Irish. ..." "Hush!" said Mama. "You know that whatever you do when the new year starts, you'll do all year." "And you don't want to go around saying, dirty-Irish mick like a busted record, do you?" asked Francie. "Besides, you're a mick yourself." "You, too," accused Neeley. "We're all Irish, except mama." "And I'm Irish by marriage," she said. "Well, do us Irish drink a toast on New Year's Eve, or don't we?" demanded Francie. "Of course," said mama. "I'll mix us a drink." McGarrity had given the Nolans a bottle of fine old brandy for Christmas. Now Katie poured a small jiggerful of it into each of three tall glasses. She filled the rest of each glass with beaten egg and milk mixed with a little sugar. She grated nutmeg and sprinkled it on the top. Her hands were steady as she worked although she considered this drinking tonight as something crucial. She worried constantly that the children might have inherited the Nolan love of drink. She had tried to come to an attitude about liquor in the family. She felt that if she preached against it, the children, unpredictable individualists that they were, might consider drinking forbidden and fascinating. On the other hand, if she made light of it, they might consider drunkenness a natural thing. She decided neither to make nothing of it nor much of it; to proceed as though drinking was no more or less than something to be moderately indulged in at a seasonal times. Well, New Year's was such a time. She handed each at glass. A lot depended on their reactions. "What do we drink to?" asked Francie. "To a hope," said Katie. "A hope that our family will always be together the way it is tonight." "Wait!" said Francie. "Get Laurie, so she's together with us, too." Katie got the patient sleeping baby out of her crib and carried her into the warm kitchen. Laurie opened her eyes, lifted her head and showed two teeth in a befuddled smile. Then her head went down on Katie's shoulder and she was asleep again. "Now!" said Francie holding up her glass. "To being together, always." They clicked glasses and drank. Neeley tasted his drink, frowned, and said he'd rather have plain milk. He poured the drink down the sink and filled another glass with cold milk. Katie watched, worried, as Francie drained her glass. "It's good," Francie said, "pretty good. But not half as good as a vanilla ice-cream soda." "What am I worrying about?" sang Katie inwardly. "After all, they're as much Rommely as Nolan and we Rommelys are not drinking people." "Neeley, let's go up on the roof," said Francie impulsively, "and see how the whole world looks at the beginning of a year." "Okay," he agreed. "Put your shoes on first," ordered mama, "and your coats." They climbed the shaky wooden ladder, Neeley pushed the opening aside and they were on the roof. The night was heady and frosty. There was no wind and the air was cold and still. The stars were brilliant and hung low in the sky. There were so many stars that their light made the sky a deep cobalt blue. There wasn't a moon but the starlight served better than moonlight. Francie stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms wide. "Oh, I want to hold it all!" she cried. "I want to hold the way the night is-cold without wind. And the way the stars are so near and shiny. I want to hold all of it tight until it hollers out, 'Let me go! Let me go!' "Don't stand so near the edge," said Neeley, uneasily. "You might fall off the roof." "I need someone," thought Francie desperately. "I need someone. I need to hold somebody close. And I need more than this holding. I need someone to understand how I feel at a time like now. And the understanding must be part of the holding. "I love mama and Neeley and Laurie. But I need someone to love in a different way from the way I love them. "If I talked to mama about it, she'd say, 'Yes? Well, when you get that feeling don't linger in dark hallways with the boys.' She'd worry, too, thinking I was going to be the way Sissy used to be. But it isn't an Aunt Sissy thing because there's this understanding that I want almost more than I want the holding. If I told Sissy or Evy, they'd talk the same as mama, although Sissy was married at fourteen and Evy at sixteen. Mama was only a girl when she married. But they've forgotten ... and they'd tell me I was too young to be having such ideas. I'm young, maybe, in just being fifteen. But I'm older than those years in some things. But there is no one for me to hold and no one to understand. Maybe someday ... someday. ..." "Neeley, if you had to die, wouldn't it be wonderful to die now-while you believed that everything was perfect, the way this night is perfect?" "You know what?" asked Neeley. "No. What?" "You're drunk from that milk punch. That's what." She clenched her hands and advanced on him. "Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that!" He backed away, frightened at her fierceness. "Tha ... tha ... that's all right," he stammered. "I was drunk myself, once." She lost her anger in curiosity. "Were you, Neeley? Honest?" "Yeah. One of the fellers had some bottles of beer and we went down the cellar and drank it. I drank two bottles and got drunk." "What did it feel like?" "Well, first the whole world turned upside down. Then everything was like-you know those cardboard toots you buy for a penny, and you look in the small end and turn the big end, and pieces of colored paper keep falling around and they never fall around the same way twice? Mostly though, I was very dizzy. Afterwards I vomited." "Then I've been drunk, too," admitted Francie. "On beer?" "No. Last spring, in McCarrens Park, I saw a tulip for the first time in my life." "How'd you know it was a tulip if you'd never seen one?" "I'd seen pictures. Well, when I looked at it, the way it was growing, and how the leaves were, and how purely red the petals were, with yellow inside, the world turned upside down and everything went around like the colors in a kaleidoscope- like you said. I was so dizzy I had to sit on a park bench." "Did you throw up, too?" "No," she answered. "And I've got that same feeling here on this roof tonight, and I know it's not the milk punch." "Gee!" She remembered something. "Mama tested us when she gave us that milk punch. I know it." "Poor mama," said Neeley. "But she doesn't have to worry about me. I'll never get drunk again because I don't like to throw up." "And she doesn't have to worry about me, either. I don't need to drink to get drunk. I can get drunk, on things like the tulip-and this night." "I guess it is a swell night," agreed Neeley. "It's so still and bright ... almost ... holy." She waited. If papa were here with her now. ... Neeley sang. Silent night. Holy night. All is calm, all is bright. "He's just like papa," she thought happily. She looked out over Brooklyn. The starlight half revealed, half concealed. She looked out over the flat roofs, uneven in height, broken once in a while by a slanting roof from a house left over from older times. The chimney pots on the roofs ... and on some, the shadowing looming of pigeon cotes ... sometimes, faintly heard, the sleepy cooing of pigeons ... the twin spires of the Church, remotely brooding over the dark tenements. ... And at the end of their street, the great Bridge that threw itself like a sigh across the East River and was lost ... lost ... on the other shore. The dark East River beneath the Bridge, and far away, the misty-gray skyline of New York, looking like a city cut from cardboard. "There's no other place like it," Francie said. "Like what?" "Brooklyn. Its a magic city and it isn't real." "It's just like any other place." "It isn't! I go to New York every day and New York's not the same. I went to Bayonne once to see a girl from the office who was home, sick. And Bayonne isn't the same. It's mysterious here in Brooklyn. It's like- yes-like a dream. The houses and streets don't seem real. Neither do the people." "They're real enough-the way they fight and holler at each other and the way they're poor, and dirty, too." "But it's like a dream of being poor and fighting. They don't really feel these things. It's like it's all happening in a dream." "Brooklyn is no different than any other place," said Neeley firmly. "It's only your imagination makes it different. But that's all right," he added magnanimously, "as long as it makes you feel so happy." Neeley! So much like mama, so much like papa; the best of each in Neeley. She loved her brother She wanted to put her arms around him and kiss him But he was like mama. He hated people to be demonstrative. If she tried to kiss him, he'd get mad and push her away. So, she held out her hand instead. "Happy New Year, Neeley." "The same to you." They shook hands solemnly. XLVII FOR the little while of the Christmas holidays, it had been almost like old times in the Nolan family. But after New Year's things reverted to the new routine which had grown on them since Johnny's death. There were no more piano lessons for one thing. Francie hadn't practiced in months. Neeley did his piano playing evenings in the neighborhood ice-cream saloons. He had been expert at ragtime and was becoming even more expert at jazz. He could make a piano talk-so people said-and he was very popular. He played for free sodas. Sometimes Scheefly gave him a dollar on a Saturday night for playing the whole evening. Francie didn't like it and spoke to her mother about it. "I wouldn't let him, Mama,' she said. "But where's the harm in it?" "You don't want him to get into the habit of playing for free refreshments like. ..." She hesitated. Katie picked up the sentence. "Like your father? No, he'd never be like him. Your father never sang the songs he loved, like 'Annie Laurie' or 'The Last Rose of Summer.' He sang what the people wanted, 'Sweet Adeline' and
msmarco_doc_00_399588
http://1.scale.www.fitbit.com/setup/aria?platform=win&step=2
Fitbit - Start - Aria
Download and Installation Instructions Windows Mac Step 2 Set up your account and device
Fitbit - Start - Aria Download and Installation Instructions Windows Mac Windows Download the software Set up your account and device Mac Download the software Set up your account and device Step 2 Set up your account and device Open the file from the saved location to see a brief overview of the scale setup process. At this point make sure you have the scale and your computer together, ideally within 15 feet of your Wi-Fi router. If you are an existing Fitbit member, click the link "Log in to your account". Fill in your Fitbit email and password, then click "log in". If you are not already a member, create an account by providing a valid email and password, then click "Sign up" . Use the provided fields to fill in your personal information. The information that we collect will be used to customize your Fitbit experience and is required for your scale to properly identify you. The information that you provide is completely confidential. Personalize your scale by providing a scale name and your initials, then click "Next". The scale name will come in handy should you ever own more than one scale. The initials are used to identify you if there are multiple people who join the scale. Connect to your Wi-Fi network. The client may suggest your current Wi-Fi network. Provide the appropriate password then click "Yes". If the suggested network is not desired, click "No" and select from the list of visible networks that are in range. Input the network password and click "Connect". If your network is hidden, select "Add a network" . Place your scale into setup mode by pulling the small tab protruding out of the battery compartment on the bottom of the scale. If done properly, "SETUP ACTIVE" will display on the LCD display of the scale. If the tab on the scale has already been removed and the scale does not display "SETUP ACTIVE", open the battery compartment door and remove one battery, wait 10 seconds, then replace the battery and close the battery compartment. Watch the onscreen client messages. It will connect to your Wi-Fi, then connect to the scale and send your network information. The scale will look for your Wi-Fi network then link to the Fitbit server. During the setup process, the scale display will also show status messages - you can just focus on the set up client messages. Step 1. Connecting to the scale. Step 2. Sending your Wi-Fi information to the scale. Step 3. Switching back to your Wi-Fi network. Step 4. Waiting for confirmation from Fitbit. A success screen will appear, indicating that you have completed the setup process! Your scale is now ready to be used. If you have not yet, step on the scale and weigh yourself. Then visit Fitbit.com to see your weight on the dashboard. Prev Log in to your Dashboard
msmarco_doc_00_1252094
http://10-facts-about.com/Alicia-Keys/id/99
10 facts about Alicia Keys - fun and interesting Alicia Keys facts
Ten fun facts about Alicia Keys Ten fun facts about Alicia Keys
10 facts about Alicia Keys - fun and interesting Alicia Keys facts Ten fun facts about Alicia Keys Fact 1: Alicia Keys was born in Harlem, New York. Fact 2: At the age of 16, Alicia wanted the name Wilde to be her stage name. Fact 3: Alicia has biracial parents; a father who is Jamaican American descent and a mother who is Irish Italian descent. Fact 4: Keys debut album was "Songs at Minor”. Fact 5: "Songs in a Minor" album sold over 10 million units around the world. Fact 6: Alicia Keys is the Global Ambassador for Keep a Child Alive Organization. Fact 7: Alicia Keys sang a cover version of "Don't Give Up" song along with Bono, the U2 lead singer for the World AIDS Day in 2005. Fact 8: Alicia Keys a has won 9 Grammy awards. Fact 9: Her parents separated during her early childhood. Fact 10: Alicia was raised by her mother in Hell’s Kitchen area in Manhattan. Go to more people facts ❯ RELATED FACTS MORE IN PEOPLE/CELEBRITIES Ed Harris Albrecht von Haller Kristian Birkeland
msmarco_doc_00_1255165
http://10-facts-about.com/Children/id/22
10 facts about Children - fun and interesting Children facts
Ten fun facts about Children Ten fun facts about Children
10 facts about Children - fun and interesting Children facts Ten fun facts about Children Fact 1: The average age children begin to use a microwave is seven. Fact 2: A 3-year old Boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant. Fact 3: Fathers tend to determine the height of their child, mothers their weight. Fact 4: On average, a 4-year-old child asks 437 questions a day. Fact 5: Watching television can act as a natural painkiller for children. Fact 6: In ancient Greece, children of wealthy families were dipped in olive oil at birth to keep them hairless throughout their lives. Fact 7: The great pharaoh Ramses II who fathered over 160 children. Fact 8: Childrens kneecaps only start to turn bony at 3 years of age, until that they are made of cartilage. Fact 9: Both boys and girls in 1600s England and New England wore dresses until they were about seven years old. Fact 10: Children under the age of six are at the greatest risk for crushing or burning injuries of the hand. Go to more people facts ❯ RELATED FACTS MORE IN PEOPLE/CELEBRITIES Timothy Dalton Armin Mueller-Stahl John von Neumann
msmarco_doc_00_1256460
http://10-facts-about.com/Neil-deGrasse-Tyson/id/1616
10 facts about Neil deGrasse Tyson - fun and interesting Neil deGrasse Tyson facts
Ten fun facts about Neil deGrasse Tyson Ten fun facts about Neil deGrasse Tyson
10 facts about Neil deGrasse Tyson - fun and interesting Neil deGrasse Tyson facts Ten fun facts about Neil deGrasse Tyson Fact 1 At the Bronx High School of Science he was the editor-in-chief of the "Physical Science Journal" and the captain of the wrestling team. Fact 2 He began giving lectures at the age of 15 in the astronomy community, as he earned his interest in astronomy at the age of 9. Fact 3 Carl Sagan invited him to Cornell University, but Tyson refused and studied physics at Harvard University. Fact 4 Tyson was living near the World Trade Center when the attack of September 11 occurred and even had footage he filmed appear in the documentary "102 Minutes That Changed America". Fact 5 He has received many awards and honors, including the 2000 Sexiest Astrophysicist Alive from People Magazine. Fact 6 He has collaborated with PETA on a public service announcement as well as interviewing with them. Fact 7 In 2014 he has expressed his disbelief in God or "any divine force that operates the universe". Fact 8 Tyson is the chairman, vice president and president of the Planetary Society. Fact 9 He directs the Hayden Planetarium, part of the Rose Center for Earth and Space, which also appears in the movie "K-Pax". Fact 10 His television appearances including The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and as of 2014, he is also the host of "Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey". Go to more people facts ❯ RELATED FACTS MORE IN PEOPLE/CELEBRITIES Kurt Russell Leslie Nielsen David Bohm Short about Neil deGrasse Tyson An American astrophysicist and author. Related facts about
msmarco_doc_00_1257857
http://10.0.0.9.ipaddress.com/
10.0.0.9 - Private IP Address | IP Lookup
Private IP Address 10.0.0.9 Private IP Address 10.0.0.9 Tips Share What You Found
10.0.0.9 - Private IP Address | IP Lookup Private IP Address 10.0.0.9 10.0.0.9 belongs to the private IP address space 10.0.0.0 - 10.255.255.255 ( 10.0.0.0/8 ). A private IP address is, in contrast to a public IP address, not allocated to a specific organization, but can be used by anyone without approval from a regional Internet registry. Private IP addresses can only be reached within a closed network and are not directly accessible from the outer Internet. On the one side this is considered a security enhancement because an external Internet host cannot directly communicate with an internal host. On the other side this works again IPv4 address depletion as many companies and individuals only need a single public IP address from their ISP, and still can access the Internet with more than one computer, smartphone, or other Internet connected devices simultaneously. To find out what external IP address your router is using please go to the My IP page. IANA has allocated the subnet 10.0.0.0/8 for private use in February 1996 as noted in RFC 1918. It's a single class A network with a prefix length of 8 bits and spans 16,777,216 ( 2 24 ) IP addresses ranging from 10.0.0.0 to 10.255.255.255. However it is not uncommon to use only a part of the available address space for a private network, for example the smaller subnet 10.0.0.0/24 with 256 hosts. If you want to learn more about IP subnetting we encourage you to take a look at our subnet calculator. The address 10.0.0.9 is sometimes misspelled, and you might see typical typing errors like these: 10.0.o.9, 10.o.0.9, 10.o.o.9 Network routers usually offer a configuration interface that is accessible via web browser on a URL like http://10.0.0.9 or https://10.0.0.9 or through a router specific host name alias. See also: IPv4 List - Page 137,270 Tips What is an IP Address? Show information about your own IP Address Who sent you an Email? You can download our IP location database or use our Geolocation API Share What You Found
msmarco_doc_00_1259793
http://100-poems.com/poems/life/
100 Best Poems on Life #1
100 Best Poems on Life 100 Best Poems on Life 100 Best Poems on Life
100 Best Poems on Life #1 100 Best Poems on Life I n some sense, it could be argued a category about Life is a vague, nebulous cop-out. Any poem ever penned by Man or Woman would surely gain ready admittance here. All poems, almost by definition, are about Life. But don't, for a moment, think that makes this category any less important. On the contrary, if the poems and topics you are about to explore are about Life, then they are also about you. No one person can ever experience all that life has to offer. It is only through sharing - experiences, feelings, insights - that we can hope to grow beyond our own meager lifetime. Are you ready to grow today? Let the countdown begin. #100 Kristi Maxim Never Ending Rain Poems on Life - Family Poems: Siblings are sometimes separated as they grow older, by circumstance, by distance, by things no one can control. #99 Elsa Nora Just Being Me Poems on Life - Poems on Society: Homosexuality has existed since the dawn of recorded history. It shouldn't be a dirty word, and it shouldn't inspire hatred and fear. #98 Mindy Carpenter Biscuits Of Love Poems on Life - Family Poems: A family dynasty is always based on love. And, perhaps, on biscuits, too. #97 Michael Anderson Walking Alone Poems on Life: Two poets, one famous and the other perhaps of equal talent though certainly of less reknown, take a hard look at a not uncommon human condition. #96 Lisa Teller Fifteen Crosses Poems on Life - Poems on Society: Columbine brought many nightmares - and a very special dream. #95 Chase Standing Alone Poems on Life: Everybody is special, whether or not they believe it. #94 Robson Grant Door To Decision Poems on Life - Poems on Society: If the Earth is our home, shouldn't we become better housekeepers? #93 Kathleen Sheppard A Book Of Memories Poems on Life: Our life is an accumulation of our past, both good and bad. So, too, is the way we see it. #92 Frank Greg A Great-Grandpa To Me Poems on Life - Family Poems: Poetry about our late grandparents is a wonderful way to keep their spirits living within us. #91 Vincen Tabatha Different Poems on Life: Everyone is different. And everyone's the same. The sooner we learn that Truth, the sooner the world can become a better place. #90 Lovely Respect Poems on Life - Poems on Society: It seems so little to ask. And so important to give ... #89 Kathleen Sheppard Within Me Poems on Life: All people value appreciation. But we want to be appreciated for who we are, and not just because we look good. #88 Christopher Into Every Life Poems on Life: Into every life a little rain must fall. How we deal with that rain is what determines our future. #87 Michael Anderson The Miracle Poems on Life - Family Poems: Sometimes in losing a loved one we forget that life, itself, is a miracle. And, sometimes, we are reminded in rather miraculous ways. #86 Kit McCallum The Road Less Traveled Poems on Life: Sometimes the most difficult choices are the very ones that can bring us the greatest rewards. #85 Wolfgirl The Mask Poems on Life: We all hide a piece of ourselves from the world. Some of us hide more than a small piece, and long for the day we can be set free. #84 Bobi Endure Poems on Life: When Life gets hard, you really only have two choices. And only one of those will work. #83 Sandra Tolson Children Are A Gift From God Poems on Life - Family Poems: The title says it all. It's a beautiful sentiment, expressed by a talented and wise poet. #82 Ruwaida Van Doorsen Most Beautiful Woman In The World Poems on Life: What is that makes a person seem beautiful? #81 Jeanelle Just Hold Me Poems on Life - Family Poems: Loving someone doesn't always mean understanding them. But even when that's true, there is one answer that is never wrong. #80 Melissa Roberts Poison Poems on Life: Anger can destroy friendships. And, sometimes, people too. #79 Bahar The Hard Part Is Over With Poems on Life - Poems on Society: Please look into the heart of a troubled child. And understand ... #78 Ghegi25 Stranger Poems on Life - Poems on Society: As society encourages us to strive for the unattainable, we begin to realize we have become a reflection of that society. And in that reflection, we have lost our selves. #77 Rose Life's Choices Poems on Life - Poems on Society: Our society has some pretty screwed up priorities - and this is about one of the worst ones. #76 Michael Mack Tomorrow Poems on Life - Attack on America Poems: From America Life has changed. It's up to us, each of us, whether those changes need be bad ones. 100 Best Poems on Life Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4
msmarco_doc_00_1262054
http://100-poems.com/poems/life/0406007.htm
100 Best Poems on Life - The Road Less Traveled by Kit McCallum
The Road Less Traveled The Road Less Traveled FREE Things You Can Do With This Poem Visitor Comments (from the Voting form)
100 Best Poems on Life - The Road Less Traveled by Kit McCallum H ow often do we ask the question "Where do I go from here?" If life is a series of challenges and lessons, then only by reflecting on our past triumphs and mistakes, can we wisely choose the next path that we will ultimately embrace. This poem originally was published in Poems on Life Poems on Life » The Mask The Road Less Traveled by Kit McCallum How often we must bear the challenges of life; The endless roller coaster between happiness and sorrow; The constant ups and downs of daily strife. And always the question remains .... why? Life is not an easy road for most; It twists and turns with many forks in the road, Although always, and inevitably, we are given a choice ... Do we turn to the right ... or the left? Do we take the high road ... or the low road? Do we take the easy path ... or the difficult one? Decisions are not easy for those struggling for direction ... And sometimes the many choices and signs become overwhelming. While standing at a crossroads in life, The urge is to take the most comfortable path; The road with least resistance ... The shortest or most traveled route. And yet, if we've been down that comfortable road before; Have gleaned its lessons in life, and learned from our experiences; Do we yet again follow the known? Or does our destiny lie in another direction? The fear of the road less traveled is tangible and all too real; It manifests itself in many ways, And tends to cloud the issues that might otherwise be clear. It is in these times of confusion, That we must seek peace and solitude; Time to contemplate on our life, Our experiences and our choices past; Time to look back, and reflect on what we have learned Without fear or confusion. For only each of us knows our own personal thoughts; Our unique past and personal history; The experiences that brought us to the crossroads we now face. We can always learn a small degree from others experiences, And yet ... no one person can walk in our shoes, Others know not, the trials and tribulations faced in private ... For each is individual ... unique ... and personal. And that is why ... while standing at a crossroads, Only "we" can formulate the decision for ourselves; The true direction that lies within; The choices we must deliberate on with clarity and wisdom. For it is only through personal reflection, That we can now choose our destiny; ... Our next adventure; ... And the future we will embrace. FREE Things You Can Do With This Poem More Find more poems by this author at the Main site © 1999 Kit McCallum Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you. Poems on Life » The Mask Visitor Comments (from the Voting form) David Sandra Natasha Robin Alaa Anna Elizabeth Moorea Loretta Lydia Franny Susan Melanie Mavi Judy Theresa All Visitor Comments on this poem have been posted by people who wanted to let the author know the poem touched their hearts. If you would like to leave a comment of your own, please visit the main Passions in Poetry site at www.netpoets.com.
msmarco_doc_00_1266957
http://100-poems.com/poems/love/0166001.htm
100 Best Love Poems - The Reasons I Love You by Carrie Sue
#81 The Reasons I Love You #81 The Reasons I Love You The Reasons I Love You FREE Things You Can Do With This Poem Visitor Comments (from the Voting form)
100 Best Love Poems - The Reasons I Love You by Carrie Sue #81 The Reasons I Love You I wrote this poem for my boyfriend on Valentines day. He has changed my life a great deal and I wanted him to know the reasons that I love him, and how much he really means to me. This poem originally was published in Love Poems Love Poems » We Were There The Reasons I Love You by Carrie Sue I love you because you make me happy I love you because you make me feel safe and secure I love your smile I love the way you say my name I love the look in your eyes when you tell me you love me And how you laugh at me when I do something stupid, when others would put me down. I love the fact that when I'm around you I can be myself and not worry about what you may think of me, because I know you love me for who I am. No matter what my faults may be. I love being able to wake up with you by my side... It makes my days better At night I love watching you sleep, hearing you take each breath, and feeling your heart beat with the palm of my hand... reality hits that you are not a dream YOU ARE MINE. I love the way you wrap your arms around me and hold me really tight, like there is no tomorrow And I love the way I feel when your lips barely touch mine for a kiss, the love and emotions that go through me at that moment are unexplainable. I love your laugh I love hearing your voice I love that you get along with my family and friend, no matter how much you dislike them, or who they are. And hearing you tell me your stories, you could tell them to me a thousand times, and I will never get tired of them, because they are a part of you. But the main reason I love you is because..... You are you! FREE Things You Can Do With This Poem More Find more poems by this author at the Main site © 1999 Carrie Sue Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you. Love Poems » We Were There Visitor Comments (from the Voting form) Sarah Svetlana Stephanie abhijit darveyea Amanda natalie erickson janz Brittany Lovely Sindy kim nic dot Charlene ruby Lisa kareen peaches gemma There are 26 Additional Visitor Comments (click to read them) All Visitor Comments on this poem have been posted by people who wanted to let the author know the poem touched their hearts. If you would like to leave a comment of your own, please visit the main Passions in Poetry site at www.netpoets.com.
msmarco_doc_00_1270540
http://100-things-to-do-before-high-school.wikia.com/wiki/Fenwick_Frazier
Fenwick Frazier | 100 Things To Do Before High School Wiki | Fandom
Fenwick Frazier Fenwick Frazier Fenwick Frazier Biographical Information Full name Nickname (s) Other names Date of birth Age Physical Information Gender Eye color Hair color Relationships Family Friends Romances Enemies Affiliations Occupation School Production Contents About Background Appearance Personality Episode Appearances Season 1 History 100 Things to Do Before High School Start a Garage Band Thing! Run with the Bears Thing! Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing! Be a Fairy Godmother Thing! Stay Up All Night Thing! Adopt a Flour Baby Thing! Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing! Find Your Super Power Thing! Scavenger Hunt Thing! Make a New Friend Thing! Be a Mad Scientist Thing! Join a Club Thing! Have the Best Halloween Ever Thing! Get the Most Out of a Sick Day Thing! Sit at a Different Lunch Table Thing! Survive the Virus Attack Trapped in the Last Home Base Station on Earth Thing! Run for Office Thing! Always Tell the Truth (But Not Always) Thing! Become a Millionaire and Give It All Away Thing! Leave Your Mark Thing! Meet Your Idol Thing! Master a Thing Thing! Raise Your Hand Thing! Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing! Relationships Family Godmother Friends CJ Martin Crispo Powers Dale Stubbs Romances Amy Chu Enemies Mindy Minus Trivia Gallery
Fenwick Frazier | 100 Things To Do Before High School Wiki | Fandom Fenwick Frazier Fenwick Frazier Biographical Information Full name Fenwick Frazier Nickname (s) Fen Other names Nose Boy Agent Squirrel Duke Vanderbilt Date of birth c. 2003 Age 14 or 15 Physical Information Gender Male Eye color Brown Hair color Black Relationships Family Unnamed father Unnamed mother Unnamed godmother Friends CJ Martin Crispo Powers Natasha Villavovodovich Arthur Pickwickle Benji and Enzo Froman Dale Stubbs Romances Amy Chu (asked out) Enemies Mindy Minus Affiliations Occupation Student School Pootatuck Middle School Production First seen Last seen Portrayed by 100 Things to Do Before High School Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing! Jaheem King Toombs Fenwick Frazier is the best friend of CJ and Crispo. He is the deuteragonist of the series. He is portrayed by Jaheem Toombs . Contents 1 About 1.1 Background 1.2 Appearance 1.3 Personality 2 Episode Appearances 2.1 Season 1 3 History 3.1 100 Things to Do Before High School 3.2 Start a Garage Band Thing! 3.3 Run with the Bears Thing! 3.4 Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing! 3.5 Be a Fairy Godmother Thing! 3.6 Stay Up All Night Thing! 3.7 Adopt a Flour Baby Thing! 3.8 Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing! 3.9 Find Your Super Power Thing! 3.10 Scavenger Hunt Thing! 3.11 Make a New Friend Thing! 3.12 Be a Mad Scientist Thing! 3.13 Join a Club Thing! 3.14 Have the Best Halloween Ever Thing! 3.15 Get the Most Out of a Sick Day Thing! 3.16 Sit at a Different Lunch Table Thing! 3.17 Survive the Virus Attack Trapped in the Last Home Base Station on Earth Thing! 3.18 Run for Office Thing! 3.19 Always Tell the Truth (But Not Always) Thing! 3.20 Become a Millionaire and Give It All Away Thing! 3.21 Leave Your Mark Thing! 3.22 Meet Your Idol Thing! 3.23 Master a Thing Thing! 3.24 Raise Your Hand Thing! 3.25 Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing! 4 Relationships 4.1 Family 4.1.1 Godmother 4.2 Friends 4.2.1 CJ Martin 4.2.2 Crispo Powers 4.2.3 Dale Stubbs 4.3 Romances 4.3.1 Amy Chu 4.4 Enemies 4.4.1 Mindy Minus 5 Trivia 6 Gallery About Background Fenwick has a father who works in robotics and a mother. Fenwick is the smartest kid in class, all brains. He’s the voice of reason in the group and tries to play by the rules because that’s what a future world leader does. Appearance He wears glasses and is usually seen wearing a tie, which he owns one hundred of, a button-up shirt, and khakis, which he owns numerous amounts of as well. Personality Fenwick is a very smart, cautious, energetic guy, and at many times he is known to be the pessimistic one of the group. He doesn't always agree with CJ at times, but he is willing to help her on her adventures and is always the one who thinks of what bad can happen, which helps the group at times. He can also be very brave and fun-loving at times as seen in "Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing!" when he stands up to Mindy and her friends and dances in the schools hallway with CJ. He has many fears that he documents in his fear book. Fenwick has shown selfish tendencies and can be rude and impatient with other people. He also wants to be the best at whatever endeavor he pursues and wants others to perceive him as being great. He is ashamed when he does not succeed at a task, like ceramics. He sometimes lies, which may tie back into him wanting to be perceived as great, and can be insensitive at times. He tries to get girls to notice him, but sometimes lies to them when they do. When he does not get his way or is disappointed by something not going according to plan, he is known to throw a tantrum, something that CJ calls him a master of doing. It is shown that he does not recall much after a has a tantrum. Episode Appearances Season 1 100 Things to Do Before High School Start a Garage Band Thing! Run with the Bears Thing! Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing! Be a Fairy Godmother Thing! Stay Up All Night Thing! Adopt a Flour Baby Thing! Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing! Find Your Super Power Thing! Scavenger Hunt Thing! Make a New Friend Thing! Be a Mad Scientist Thing! Join a Club Thing! Have the Best Halloween Ever Thing! Get the Most Out of a Sick Day Thing! Sit at a Different Lunch Table Thing! Survive the Virus Attack Trapped in the Last Home Base Station on Earth Thing! Run for Office Thing! Always Tell the Truth (But Not Always) Thing! Become a Millionaire and Give It All Away Thing! Leave Your Mark Thing! Meet Your Idol Thing! Master a Thing Thing! Raise Your Hand Thing! Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing! History 100 Things to Do Before High School On the last night of summer break, CJ is watching a show called High School High Musical with her brother Ronbie. It depicts high school as being amazing, but Ronbie tells her how awful high school really is. She starts her first day of seventh grade scared that when she enters high school she and her friends will grow apart and not be friends anymore, which happens when Fenwick becomes consumed with his studies and Crispo becomes popular. Scared to lose them, she comes up with a plan to keep them best friends forever while making the most of their middle school years. Start a Garage Band Thing! When Mr. Bandt introduces Pootaroo, the school's first music festival, CJ is interested in competing, though Fenwick and Crispo are more reluctant. When they hear about the first prize being a gift card to the Spaghetti Yard, the decide to join. Run with the Bears Thing! CJ has troubles talking to a boy she calls Gorgeous Eighth Grade Boy, so the next thing on the list for her, Fenwick, and Crispo is conquering their fears. Fenwick's fear is running with the Bears, a ritual where the basketball team runs through the hallways. Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing! After noticing that Fenwick says no to everything that she suggests for them to do, CJ decides that all three of them are going to say yes to everything for the school day. Be a Fairy Godmother Thing! CJ and her friends are fairy godmothers for the day. Fenwick becomes the fairy godmother for his godnana, who has a cat that scratches him. Stay Up All Night Thing! At Pootatuck's sleepover CJ and her friends decide they want to stay up all night and watch the sunrise. Their plans are in trouble, however, because Principal Hader is trying everything she can to get the students to fall asleep. Adopt a Flour Baby Thing! Fenwick and Crispo compete to see who can keep their flour baby - his actually being a bag of chips since he is allergic to wheat - safe for twenty-four hours. Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing! The next thing on the list for CJ, Fenwick, and Crispo is changing their looks to see what happens. Fenwick decides to wear Crispo's jacket so he can get attention from girls. Find Your Super Power Thing! Fenwick thinks his super power, or the thing that makes him special, is his super brain, but CJ disagrees. Scavenger Hunt Thing! CJ and Fenwick create a fake scavenger hunt for Crispo so he can win them tickets to a concert. Make a New Friend Thing! Fenwick and Crispo suggest that they all try to make a new friend since they couldn't help CJ with her "girl talk." He has difficulty in making a new friend, but searches advice on how to do so. Be a Mad Scientist Thing! Fenwick loves when the science fair comes around and eagerly signs up, confident that he will win first place with his robot. Mindy also enters the fair with a robot, and the two end up competing over which robot is better and will win. Join a Club Thing! CJ wonders why she, Fenwick, and Crispo aren't in clubs and adds it to the list. Fenwick tries to join the Genius club, but has difficulty getting approval from Eugene, the club's president. Have the Best Halloween Ever Thing! Fenwick goes to school as a robot as he has always since kindergarten, but this year the Froman twins go as robots as well and gain the attention of all the students, making Fenwick jealous. Get the Most Out of a Sick Day Thing! Fenwick is sick and has to stay home, but because he does not want to jeopardize his perfect attendance record, he decides to virtually attend school and has Crispo be his "body" for the day. Sit at a Different Lunch Table Thing! Instead of sitting at a different lunch table like the three friends are supposed to, Fenwick sits by himself on the school's back stairs, but is mistakenly shuffled in to the eighth grade patio when the eighth graders come rushing down the stairs. He pretends to be a new eighth grader so they won't know he is a seventh grader, because seventh graders aren't allowed on the patio. Survive the Virus Attack Trapped in the Last Home Base Station on Earth Thing! CJ and the boys are home alone and decide to find out how her house works. Fenwick and Crispo argue over what constitutes as heroic. Run for Office Thing! CJ, Fenwick, and Crispo all decide to run for seventh grade president. Fenwick does not have a specific position in the campaign, as he is more concerned with winning. Always Tell the Truth (But Not Always) Thing! CJ and the guys decide the next thing on the list should be always tell the truth, but when Fenwick has trouble completing the assignment in ceramics class, he lies and says he made a vase he had actually picked up from a table. Become a Millionaire and Give It All Away Thing! CJ and eight of her friends pool together their Pootabucks so they can earn 5,000 of them and claim the prize to the water park. The 5,000 Pootabucks go missing and CJ tries to find them so she won't have to tell her friends they wouldn't be able to go to the water park. Fenwick and Crispo become intrigued when they hear about the million dollar Pootabucks treasure hidden somewhere on the school's property and would rather look for it than the 5,000 missing Pootabucks. They look for clues without CJ, who looks for where their money could have gone. Leave Your Mark Thing! CJ and the boys decide to the leave their mark at middle school. Fenwick has already left his mark, but agrees to leave another one when CJ tells him. When the new custodian does not fix the water fountain that has been giving students trouble, Fenwick elects to fix it and make perfectly streaming water, which is how he will leave another mark at the school. Meet Your Idol Thing! Mr. Roberts gives CJ, Fenwick, and Crispo the idea to meet their idols. Fenwick goes to Mr. Roberts with help in meeting Neil deGrasse Tyson, but cannot be as patient as Roberts says he should be. Master a Thing Thing! CJ, Fenwick, and Crispo try to master something after CJ hears it takes 10,000 hours to do so. Fenwick thinks he is the master of getting "A"s, but when he gets his first "B" and throws a tantrum, Mr. Roberts notices that he is stressed and suggests that he try to relax. Fenwick then tries to be calmer and peaceful. Raise Your Hand Thing! CJ makes the next thing on the list raising their hands in order to encourage Crispo to raise his hand in class and ask questions about information he doesn't know or understand. Fenwick tells them he does not have a problem raising his hand in class, so he wonders what he can do for this list thing. When he sees Crispo get a triple high five, he decides to also achieve this, but he has trouble getting the attention of students. Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing! CJ, Fenwick, and Crispo all agree to get their hearts pre-broken after Ronbie's girlfriend dumps him. Fenwick thinks he will have no trouble with this, as he is a "rock," but after Amy Chu rejects, he goes to Mr. Roberts's office in tears. Mr. Roberts cheers him up and Fenwick says he will move on from Amy, but he goes on a rant to her. Amy then surprises him by agreeing to get a smoothie with him. Fenwick soon learns Amy broke up with her boyfriend, Dale Stubbs, to go on a date with him, so Fenwick agrees to help Dale win her back. Relationships Family Godmother Fenwick is shown to deeply care for his godmother, who he refers to as his godnana. Friends CJ Martin Also See: CJ and Fenwick's relationship Fenwick was the first friend CJ made in kindergarten. Fenwick is the opposite of CJ - where he is very pessimistic and cautious, she is an optimist who takes chances. If it wasn't for CJ, Fenwick wouldn't take as many risks as he does, and he admits he wouldn't have as much fun without her and the list. They always encourage each other when the other is feeling down. Crispo Powers Also See: Fenwick and Crispo's relationship Fenwick and Crispo appear to be opposites of each other as Fenwick is with CJ - Fen is more close-minded and cautious, and Crispo is more open-minded and takes risks without thinking of consequences. They don't always agree on things, as stated in "Join a Club Thing!," but there are times when they are on the same page, such as "Make a New Friend Thing!" and "Be a Mad Scientist Thing!" The two can also be competitive with each other, which is shown in "Adopt a Flour Baby Thing!" Dale Stubbs Fenwick and Dale first interacted with each other in "Run with the Bears Thing!," where Fenwick angered Dale, which resulted in a chase between the two. In "Get Your Heart Pre-Broken Thing!," Amy breaks up with Dale after agreeing to go on a date Fenwick. Dale is upset about this, so Fenwick decides to help him win her back. Romances Amy Chu Fenwick asks out Amy Chu and is hurt when she rejects him. He cries and eats ice cream in Mr. Roberts's office. Later, she accepts his date offer, much to his surprise. When she decides to not go on a date with him again, he is hurt once more and cries and eats ice cream. Enemies Mindy Minus In the pilot, Mindy warns both CJ and Fenwick to stay away from Crispo. In " Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing! ," Mindy is verbally rude to Fenwick after he asks her to stop picking on the Sword and Stones club members. In " Scavenger Hunt Thing! " Mindy threatens to take a scavenger hunt item from Fenwick. In " Be a Mad Scientist Thing! ," Fenwick and Mindy compete on who has built the better robot for the science fair." Mindy destroys Fenwick's robot a few times before he improves it and destroys her robot and poster board, angering her. Trivia He was the first friend that CJ ever made. ("100 Things to Do Before High School") He owns one hundred ties. ("100 Things to Do Before High School") He owns a fear book, which is a notebook he writes his fears in. Three of his fears from the book are aardvarks, confined spaces, and over-sized marshmallows. ("Run with the Bears") He doesn't like things in shells. ("Say Yes to Everything for a Day Thing!") He is allergic to wheat. ("Adpot a Flour Baby Thing!") He invests in stocks. ("Scavenger Hunt Thing!") His father works in robotics. ("Scavenger Hunt Thing!") According to Crispo, he does not share his food. ("Be a Mad Scientist Thing!") Stanford is his college of choice, and Duke and Vanderbilt are his back-ups. ("Sit at a Different Lunch Table Thing!") His Pootatuck school ID is 7-3394. ("Always Tell the Truth (But Not Always) Thing!") He has knowledge in hacking computers. ("Meet Your Idol Thing!") Gallery To view the Fenwick Frazier gallery, click here. v • e 100 Things to Do Before High School characters Main characters CJ Martin • Fenwick Frazier • Crispo Powers • Jack Roberts Pootatuck faculty and staff Mr. Bandt • Mr. Bored • Miss Claymore • Principal Hader • Mrs. Knapp • Coach LeBeau • Jack Roberts • Mrs. Seagraves • Henry Slinko • Natasha Villavovodovich Pootatuck students Ty Cartwright • Mark Chernoff • Amy Chu • Black Lipstick Girls • Eugene Finklestein • Fenwick Frazier • Benji and Enzo Froman • Aubrey Garcia • Gorgeous Eighth Grade Boy • Lightning Licano • Lori Loudly • Patti Macabre • CJ Martin • Scout McKluski • Mindy Minus • Blake Montgomery • Arthur Pickwickle • Crispo Powers • Martha St. Reynolds • Paul Schmolitor • Stanley Sidekick • Sylvia Simmons • Scott Stottle • Dale Stubbs • Tammi Viola • The Vortex • Zelphaba Other characters Alfred J. McSorely • Anthony Del Rey • Dojo Dave • Fenwick's godmother • Jill Jillerton • Mr. Martin • Mrs. Martin • Ronbie Martin • Stephen Powers Retrieved from " https://100-things-to-do-before-high-school.fandom.com/wiki/Fenwick_Frazier?oldid=14040 " Categories: Students Main characters Characters Males Male characters Pootatuck Middle School students Season 1 characters Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.
msmarco_doc_00_1273445
http://100-things-to-do-before-high-school.wikia.com/wiki/Isabela_Moner
Isabela Merced | 100 Things To Do Before High School Wiki | Fandom
Isabela Merced Isabela Merced Isabela Merced Full name Birthplace Birthdate Age Occupation Years active Nationality Role Early life Career Filmography Theater Television Film Awards and nominations Personal life Trivia Gallery External links References
Isabela Merced | 100 Things To Do Before High School Wiki | Fandom Isabela Merced Isabela Merced Full name Isabela Moner Birthplace Cleveland, Ohio Birthdate July 10, 2001 Age 19 Occupation Singer, actress, dancer Years active 2012-present Nationality American Role CJ Martin Isabela Merced (born July 10, 2001), born Isabela Moner, is an actress, singer, and dancer. She portrays CJ Martin in the 100 Things to Do Before High School series. Early life Merced was born Isabela Moner in Cleveland, Ohio, to Patrick Moner, a firefighter, and Katerine Moner, who is Peruvian. She has an older brother named Jared and a younger brother named Gyovanni. Career Merced made her Broadway debut in Evita at age ten. In the same year, she was a featured singer on The Next Big Thing: New York, her television debut. The following year marked her film debut in director Henry Barrial's The House That Jack Built . In 2014, Merced landed a recurring role in NBC's short-lived television show Growing Up Fisher and a voice-over role in Dora and Friends: Into the City. She made her Nickelodeon debut in the 2014 movie Splitting Adam . She booked the lead role of CJ Martin in 100 Things to Do Before High School, which premiered in 2014 before starting its original run in 2015. In September 2015, she released her twelve-track album Stopping Time. It includes the single "Dream About Me." There are covers of popular songs as well as original songs. In November of 2015, Merced was attached to Jame Patterson's Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life book-to-movie adaptation. It began filming in November 2015 in Atlanta, Georgia, and wrapped in January 2016. It was released on October 7, 2016. Merced performed the National Anthem on January 3, 2016 at the Arizona Cardinals vs Seattle Seahawks game. In March 2016, Merced announced her role in Legends of the Hidden Temple, a Nickelodeon TV movie based on the game show. The movie was filmed in Canada and Los Angeles. Filming finished in April and it premiered on November 26, 2016. Merced was reportedly being eyed for the lead role in Michael Bay's fifth Transformers movie. She later confirmed on her Twitter and Instagram accounts that she is set to star in the film. She also revealed her role in the animated movie The Nut Job 2 on Twitter in July 2016. In August 2016, it was reported that Merced signed on to CAA talent agency. In December 2016, she booked a role in Sicario: Day of the Soldado, the sequel to the 2015 movie Sicario, a role in which she had to cut her hair. In February 2018, Deadline reported Merced had been cast in Instant Family, which reunites her with former Transformers costar Mark Wahlberg. In May 2018, Variety reported that Merced will be portraying Dora in Dora and the Lost City of Gold live action movie based on the Nickelodeon animated show of the same name. It will be filmed in Queensland, Australia. In 2019, her first single is “Papí” due to her Peruvian Heritage Filmography Theater Year Title Role Notes 2010 A Christmas Carol Sarah Cratchit/Polly/Want Playhouse Square Cleveland production 2011 Billy Jonas and the Contemporary Youth Orchestra Musical theater Les Miserables Young Cossette FPAC Fairmount Performing Arts Center production Annie Annie Avon Lake High School 2012 Evita Child (alternate) Broadway debut 2013 Fly Wendy World Premiere Production Dallas Theater Television Year Title Role Notes 2011 The Odd Squad Olive PBS pilot 2012 The Next Big Thing: NY Herself 2014 Growing Up Fisher Jenny Recurring role; 7 episodes Dora and Friends: Into the City! Kate Recurring role Splitting Adam Lori Collins TV movie 2014–2016 100 Things to Do Before High School CJ Martin Lead role 2015 Nickelodeon's Ho Ho Holidays Herself TV special 2016 Legends of the Hidden Temple Sadie TV movie Film Year Title Role Notes 2013 The House That Jack Built Young Nadia Film debut 2016 Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life Jeanne Galletta 2017 Transformers: The Last Knight Izabella The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature Heather (voice) 2018 Sicario: Day of the Soldado Isabela Reyes Completed filming 2019 Instant Family TBA Filming Dora and the Lost City of Gold Dora Pre-production Awards and nominations Year Award Category Nominated work Result Ref 2015 The Imagen Awards Best Young Actress - Television 100 Things to Do Before High School Nominated 2016 Best Young Actor - Television Won Tiger Beat 19 Under 19 Bae Watch - Female N/A Nominated 2017 CinemaCon Award Rising Star of the Year N/A Won Personal life Her family still lives in Cleveland, but Isabela splits her time among Los Angeles, New York, as well as Cleveland. Some of her hobbies are skiing, snowboarding, skating, jumping on the trampoline with her brothers and hanging out with friends. She began dating Henry Danger star and her Splitting Adam co-star Jace Norman in April 2016. In November 2016, Norman confirmed they had split after seven months of dating and are just friends. Trivia She is equally fluent in Spanish and English and is learning French. She has been acting since she was 7 years old. She is a twelfth grader [citation needed] and home schooled. Her favorite actress is Jennifer Lawrence. Her father is a firefighter and makes a small cameo in " Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing! " She loves all types of music. [citation needed] Her favorite Shampoo is Suave. [citation needed] Isabela drinks "Throat-Coat-Tea" for her recording sessions. [citation needed] She loves 5SOS. [citation needed] She uses "Vanity Planet" products. [citation needed] Isabela has a Samsung Galaxy phone. [citation needed] Isabela posts covers of songs on YouTube. Isabela likes "Lucky Charms" for breakfast. [citation needed] Her outfits or mostly from the store Topshop or Forever 21. [citation needed] Isabela is 5'2. [citation needed] Isabela is half Peruvian and mixed with other nationalities. [citation needed] Her favorite color is blue. [citation needed] She can do a heel stretch. [citation needed] Her bedroom wall color is yellow. [citation needed] She has a musical.ly account "isabelamoner". She is a fan of Tori Kelly and Justin Bieber. [citation needed] She doesn't answer comments on Instagram because she says some of them are weird. [citation needed] Isabela owns a lot of make up. [citation needed] Her zodiac sign is Cancer. She can ride a Hoverboard. [citation needed] Isabela does a lot of traveling. Her favorite Hispanic drink is called "Inca Kola". [citation needed] Gallery To view the Isabela Merced gallery, click here. External links IMDb Official website Twitter Instagram YouTube Facebook References ↑ @isabelamoner: "proof that katerine is the coolest 💯" A tweet showing how Isabela spells her mother's name. ↑ "@isabelamoner: 0-💯 baby real quick #middleschoolmovie #wrappartyflow" Isabela posted this picture on January 15, 2016. ↑ Lauren Graham, Rob Riggle, Adam Pally Enroll in 'Middle School' (Exclusive) ↑ Lauren Graham and Rob Riggle Join the ‘Middle School’ Cast ↑ Isabela Moner - NFL National Anthem ↑ @isabelamoner: "finally able to announce my new project! It's called "Legends of the Hidden Temple." It's my first action movie and the sets look soooo dope!" ↑ Nickelodeon Making Live-Action Legends of the Hidden Temple TV Movie ↑ Nickelodeon to Revive ‘Legends of the Hidden Temple’ as TV Movie (EXCLUSIVE) ↑ @isabelamoner: "This weekend #breathtaking 😊❤ One week left of filming #Lotht in #Canada gonna miss it : (" Tweet posted by Isabela Moner on March 28, 2016. ↑ @isabelamoner: "Sunrises in Canada ❤ last day of filming #Lotht in Canada Gonna miss this place" Tweet posted by Isabela Moner on April 1, 2016. ↑ @isabelamoner: "Last day of @nickelodeontv #Lotht I'm gonna miss Vancouver 😕 Canadians are so nice❤ Its gonna be an amazing movie 😊" Tweet posted by Isabela Moner on April 1, 2016. ↑ isabelamoner: "last day of filming "Legends of the Hidden Temple" in the beautiful city of Vancouver 😪 we'll be filming the rest in LA! #LOTHT" Instagram photo posted by Isabela Moner on April 1, 2016. ↑ @isabelamoner: "last day on set of #LegendsofTheHiddentemple 🗿can't wait for u guys to see how amazing this movie will be😛🙊❤ #lotht" A tweet posted by Isabela Moner on April 17, 2016. ↑ @isabelamoner: "just finished shooting 😊🗿" A tweet posted by Isabela Moner on April 21, 2016 in response to Legend of the hidden Temple movie. ↑ @isabelamoner: "#FlashbackFriday 1st hard script for the @NickelodeonTV movie #LegendsofTheHiddentemple #lotht premiering this Nov✌" A tweet posted by Isabela Moner on April 22, 2016. ↑ Who Is Isabela Moner, Possible New Star of ‘Transformers 5’? ↑ @isabelamoner: "I'm gonna be in some movie franchise called #Transformers5 or something? 😕 @ParamountMovies robots? 😊" ↑ @isabelamoner: "my dream to fight robots has come to true. #Transformers5 #Transformers #itsofficial #THANKYOUeveryone #PeruvianPower" ↑ CAA Signs 'Transformers 5' Star (Exclusive) ↑ ‘Sicario’ Sequel ‘Soldado’ Adds Isabela Moner Article posted on December 9, 2016. ↑ "@isabelamoner: Had to chop off my long locks for the the follow up film of Sicario, "Soldado." So excited for this new project and glad I got to donate my hair to Wigs for Kids :) read the link in my bio for more info" Picture posted on Instagram by Isabela Moner on December 9, 2016. ↑ Octavia Spencer, Isabela Moner, Tig Notaro Cast In Paramount’s ‘Instant Family’ Comedy Posted on Deadline's website on February 23, 2018 ↑ Isabela Moner to Star in Live-Action ‘Dora the Explorer’ Movie Posted on Variety's website on May 2, 2018 ↑ 2015 Imagen Awards Winners, Honorees & Nominees ↑ Winners of 31st Annual Imagen Awards Announced ↑ Daya, Shawn Mendes & More Nominated for Tiger Beat's 19 Under 19 Billboard Article, which misspells Isabela's name, posted on September 8, 2016 ↑ Your 19 Under 19 Winners October 31, 2016 article ↑ ISABELA MONER TO RECEIVE “CINEMACON® RISING STAR OF THE YEAR AWARD” March 24, 2017 press release article ↑ 29.0 29.1 Isabela Moner is a Cleveland native with two Nickelodeon shows August 2014 article Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; name "Isabela Moner is a Cleveland native with two Nickelodeon shows" defined multiple times with different content ↑ 30.0 30.1 About section on her website Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; name "About section on her website" defined multiple times with different content ↑ Jace Norman Kisses Isabela Moner In New Instagram Pic; Takes It Down, & Fans Are Freaking Out Article posted April 14, 2016. ↑ Jace Norman and Isabela Moner Split (JJJ Exclusive) Article posted November 21, 2016 ↑ Fun fact about last weeks episode of #100things, my dad was in it This tweet was posted on July 22, 2015 and "Change Your Look and See What Happens Thing!" aired July 18, 2015. Retrieved from " https://100-things-to-do-before-high-school.fandom.com/wiki/Isabela_Merced?oldid=13665 " Categories: Pages with reference errors Citations needed Main cast Cast Female cast Females Birthdays in July Actress Girls Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.
msmarco_doc_00_1291991
http://100.what-are-the-factors.com/
What Are the Factors of 100?
What Are the Factors of 100? What Are the Factors of 100?
What Are the Factors of 100? What Are the Factors of 100? The factors of 100 are 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, 20, 25, 50, 100. Calcating the factors of 100 is straightforward. 100 and 1 are the easiest two factors to find. Try 1. 1 x 100 = 100, so put these into our factor list. 1 ... 100 Take 2. 2 x 50 = 100, which means we add these to our factor list. 1 2 ... 50 100 Now take 3... no. 100/3 isn't a whole number. So we skip 3. Next try 4. 4 x 25 = 100, so we add these to our list of factors. 1 2 4 ... 25 50 100 Now try 5. 5 x 20 = 100, so put these into our factor list. 1 2 4 5 ... 20 25 50 100 Try 6... no good. 100/6 isn't a whole number. So we skip 6. Take 7... no. 100/7 isn't a whole number. So we skip 7. Now take 8... no luck. 100/8 isn't a whole number. So we skip 8. Next try 9... nope! 100/9 isn't a whole number. So we skip 9. Now try 10. 10 x 10 = 100, so we add it to our list of factors. There are no numbers between 10 and itself, so we can stop. 1 2 4 5 10 20 25 50 100 ... What Are the Factors of 71? What Are the Factors of 72? What Are the Factors of 73? What Are the Factors of 74? What Are the Factors of 75? What Are the Factors of 76? What Are the Factors of 77? What Are the Factors of 78? What Are the Factors of 79? What Are the Factors of 80? What Are the Factors of 81? What Are the Factors of 82? What Are the Factors of 83? What Are the Factors of 84? What Are the Factors of 85? What Are the Factors of 86? What Are the Factors of 87? What Are the Factors of 88? What Are the Factors of 89? What Are the Factors of 90? What Are the Factors of 91? What Are the Factors of 92? What Are the Factors of 93? What Are the Factors of 94? What Are the Factors of 95? What Are the Factors of 96? What Are the Factors of 97? What Are the Factors of 98? What Are the Factors of 99? What Are the Factors of 100? What are the prime factors of 100? What is the prime factorization of 100 ? What Are the Factors of 101? What Are the Factors of 102? What Are the Factors of 103? What Are the Factors of 104? What Are the Factors of 105? What Are the Factors of 106? What Are the Factors of 107? What Are the Factors of 108? What Are the Factors of 109? What Are the Factors of 110? What Are the Factors of 111? What Are the Factors of 112? What Are the Factors of 113? What Are the Factors of 114? What Are the Factors of 115? What Are the Factors of 116? What Are the Factors of 117? What Are the Factors of 118? What Are the Factors of 119? What Are the Factors of 120? What Are the Factors of 121? What Are the Factors of 122? What Are the Factors of 123? What Are the Factors of 124? What Are the Factors of 125? What Are the Factors of 126? What Are the Factors of 127? What Are the Factors of 128? What Are the Factors of 129? What Are the Factors of 130? ...
msmarco_doc_00_1304250
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msmarco_doc_00_1307343
http://1000.extensionfile.net/
Open 1000 File
Open 1000 File Open 1000 File How to Open 1000 file What is 1000 File? 1000 File Applications
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msmarco_doc_00_1313991
http://1000000-euro.de/how-much-does-a-million-dollars-weigh/
Weight of a million dollars - Currency Converter
How much actually weigh ... 1 Million US Dollar? How much actually weigh ... 1 Million US Dollar? Currency Converter
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msmarco_doc_00_1316249
http://10000birds.com/africas-biomes-the-guinea-congo-forests.htm
Africa’s Biomes – the Guinea-Congo Forests - 10,000 Birds
Africa’s Biomes – the Guinea-Congo Forests Africa’s Biomes – the Guinea-Congo Forests Share: Written by Adam Riley
Africa’s Biomes – the Guinea-Congo Forests - 10,000 Birds Destinations Africa’s Biomes – the Guinea-Congo Forests November 13, 2012 by Adam Riley 9 Comments Africa, in common with the rest of our planet, has been divided up into various biomes or ecosystems, each supporting unique avifauna and communities of other living organisms. These biomes or ecosystems are mostly a result of three factors – latitude, humidity and elevation. I plan to eventually feature all the various African biomes in these Africa Beat blogposts but have started with my favorite, the Guinea-Congo Forests. A typical forest scene from the Congo forest bloc, image taken in Gabon’s Loango National Park by Adam Riley. Tropical rainforests are most well developed in equatorial areas of low latitude, high humidity and low elevation. Africa supports approximately 30% of the world’s forests and the great bulk of these forests lie in two vast blocs; the Upper Guinea forests of West Africa and the Congo or Lower Guinea forests of Central Africa. The Congo Forest is actually the 2nd largest forest in the world after the Amazon and is followed by New Guinea’s forests. Map of Africa’s biomes The Upper Guinea forests stretch from Guinea eastwards to Ghana. The Congo forests stretch from Nigeria southwards to Angola and eastwards to Uganda, with the vast bulk of this forest in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Between the two forest patches is a narrow area known as the Dahomey Gap, an area of woodlands classified as Sudan-Guinea savanna and named after Benin’s old colonial designation (Benin is situated within this woodland gap.) There are also transitional zones and outlying African rainforests beyond these two forest blocs. The Upper Guinea bloc is under severe pressure and over 80% of the original forest cover has been destroyed. The Congo bloc covers 700,000 square miles and, although it is rapidly being destroyed, a greater percentage remains; nonetheless, the UN estimates that 66% (two thirds) of the forests will be gone by 2040 unless the destruction is stopped. A scene from the Upper Guinea forest bloc, the Kakum canopy walkway in Ghana, by Adam Riley. The mammals of Africa’s great rainforests are quite famous – examples include Lowland Gorillas (now recognized as two species, Western and Eastern and restricted to the Congo bloc), Chimpanzees (both blocs) and Bonobos (Congo), Okapi (Congo), Forest Elephant (both), Pygmy Hippopotamus (Upper Guinea), dozens of monkey and duiker species, pangolins and much besides. The avifauna is less well known and I will cover here some of the more typical groups of birds that frequent Africa’s great rainforests. The Tree Pangolin is endemic to Africa’s two rainforest blocs. Photographed in Ghana by Adam Riley. Waterbirds – several species of aquatic bird are can be found on the waterways and lakes of Africa’s rainforests, the shy and elusive White-crested Tiger Heron being one of the more sought-after of these species. Hartlaub’s Duck is the only waterfowl restricted to this biome and can often be found foraging in baïs – marshy openings in the rainforest. Spot-breasted Ibis also forage in baïs or along rivers. All three species of fishing owls also occur in the rainforests, the little known and very rare Rufous in Upper Guinea, Vermiculated in the Congo bloc and Pel’s, which occurs in both forest blocs and also in woodland zones beyond the forests. The rare and elusive White-crested Tiger Heron. Image taken in Gabon by Adam Riley. A rare photo of a pair of highly sought-after birds – Vermiculated Fishing Owls, by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Image taken in Cameroon’s Korup National Park. Raptors – several raptors are confined to the Guinea-Congo forests, all being rather tough to observe and occurring at low density. One of the more widespread species is the Congo Serpent Eagle – it occurs in both forest blocs where it is represented by different subspecies. Its far carrying calls are heard more often than the bird is seen. Other forest raptors include the massive monkey-hunting Crowned Eagle (which is not, however, restricted to these forests but occurs elsewhere), Cassin’s Hawk-Eagle, Red-thighed and Chestnut-flanked Sparrowhawk, Long-tailed Hawk and Red-chested Goshawk. The Congo forest subspecies of Congo Serpent Eagle, photographed by Adam Riley in Gabon. A pair of Crowned Eagles, Africa’s most powerful raptor, perched on an exposed forest tree. Image by Adam Riley from South Africa. Guineafowl, francolins & Congo Peafowl – four species of guineafowl (Black, White-breasted, Crested and Plumed), two species of diminutive francolins (Forest and Nahan’s) and the mythical Congo Peafowl are all very difficult species occurring in these great forests. Hunting pressure as well as natural shyness and low densities account for few sightings, especially of the peafowl which was known from only a feather for many years. This bird became the obsession of American ornithologist James Chapin, who obtained a feather from a pygmy’s headdress during his 6-year Congo expedition and went to great extremes to prove that a peafowl actually existed in Africa, until he eventually found two old, mislabeled specimens in a Belgian museum. A Crested Guineafowl by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. A Crested Guineafowl chick lies concealed on the forest floor. Image taken by Adam Riley in Uganda. Parrots – Africa is not well endowed with colorful parrots, with the very familiar African Gray Parrot being the commonest rainforest species. Fortunately large flocks still occur, despite immense pressure from the captive bird trade. It is wonderful to hear and see these whistling flocks hurtling over the canopy! Other African rainforest parrots are Red-fronted Parrot and the diminutive Black-collared Lovebird. A pair of wild African Gray Parrots feeding on palm fruit. Image taken in Gabon by Adam Riley. Turacos – are a family of birds endemic to Africa and many of them fill the role occupied by parrots on other continents. The fabulous Great Blue Turaco makes one of the dominant sounds of the rainforests, with other species including Guinea, Black-billed and Yellow-billed. A massive Great Blue Turaco takes flight. Image taken in Rwanda by Adam Riley. A Guinea Turaco photographed in Ghana by Adam Riley. Kingfishers – both forest and aquatic kingfishers can be found inside Africa’s great forests. The Chocolate-backed is a lovely rainforest canopy species and, along with African Dwarf, is not associated with water. Shining-blue and White-bellied, however, are only found around forest streams and ponds. Blue-breasted can occur both near water as well as deep in the forest. A young Chocolate-backed Kingfisher photographed by Adam Riley in Ghana. A digiscoped image of African Dwarf Kingfisher in Uganda by Adam Riley. Blue-breasted Kingfisher by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Bee-eaters – several beautiful bee-eaters are restricted to Africa’s forests and these are treated in more detail in an earlier Africa Beat blog post of mine. Blue-whiskered Bee-eater has recently been split from Blue-headed. Image taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. Hornbills – are also prevalent in the forests with both giant and dwarf species. The massive Black-casqued Wattled and Yellow-casqued Wattled sound like steam trains as their heavy wings pound overhead, but the diminutive Black and Red-billed Dwarf are usually located calling from the high canopy. The strange White-crested has one of the most maniacal and unusual calls of any bird and spends most of its time following monkey troops and swooping in on any insects they disturb in the forests. The larger White-thighed, Brown-cheeked and Piping feed mostly on rainforest fruits. A massive Yellow-casqued Wattled Hornbill soars overhead. Image taken by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours in Cameroon. The tiny Red-billed Dwarf Hornbill photographed in Ghana by Adam Riley. Barbets – numerous rainforest barbets occur in Africa and these are also covered in an earlier blogpost. The Yellow-spotted Barbet is a forest frugivore. Image by Adam Riley. Woodpeckers – again several species are completed restricted to these forests, from Africa’s only piculet (aptly named African Piculet!) to Gabon, Melancholy, Buff-spotted, Brown-eared, Yellow-crested, Fire-bellied and Tullberg’s Woodpeckers. Gabon Woodpecker photographed in Gabon by Adam Riley. Brown-eared Woodpecker photographed in Uganda by Adam Riley. Cuckooshrikes – the rainforest cuckooshrikes can count amongst their numbers some of Africa’s least know and rarest birds, including both Western and Eastern Wattled Cuckooshrikes and Grauer’s Cuckooshrike. Somewhat easier species include the stunning Blue and Purple-throated Cuckooshrikes. The Blue Cuckooshrike is a lovely canopy species. Photo taken by Adam Riley in Ghana. Picathartes – this is a family of birds endemic to these forests, with an Upper Guinea and a Congo bloc species. They have also been covered in detail in an earlier blogpost. The White-necked Picathartes or Yellow-headed Rockfowl is one of two species belonging to a Guinea-Congo forest bird family. Image taken by Adam Riley in Ghana. Illadopses – this rather dull-colored group of eight species are placed in the babbler family. They are generally very secretive and shy dwellers of the forest understorey, but their loud whistles are one of the most characteristic African rainforest calls. Illadopses are not boldly marked and are best identified by their whistling songs. Pale-breasted Illadopsis by Cuan Rush/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Greenbuls – are for many birders the identification nightmare of the rainforests. These bulbul relatives occur in a myriad of shapes, colors and sizes, though there are also many look-alike species. No less than 43 species occur in the two rainforest blocs, so that gives you an idea of the identification challenges posed by these birds! They occur from canopy to leaf-litter level and often form the core of multi-species forest bird flocks. The Little Gray Greenbul is one of many rather plain look-alike species. Image taken by Adam Riley in Ghana. The Red-tailed Greenbul is more distinctive and often puffs out its white throat. Image taken by Adam Riley in Uganda. Bristlebills are a colorful but secretive group of rainforest greenbuls. This is a Red-tailed Bristlebill photographed by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Alethes – unlike greenbuls, these are distinctive and shy denizens of the rainforest understorey. Most of the thrush-like alethe species are ant followers and can be found attending to marauding safari ant trails (Africa’s equivalent of army ants). The Brown-chested Alethe is a shy bird usually only detected around safari ant swarms. Image taken by Adam Riley in Uganda. Apalises – generally provide African birders with warbler-neck syndrome – these small (but long-tailed) warblers are usually canopy species and it typically takes a telescope or canopy walkway to appreciate their beautiful colors and patterns. Ten species occur in the region under discussion. The lovely Black-capped Apalis is a high canopy specialist. Image by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Flycatchers – are a mixed bunch of small to medium sized passerines displaying a remarkable variety of shapes, plumages and colors. The lovely paradise-flycatchers generally display long tails and are showy, whilst others such as Yellow-footed are tiny, shy species. White-browed Forest Flycatcher is found around forest steams but several are canopy specialists, such as busy flocks of Chestnut-capped. Several are very tough – few birders, for example, can claim Nimba, Tessmann’s and Olivaceous Flycatchers to their lifelists. A Red-bellied Paradise Flycatcher from Gabon by Adam Riley. The Gray-throated Tit-flycatcher is a rather secretive forest canopy species. Photographed by Adam Riley in Gabon. The Olivaceous Flycatcher makes up for its looks by its rarity. Photograph taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. Wattle-eyes – belong to a family of birds endemic to Africa and many of their members are rainforest specialists. They are generally small birds displaying major sexual dimorphism (ie different male and female plumages). Both understorey and canopy species exist and some, such as Yellow-bellied Wattle-eye, are very colorful, but many are just black and white. The beautiful Yellow-bellied Wattle-eye photographed in Cameroon by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. A male Chestnut Wattle-eye is black and white; only the female shows chestnut plumage. Image by Markus Lilje/Rockjumper Birding Tours. Starlings – also come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Although the bulk of Africa’s starlings are savanna species, several have evolved to become rainforest specialists. Rainforest glossy starlings include the Upper Guinea endemic, Copper-tailed, and the more widespread Purple-throated. Several species of the red winged starling group are also rainforest denizens including Chestnut-winged and Narrow-tailed. The Upper Guinea endemic Copper-tailed Starling is a threatened species, as are most of the other Upper Guinea endemics. Image taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. Sunbirds – are another abundant group of rainforest species, several of which provide identification challenges. Guinea-Congo forest species include the lovely Buff-throated, Green-throated, Blue-throated Brown, Little Green, Bates’, Fraser’s, Gray-headed, stunning Johanna’s and Tiny Sunbirds. The uniquely patterned Buff-throated Sunbird. Image taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. Weavers – are further discussed in this blog post. Several rainforest species exist and include the canopy foraging Preuss’ Golden-backed, Maxwell’s Black and the 10 malimbe species. Preuss’ Golden-backed Weaver is a rainforest canopy species with a typical foraging behavior of peering under small branches for hidden insects. Image taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. Finches – Africa is home to numerous stunning finch species, of which several are forest dwellers. The 4 species of negrita or negrofinch are usually found at higher levels in the forest, antpeckers at midlevel (Woodhouse’s Antpecker used to languish under the name of Woodhouse’s Red-headed Flowerpecker-weaver-finch!) whereas twinspots, bluebills and seedcrackers are usually found at lower levels. A rare photo of a male Red-fronted Antpecker, a little known species. Image taken in Ghana by Adam Riley. A female Western Bluebill by Jonathan Rossouw. Well over 1,000 species of birds occur in the Guinea-Congo forests, so this is by no means a thorough coverage but just a brief overview of some of the groups and species that exist in these biodiverse rainforests. Africa Guinea-Congo Forests rainforests Share: Written by Adam Riley Adam Riley has grown up with a lifelong interest in wildlife, which evolved into a particular fascination with birds. Raised in a rural region of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, Adam qualified as a Chartered Accountant but in 1998 his career path took an alternative route when he founded Rockjumper Birding Tours with his friend Jonathan Rossouw. Since 2000 Adam has been the sole owner and managing director of Rockjumper and has also founded ORYX - Wildlife Safaris and ORYX – Worldwide Photographic Safaris. Adam has traveled extensively to all 7 continents, leading tours to numerous countries ranging from Colombia to Egypt, Angola to Papua New Guinea and Antarctica to Alaska. Adam is one of Africa’s most experienced birders, having seen over 2,000 species on the continent as well as 7,000 species worldwide. Related Posts Migrants are on the Move in Costa Rica March 30, 2019 Hummer Time April 3, 2018 Visit the Arenal Observatory Lodge and Spa February 26, 2021 « Previous post Congratulations to Tara Tanaka! Next post » Yet Another Reason to Keep Your Cat Indoors
msmarco_doc_00_1318312
http://10000birds.com/grackles.htm
What is a Grackle? - 10,000 Birds
What is a Grackle? What is a Grackle? Share: Written by Corey
What is a Grackle? - 10,000 Birds Birds What is a Grackle? November 27, 2009 by Corey 14 Comments Grackles are of the Icterid family, the New World family of birds that includes blackbirds, orioles, oropendolas, meadowlarks, caciques, the Bobolink, and cowbirds. The word grackle derives from the latin word graculus *, which describes the small European corvid, the Jackdaw, which some grackles vaguely resemble. There are eleven species of grackle, or, there were, but the Slender-billed Grackle Quiscalus palustris went extinct in 1911, leaving ten extant species today. Six of the remaining species are also in the genus Quiscalus, two are in Macroagelaius, and two species, the Red-bellied Grackle Hypopyrrhus pyrohypogaster and the Velvet-fronted Grackle Lampropsar tanagrinus, are in monotypic genuses genera. Let us start first with the three species of grackle that inhabit the United States, the Common Grackle Quiscalus quiscula, the Boat-tailed Grackle Quiscalus major, and the Great-tailed Grackle Quiscalus mexicanus . The Common Grackle is, not surprisingly, common across its range, which encompasses the eastern United States and eastern Canada. Males and females are largely alike, though females are a bit smaller and less iridescent. Common Grackles nest in forests, sometimes colonially, and can be found across a variety of habitats in winter when they flock in large numbers. They are sometimes considered pests by farmers because the large flocks can decimate grain crops. This might help explain why flocks of grackles are referred to as a “plague,” though even that beats being “ an ornithological debacle .” Common Grackle, Central Park, New York City The Boat-tailed Grackle is a coastal bird that ranges from the states that border the Gulf of Mexico all the way up into Connecticut, with rare sightings in Rhode Island and Massachusetts. It is found in saltmarshes and is almost never found inland, except in Florida. The male Boat-tailed Grackle is similar to the male Common Grackle but larger in size, especially in the tail for which it is named, while the female is smaller than the male and is pleasingly dressed in brown and buff. Boat-tailed Grackles were lumped with Great-tailed Grackles in 1910 and only split in 1983. Great-tailed Grackle, Lago de Yojoa, Honduras The Great-tailed Grackle is common from northern South America to the middle of the United States and west to California. Its range is expanding rapidly to the northwest where it has almost reached Oregon and to the northeast where it has nearly reached the Great Lakes. It is slightly larger than the Boat-tailed Grackle but otherwise similar, though it seems more confiding than its close cousin and often allows close approach. Perhaps this is because the Great-tailed Grackle is more willing to be a habitat generalist, rather than being tied to coastal saltmarsh like the Boat-tailed Grackle, and thus comes into close contact with humans more often. Carib Grackle, Aripo Savannah, Trinidad (photo by Mike) The other Quiscalus grackles include the Nicaraguan Grackle Q. nicaraguensis, which is endemic to the area around Lake Nicaragua in both Nicaragua and Costa Rica. It makes some pretty neat sounds which are well captured here . The Greater Antillean Grackle Q. niger is found, not surprisingly, in the Greater Antilles, and is known on various islands as Cling-cling, Chango, and Chinchilín . Carib Grackles Q. lugubris are apparently well-known for looking for handouts in open-air tourist restaurants across their range in the lesser Antilles and northern South America. And, of course, there is, or rather, there was, the extinct Slender-billed Grackle Q. palustris which had been endemic to marshes near Mexico City. Greater Antillean Grackle, Hotel Mocking Bird Hill, Port Antonio, Jamaica (photo by Mike) The two Macroagelaius grackles are the Golden-tufted Grackle M. imthurni, sometimes called the Golden-tufted Mountain-Grackle, of Brazil, Guyana, and Venezuela, and the Mountain Grackle M. subalaris, sometimes called the Colombian Mountain-Grackle, which is endemic to the eastern slope of the northern Andes in Colombia. It is difficult to find much info on the Golden-tufted Grackle: its Wikipedia page is a stub, its entry in Neotropical Birds hasn’t even been started, there is very little info on InfoNatura, and at least some videos purportedly of the bird are actually of other species . I did, however, find some sound clips . The Mountain Grackle is endangered, mostly due to habitat loss, and little-studied, though a relatively recent paper indicates that it breeds colonially (link is a PDF). Interestingly, at least one effort to preserve the Cerulean Warbler Dendroica cerulea helps the Mountain Grackle: a reserve on the warbler’s wintering grounds also hosts a population of the endangered grackle! The Red-bellied Grackle Hypopyrrhus pyrohypogaster is, like the Mountain Grackle, endemic to Colombia and endangered. BirdLife International lists habitat loss in the Andean ranges of Colombia as the main threat to the survival of the species. The Velvet-fronted Grackle Lampropsar tanagrinus, also known as Violaceous Grackle and Bolivian Grackle (though these names may refer to two of the five recognized subspecies), is found in swamps of most of the countries of northern South America. So get out there and check out those grackles! You won’t regret seeing such gorgeous birds, even if they haven’t gotten the best press. Common Grackle, Central Park, New York City *After getting Rick’s comment below about the word graculus (gracula) I dug around some more and realized that maybe a better explanation of graculus is “a latin word used to describe a variety of black (ish) birds.” blackbirds grackles Icterids Share: Written by Corey Corey is a New Yorker who lived most of his life in upstate New York but has lived in Queens since 2008. He's only been birding since 2005 but has garnered a respectable life list by birding whenever he wasn't working as a union representative or spending time with his family. He lives in Forest Hills with Daisy and Desmond Shearwater. His bird photographs have appeared on the Today Show, in Birding, Living Bird Magazine, Bird Watcher's Digest, and many other fine publications. He is also the author of the American Birding Association Field Guide to the Birds of New York. Related Posts The Remotest Endemic Birds August 13, 2013 Outdoor/Feral Cat Problem? Call the SWAT Team May 22, 2015 Forgotten Owls February 8, 2009 « Previous post Perfect Time to Buy 10,000 Birds T-Shirts Next post » Where Are You Birding This Last Weekend of November 2009?
msmarco_doc_00_1334947
http://10000hours.com/
Executive Education | 10,000 Hours - Daring Ideas
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msmarco_doc_00_1341910
http://10000yearsinstitute.org/
10,000 Years Institute
Working toward community, ecological, and climate resilience in the Pacific Northwest Working toward community, ecological, and climate resilience in the Pacific Northwest Now Hiring Our Mission
10,000 Years Institute Working toward community, ecological, and climate resilience in the Pacific Northwest 2019 Year-End Summary 2020 Annual Card Now Hiring Learn more about current opportunities Work with Us Our Mission We evaluate the effects of human activities on natural environments – the forests, rivers, wetlands and estuaries that sustain our communities and ecosystems. Through development of innovative, science-based approaches to restore ecological integrity, we promote sustainable practices in landscapes across the region. About Us 10,000 Years Institute is a Washington non-profit corporation, with its principal office on the West Coast. It incorporated in 1992, and gained federal 501 (c) (3) status in 1993. Those involved in the Institute are scientists and community activists with backgrounds in ecology, geology, fisheries, and forestry. 10,000 Years Institute seeks and develops partnerships with other non-profit organizations, Native American tribes and nations, government agencies and other resource managers; and may also act independently. Learn More Our Vision The “10,000 Years” refers to the most recent climatic-geologic period in which our local Pacific Northwest landscape evolved, and to the temporal framework within which sustainable resource management approaches must be developed. Our vision integrates the natural and human history of the earth’s imperiled forest and riverine ecosystems in the development of sustainable approaches to resource use. Technical Services
msmarco_doc_00_1343597
http://1000awesomethings.com/2008/12/17/872-the-feeling-of-scrunching-sand-in-your-feet/
#872 The feeling of scrunching sand in your feet – 1000 Awesome Things
#872 The feeling of scrunching sand in your feet #872 The feeling of scrunching sand in your feet
#872 The feeling of scrunching sand in your feet – 1000 Awesome Things #872 The feeling of scrunching sand in your feet December 17, 2008 December 17, 2008 Neil Pasricha Free your feet. When you kick off your tight, suffocating shoes, peel off your nasty, sweaty socks, and just starting walking on the beach in bare feet, how good does that feel? Man, it’s a million molecules of Earthbeads massaging your foot all at once. It’s a tickly, gripply sand sensation. It’s big piles of small cubes hugging and comforting your tired and sore and broken sole. And yeah sure, the sand wedges itself up into your toenails, dusts up in your toe-knuckle hair, and coats the bottom of your feet like butter on toast. So your feet may look a little worse for wear. But whatever, because the feeling of scrunching sand in your feet when you walk on the beach is 100% guaranteed AWESOME! Photos from: here and here
msmarco_doc_00_1345486
http://1000awesomethings.com/2009/02/03/838-the-smell-of-freshly-cut-grass/
#838 The smell of freshly cut grass – 1000 Awesome Things
#838 The smell of freshly cut grass #838 The smell of freshly cut grass 32 thoughts on “ #838 The smell of freshly cut grass ”
#838 The smell of freshly cut grass – 1000 Awesome Things #838 The smell of freshly cut grass February 3, 2009 February 2, 2009 Neil Pasricha Fresh cut grass smells like twilight in the countryside, a football game about to start at the park, or a sunny Saturday morning in the suburbs. So whether you’re driving down a dusty farm road while the sun sets, stretching before the whistle blows, or putting your lawnmower back in the shed after criss-crossing your lot, well … just stop for a second, flare your nostrils real big, tip your head back real far, and take a big whiff, baby. Because oh yeah. AWESOME! Photo from: here 32 thoughts on “ #838 The smell of freshly cut grass ” billynorton says: February 3, 2009 at 12:43 am I know the feeling. Twice a year I head down into the basement to harvest 50 some odd plants and reek of the finest BC bud for the next week. sara says: February 3, 2009 at 4:29 am except i’m allergic to cut grass : ( all those little pollens up in the air mike says: February 3, 2009 at 4:33 am If there is no pollen in the air it does smell good. San Carlos says: February 3, 2009 at 9:06 am One of the quintessential summertime memories. adventuresandmusings says: February 3, 2009 at 5:09 pm Makes me yearn for summer. Damn that groundhog. ummmmheyyyy says: February 3, 2009 at 5:37 pm NOT AWESOME: The 5 to 8 inches of snow currently piling up on my lawn. sumanlatik says: February 3, 2009 at 8:37 pm next to inhaling the sweet scent of freshly-cut grass, I always have the yearning to run through the area where it all lays there. Heavenly… and nothing quite like it. PMedGuy says: February 3, 2009 at 10:18 pm Pretty hard to do with 3 feet of snow on my lawn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Duncan says: February 4, 2009 at 8:25 pm I grew up in an area where they grew alfalfa for feed. If you like the smell of fresh cut grass, you should try to catch the smell of fresh mowed alfalfa some time…. its fantastic! Mary Frances says: May 17, 2009 at 11:50 am one of my favourite smells ever!! Even if sometimes it makes me sneeze. Pingback: 1000 Awesome Things « Brave new world Stain says: June 14, 2009 at 10:40 pm did nobody catch billynortons reference? well I did and….. I AGREE!!! sarclark says: November 17, 2009 at 2:48 am Yesyesyes. I could NOT agree more with this one. I love the smell of grass!!! Michael AJ W. says: November 18, 2009 at 2:58 pm this smell is only second to the New Car Smell, but still Awesome. Musikegirl says: December 25, 2009 at 11:39 pm I have to admit, the smell of freshly cut grass is something that I can never get enough of. It is the epitome of what spring smells like. laura says: May 19, 2010 at 3:39 pm remind me of home (Australia) currently living in the UK kelly says: May 31, 2010 at 2:10 am The smell of freshly cut grass automatically brings out the feeling of hope, of a chance of a new beginning for me. Too bad there’s a drought where I am. All the grass here is dead. Pingback: | Laughter Yoga Club America - Laughing Yoga Education, Training and Workshops The Alligatorman says: February 11, 2011 at 4:24 pm I have hay fever and I still love that smell. Sieg says: March 15, 2011 at 1:26 pm Makes me yearn for summer. It makes me desire to walk with my bare feet through the freshly cut grass. I also like self-cutting the grass, it makes the feeling more intense summers. Mowing the lawn with the warmth of the sun on your body. Sometimes you have to sneeze. When the grass clippings are too long, it begins to stink. Fortunately, the summer feeling is too strong to put it away from me. I am sorry that some people are allergic to pollen, they can not enjoy it. They do not know what they’re missing. wendywithaurora says: May 15, 2011 at 1:31 pm I have a very old turquoise blue “woman-powered” push mower with chrome that glistens in the sunshine. I love all the senses and memories of the 60’s, ignited by the GREEN experience, when I cut the grass. Grass, hay and alfalfa! My favorites. wendywithaurora says: June 25, 2011 at 12:25 pm it’s been raining so much lately the lawn is getting very long…I’ve got to get to that today…in a little while, that is unless it rains again;) Pingback: 1000 Awesome Things - Evan's Blog depilacja laserowa says: June 17, 2011 at 12:55 pm We would also like to mention that most people that find themselves with no health insurance can be students, self-employed and people who are jobless. More than half in the uninsured are under the age of Thirty-five. They do not come to feel they are in need of health insurance since they’re young and healthy. The income is often spent on housing, food, in addition to entertainment. Most people that do work either whole or part-time are not offered insurance by their work so they get along without as a result of rising expense of health insurance in the us. Thanks for the suggestions you talk about through this web site. rebel says: December 13, 2011 at 10:11 am this is and awsome smell :D and the wet mud also rockz nice work guys Pingback: 1000 Awesome Things.......... | infoplanetarium.com Lily says: February 18, 2012 at 4:35 am Umm sorry this one is not awesome : ( Derp derp says: February 18, 2012 at 4:16 pm I smell it. And smells like grass :) Cody says: February 19, 2012 at 1:00 am I find this one wierd Pingback: Things I Love Thursdays | Days Off/ RNC Finale | Infinitely Optimistic Craig Morris says: November 27, 2012 at 3:46 am That wonderful smell is called Gramownessence http://thegrassisgreenerontheudderside.blogspot.com/2011/05/gramownesssence.html Corinna says: September 18, 2014 at 7:22 am In montrreal – the smell of freshly cut grass is the true sign of summer – now that’s what I call aroma therapy! Comments are closed.
msmarco_doc_00_1346767
http://1000awesomethings.com/2011/03/28/279-anything-really-really-heavy/
#279 Anything really, really heavy – 1000 Awesome Things
#279 Anything really, really heavy #279 Anything really, really heavy Post navigation
#279 Anything really, really heavy – 1000 Awesome Things #279 Anything really, really heavy March 28, 2011 March 27, 2011 Neil Pasricha Boom-badda, boom-badda. Back when I was a wee lad I remember begging my parents for some newfangled gadget from Radio Shack that let me play LCD checkers in the back of the station wagon. It was like Game Boy’s Great Uncle or something and after I fought with scissors to break it out of its frozen-carbonite-like plastic shell I remember thinking to myself, “Wow, this thing is really light.” Sure enough, a couple dozen King Me’s later in the back of our bumpy wagon and this E-crap of Terribleness went kaput. I guess it was essentially plastic-wrapped air with a rusty circuit board wedged inside and couldn’t keep up with my killer moves. But it got me thinking that maybe there’s just something better about things that are really, really heavy… • A pile of blankets on top of you. Because nothing beats getting buried under the hot fuzz on a cold night. • Pens. There is a direct relationship with the heaviness of your pen and its quality. Bottom of the barrel is those flimsy four inch plastic ones that clip onto your mini golf card. Top of the heap is the fat one the size of a hot dog sitting beside the wedding reception guest book. • Gold bars. When your bank account is loaded with tipsy pyramids of gold bars you’re either an ancient Egyptian King, Veronica Lodge’s dad, or Scrooge McDuck. Either way, gold’s been valuable since before recorded history for coins, jewelry, and arts. • The Earth. It really is a great planet. And sure, we may have problems, but have you tried living anywhere else? The commute is always a nightmare and don’t get me started on the lack of water or air. • Things made of glass. Listen up, plastic Jeep windows, Styrofoam cups, and the stained yogurt container I’m heating up this leftover ravioli in right now — your days are numbered. Because there’s something to be said for going heavy and going back to glass for the win. • Old toys from your Grandpa’s basement. When you come across an old dump truck or a heavy wood paddle and ball it’s time to get down with a high quality afternoon. Keep fishing through boxes and you might find a solid metal xylophone or a doll who’s rock hard head could double as a battering ram. • Ununoctium. Poor Mendeleev didn’t leave spots for this synthetic element — also know as last square on The Periodic Table and the heaviest element on Earth. Packing 118 protons into an atom isn’t easy but it makes for a fun challenge for nerds. • Babies. Yes, it’s a great sign when babies come out heavy and healthy and then keep growing and growing and growing and growing until they turn into me and you. • Old, dangerous playground equipment. We’ve chatted before about how metal see-saws, hot slides, and rusty Big Spinners beat plastic rocking horses two feet off the ground any day. • Unwrapped Christmas presents. Heavy mystery boxes crank up that exciting what-could-this-be factor on Christmas morning. Yes, in these days of bendable, breakable, and throwaway there’s something nice about anything really, really heavy. Heavy means this action figure won’t break next week. Heavy means this omelet is packed with cheese. And maybe heavy is just a sign of substance, a sign of comfort, and a sign something was put together by someone who cared. AWESOME! We’re starting our second annual 100 Days of Awesome next week. For 100 days we’ll feature your funny, strange, or inspiring story and photo of The Awesome Movement below each post. If you’re interested, send your story and photo to 1000awesomethings@gmail.com Photos from: here, here, here, here, and here Post navigation #280 When little kids get really, really excited #278 Putting garbage in other garbage
msmarco_doc_00_1353097
http://1000islands.com/
Thousand Islands | 1000 Islands NY and Canada VACATION - 1000 Islands | An International Tourism Destination
Thousand Islands | 1000 Islands NY and Canada VACATION Uncle Sam Boat Tours Thousand Islands | 1000 Islands NY and Canada VACATION Planning Your trip to the thousand islands Places to Stay Places To Eat Events Business Listings Communities Recreation
Thousand Islands | 1000 Islands NY and Canada VACATION - 1000 Islands | An International Tourism Destination Uncle Sam Boat Tours Experience The 1000 Islands Aboard Uncle Sam Boat Tours Departing ... Boldt Castle Located at the heart of the Thousand Island Region, Boldt Castle is the ... Thousand Islands | 1000 Islands NY and Canada VACATION Plan your next vacation to the 1000 islands. The Thousand Islands (1000 Islands) Region is an international tourism destination, encompassing communities on both sides of the US and Canada border along the St. Lawrence River and the eastern shores of Lake Ontario. The region takes its name from the more than 1000 islands that dot the lake and river along this international waterway. The region extends from Kingston to Cornwall on the Canadian side, and from Oswego to Massena on the US side, reaching inland to the foothills of the Adirondack mountains to embrace the communities that are west and north of the Adirondack Park, and the four NY Counties of Oswego, Jefferson, Lewis and St. Lawrence. Planning Your trip to the thousand islands When planning your trip to the 1000 islands you will want to check out the many places to eat along the river as well as the fun things to do . Many things to do are kid friendly from zoos to festivals . If you are interested in the history of the thousand islands then please visit the museums and read the history of the thousand islands dressing in Alexandria Bay and the history of the thousand islands dressing in Clayton . There are also a lot of books about the 1000 islands. If you are an adventurous type of person then try some scuba diving or rafting and kayaking. Another fun thing to do is to take a boat tour throughout the river like on the famous Uncle Sam Boat Tours . Visit and explore huge beautiful castles on islands like Boldt Castle. The 1000 islands has inspired many to fall in love and get married. The 1000 islands is a beautiful place to have a wedding. If you are planning on getting married then check out the many wedding planning options in the thousand islands. If you are planning on visiting sites in both the United States and Canada be sure the have your passport with you. Places to Stay Places To Eat Events Business Listings Communities Recreation
msmarco_doc_00_1357407
http://1000logos.net/cartier-logo/
Cartier logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG
Cartier Logo Cartier Logo Meaning and history Symbol Font and color
Cartier logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG Home › Fashion logos Cartier Logo Updated: Dec 21, 2020 Download PNG Cartier Logo PNG Cartier is the name of one of the most luxurious jewelry and accessories brands in the world, which was established in 1847 in France by Louis Francois Cartier. Today the company, which became a part of Cue Financiere Richemont Group in 1964, distributes its high-end products all over the globe and is considered to be one of the most reputable and desirable brands ever. Meaning and history Cartier is one of the not so many labels, which still uses its original logotype, created in 1847, right after the launch of the brand. Its visual identity concept is all about heritage and legacy, which in this case are synonymous with quality and elegance. The Cartier logotype is usually written in black and placed on a white background, with an oval emblem above it. Sometimes the color palette switches to gold and burgundy, which is a sophisticated and chic combination, brilliantly reflecting the purpose of the brand. Symbol The monogram, enclosed in a vertical oval frame, was adopted by the brand as its signifier in 1900. Designed by the brand founder’s grandson, the emblem was first introduced during the World Exhibition, which took part in Paris. Two intertwined letters “C” in a handwritten wishbone-style font, have become iconic and instantly recognizable across the globe. Two “C”s stand for the name of the label, with no hidden meanings, just a simple and very elegant brand’s representative, which is usually drawn in black on a white background, but sometimes can be seen as a gold three-dimensional emblem in gradient shades and with a glossy surface. Font and color The elegant cursive if the Cartier logotype is custom, yet looks pretty similar to Werdet Script Demi Bold, just with the contours of the “C” modified. The first letter of the wordmark looks edgy and stylish due to the distinct cut and serif in its upper parts, which adds sharpness and strength to smooth and delicate lettering. As for the color palette, the official combination of the label is black-and-white, which is a representation of timeless beauty and elegance, along with the expertise and authority of the brand. There is also a secondary palette, which consists of a burgundy background and white or gold lettering, and in this case, the logo looks fancy and luxurious, as this combination of colors is usually associated with royalty and nobility.
msmarco_doc_00_1360182
http://1000logos.net/instagram-logo/
Instagram logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG
Instagram Logo Home Instagram Logo Meaning and history 2010 2010 2011 2016 Old logo New logo App logo Symbol Black and white Font Icons Video Watch on
Instagram logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG Home › Internet logos Instagram Logo Updated: Feb 21, 2021 WWW Download PNG Instagram Logo PNG Instagram is a popular media sharing and social network platform, which has been around since 2010. Introduced by Kevin Systrom, it grew into a massive international network by 2012, when Facebook purchased it. What font is used on the Instagram logo? The elegant Instagram lettering is executed in Billabong Regular font, which looks similar to such typefaces as Bluestar Regular and Avangard Regular, with their smooth rounded letters, connected by soft and elegant lines. Meaning and history Instagram logo has pretty much paved the platform’s way. Over its brief history, the network has changed a couple of logos. All based on the shape of an instant camera, the known Instagram logo versions have been reflective of the network’s key designation – sharing photographs. 2010 The original Instagram logo was designed by the company co-founder, Kevin Systrom. There was a knock-off Polaroid camera with a rainbow stripe. As the project was originally used for taking and sharing photos (as well as applying filters), the design choice looked pretty natural. 2010 And yet, later that year Systrom decided to use professional help and hired designer and photographer Cole Rise. He was inspired by the Bell & Howell camera from the 1950s. 2011 The emblem was slightly updated, but the overall look remained the same. This version made a debut on Instagram v2.0. 2016 The new Instagram logo was unveiled together with an updated application’s interface. While many users criticized the design, it has remained unchanged for years. Old logo The very first Instagram logo was designed by Kevin Systrom himself, and it was actually an image of a real camera with a rainbow strip. At that time it was reflective of what Instagram was generally used for – taking and sharing pics and applying different hues to them via a filter. However, later he realized that designing a logo took a subtler approach, so he hired Cole Rise, a photographer and designer, to generate a better idea. Cole came up with a simpler image of a mobile camera. New logo Today, Instagram boasts a much broader functionality, which has extended to Hyperlapses, Boomerangs, and collages. The new logo version is testifies to this new range of opportunities. App logo The new Instagram logo design is based on the previous one. Though it does retain all key features of the old logo, it is dramatically different. The change sparked heated debates across the Instagram community. Symbol Now, Instagram logo is a minimalistic sunset-colored outline of the original Polaroid cam image. Black and white The black-and-white version of the Instagram visual identity repeats its official colorful version in terms of lines and style, though looks completely different without an iconic pink and yellow gradient. The monochrome logo of the most famous social media service is available in two versions: a solid black square with rounded angles, boasting a thick white contoured figure, repeating the shape of the icon, a contoured white circle in the center, and a small solid white dot placed in the upper right corner of the smaller square; and the newest version, designed in 2020, where the contoured Instagram logo is executed in black and placed on a white background. The second emblem looks more stylish and fresh, due to the use of more white color and fewer lines in the composition, as the contoured square with rounded angles is placed directly on the backgrounds being a frame of the emblem and the emblem itself. The monochrome version of the Instagram logo works just like the original one and can be seen with or without the inscription. Font The Instagram logotype is as recognizable as the graphical part of the social media visual identity, and its custom cursive lettering is associated with bright moments and friendship. The Instagram lettering is executed in a smooth and elegant typeface, which was designed exclusively for the app, though looks pretty similar to such fonts as Avangard Regular and Blue Vinyl Regular, but with some lines modified and elongated. The contours of the logotype are clean and sleek, which makes the classic shapes of the letters look tender and friendly. Despite its visible simplicity and naivety, Instagram’s inscription looks very confident and modern, and when used in the monochrome version — it gets even more power and distinction, with the strong contrast between black and white, making the logo timeless and iconic. Icons Video YouTube 1000 LOGOS 1.46K subscribers Subscribe Instagram logo, symbol | history and evolution Watch later Copy link Info Shopping Tap to unmute If playback doesn't begin shortly, try restarting your device. You're signed out Videos you watch may be added to the TV's watch history and influence TV recommendations. To avoid this, cancel and sign in to YouTube on your computer. Cancel Confirm More videos More videos Switch camera Share Include playlist An error occurred while retrieving sharing information. Please try again later. Watch on 0:00 0:00 0:00 / 0:54 Live •
msmarco_doc_00_1362970
http://1000logos.net/seattle-seahawks-logo/
Seattle Seahawks logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG
Seattle Seahawks Logo Seattle Seahawks Logo Meaning and History logo 1976 — 2001 2002 — 2011 2012 — Today The origin of the logo Where is the mask now? Font Color
Seattle Seahawks logo and symbol, meaning, history, PNG Home › Football logos Seattle Seahawks Logo Updated: Feb 16, 2021 Download PNG Seattle Seahawks Logo PNG The Seattle Seahawks logo is the sort of emblem that creates a strong emotional response. The aggressive, indigenous bird, whose fierce glare is not that easy to forget, has been only modified twice. Meaning and History logo 1976 — 2001 The emblem was created in 1975, not long after the team got its name. Both the name and the emblem made their debut on June 17. Back then, the team’s General Manager John Thompson described a Seahawk in the following way: a “tough, fish-eating bird.” The logo featured a picturesque blue and green osprey’s head with a strong beak. 2002 — 2011 At first glance, the logo was almost the same, as the core visual metaphor was not changed. However, in fact quite a few modifications took place, resulting in a cleaner, more aggressive and stylish look. A shift in the color palette brought the following new shades: a lighter and a darker shades of blue and lime green. The redesign was done by NFL Properties in-house design team and was connected with the club’s moving to the NFC. 2012 — Today In terms of the overall shape and the lines, the Seahawks logo has remained the same. Only the color scheme has been tweaked. Starting from 2012, it included the so-called College Navy and Action Green shades, as well as the Wolf Grey accent color. The origin of the logo John Thompson, who was hired as the team’s general manager in 1975, mentioned that when the NFL firm was commissioned to design the logo, he asked them to “follow the Northwest Indian culture”. There were no strict conditions in this respect, but it was desirable to make the logo somewhat reminiscent of the Native American art. Also, according to Thompson, NFL actually mentioned referring to some books on Northwest Indian culture. This fact was even explored in a 1975 article in Seattle PI. However, in the course of time the origin of the logo was forgotten, and it was only in the 2010s that the connection was “discovered” once again and the newspaper article was unearthed. The book that inspired the designers was Art of the Northwest Coast Indians by Robert Bruce Inverarity published in 1950. Here, there was a photo of a Kwakwaka’wakw mask. It was a so-called transformation mask existing in the two forms: when closed, it showed an eagle, while when it opened during the dance, it revealed a human face. It represented a supernatural eagle, also called thunderbird, which could exist in the human form. The similarity with the Seahawks logo was absolutely obvious: one cannot but notice the bold line around the eye and the mouth, the distinctive eyelid lines, as well as the overall shape of the head and beak. Most likely, the mask was made somewhere between Alaska and Seattle. Where is the mask now? Shortly after the origin of the Seahawks emblem was rediscovered, the mask itself was found, too. It turned out to be part of the Hudson Museum at the University of Maine. Prior to it, the mask was in the property of the German artist Max Ernst, then, following his death in 1976, was purchased by a private collector, William P. Palmer III. His collection, in its turn, went to the Hudson Museum in 1982. To make the mask closer to the Seahawks fans, it was brought from Maine to Seattle. At the end of the 3,200 mile journey, the mask arrived to the Burke museum, where it has been on display more than once. Font The current Seahawks wordmark features a solid all-cap typeface. The type is perfectly legible, yet recognizable due to the distinctive sharp elements present on all the letters. Color The color palette includes the shade of blue that is called “College Navy” (or ”Seahawk Blue”), as well as “Action Green” and “Wolf Grey.” All the three are the team’s official colors, also present in their uniform.
msmarco_doc_00_1368603
http://1000naturalremedy.com/10-natural-remedies-urine-infection/
10 Natural Remedies for Urine Infection - 1000 Natural Remedy
10 Natural Remedies for Urine Infection 10 Natural Remedies for Urine Infection Urine Infection: Natural Remedies to Cure Urine Infection: 1. Barley for Urine Infection: 2. Indian Gooseberry or Amla Juice: How to make Amla Juice: 3. Coconut Water for Urine Infection: 4. Drinking of Plenty of Water: 5. Cinnamon for Urine Infection: 6. Papaya Fruit for Urine Infection: 7. Wood Apple Squash for Urine Infection: Ingredient: 8. Peel of Muskmelon: 9. Seeds of Bottle Gourd for Urine Infection: 10. Frequent Urination: Note:
10 Natural Remedies for Urine Infection - 1000 Natural Remedy 10 Natural Remedies for Urine Infection March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Urine Infection: Urine infection can occur when some bacteria grow inside the bladder. It is a very common problem which may affect anyone either it is man or woman. But women are more prone to urine infection. Frequent urge to urinate, passing small quantity of urine, change in colour of urine, burning sensation in urine, nausea and abdominal cramping are the main symptoms of urine infection. Treatment of urine infection should be started immediately to avoid risk of complications. There are some effective natural remedies to control and treat this infection without antibiotics. Natural Remedies to Cure Urine Infection: 1. Barley for Urine Infection: Barley is having good diuretic activity and is useful in urine tract infection. ( 1) Firstly, take 20 gm Barley (Jau) and clean it. Then boil them with 2 glass of water in a pan till it reduced to half and keep it to be cool. Now consume this water by dividing in 4-5 dosage (equally) in a day. With a regular use of 3-4 days, urine problem will be cured completely 2. Indian Gooseberry or Amla Juice: Indian gooseberry (amla) is a most effective natural treatment of urine infection. It is an excellent source of vitamin C that controls growth of bacteria. Uncontrolled urine problems (Bahumutra) can also be cured with the use of amla juice. Fresh Amla remains available in market from October to March. How to make Amla Juice: To prepare amla juice, take 3-4 big amla and wash it properly. Then grate them and extract the juice with a help of thin cotton cloth. Or you can grind amla after cutting in small pieces. After that sieve the paste of amla with the help of thin cloth and drink three times in a day. 3. Coconut Water for Urine Infection: Coconut water (nariyal pani) is also good to cure urine infections. Take one ‘Nariyal Pani’ daily in the morning and get rid of urine infection. You can follow this remedy for one week or till it required. Coconut water is good for health and there is no harm if you take it regularly for a longer period. 4. Drinking of Plenty of Water: Drinking of plenty of water with regular intervals helps to subside your urine related diseases because drinking water can help to flush away bacteria through urination. ( 2) Drink at least 8 to 10 glass of water daily and follow this regularly in case of recurrent urine infections. 5. Cinnamon for Urine Infection: Cinnamon (dalchini) can cure uncontrolled urine (‘bahumutra’) problem. Simply, collect 10 gm of cinnamon and 10 gm rock sugar ( mishri ). Grind both the ingredients into mixer- grinder to make fine powder. Now, take 2 gm of this powder with water before going to sleep at night. With a regular use of 10- 15 days, frequent urination problem will be cured. 6. Papaya Fruit for Urine Infection: Do you know papaya can treat any type of urine problem? Yes, it is. Eating of ripe papaya regularly can cure any type of urine problems. Therefore, take 300 gm ripe papaya, chop it after peeling. Eat it daily for 1-2 week or till required. However, there is no harm if you continue it for longer period; papaya has lots of health benefits. 7. Wood Apple Squash for Urine Infection: Wood apple squash (Bel-ka-sharbat) has cooling properties; it cures any type of urine problem permanently. Ingredient: Wood Apple (Bel fruit) 2 Sugar (Shakkar) 4-5 tbsp Roasted Cumin seeds powder (Jeera) 1 tsp Black salt powder (Kala Namak) 1 tsp Wash and remove the pulp of bel fruit after chopping. Put the pulp in a pan and add double quantity of water in it. Mash the pulp with fingers thoroughly. Keep a strainer on a jar and pour the pulp in it. Press the pulp with a spatula and extract the juice. Now add the sugar in quince juice and mix it to be dissolved into the juice. Before drinking squash, add cumin seeds powder and black salt powder in it. 8. Peel of Muskmelon: To control urine problems, use ‘Peel of musk-melon’ (kharbuja ka chhilka) – Remove the peel (outer layer or rind) of muskmelon at first. Then wash it properly and cut into small pieces. Boil the small pieces of muskmelon peel into two glass of water till it remains half. Strain it into a glass and consume after breakfast. Drink this water for 3-5 days regularly or till the problem disappeared completely. 9. Seeds of Bottle Gourd for Urine Infection: Bottle gourd (lauki) is very good for health. At first, take a ripe bottle gourd and remove some seeds of it. Then grind these seeds (beej) with half cup of water. Keep a strainer upon a glass and pour the pulp on it. Now, strain the juice by pressing the pulp with a spoon and drink it. It is a simple natural remedy to control urine related problems which has no side effect; you can use it for 2-3 weeks or till required. 10. Frequent Urination: Most urinary infections caused due to not going to urinate as often as you need to – or ‘holding it’. Therefore, whenever you feel going to urinate, go ahead to empty your bladder even if it is in small quantity. Avoiding the urge of urination or ‘holding it’ habit allows bacteria to continue multiplying inside in the bladder. Following habits may help to reduce or eliminate urine infections- Drink lots of water (8-10 glasses in a day). Follow the rules of hygiene. Urinate as soon as you feel it. Note: Urine infection is very common and easily cured with antibiotics. It is cured within 4-5 days even without medicine. But it is better to treat immediately. All the above remedies are safe and effective and give results within 1 or 2 days. But If you have not received a positive response of these remedies i.e. your infection is not cured, consult your doctor immediately. However, all remedies given above are mentioned for the purpose of knowledge only; they aren’t the substitute of medical treatment. And the results may vary person to person.
msmarco_doc_00_1373026
http://1000naturalremedy.com/19-health-benefits-mishri/
19 Health Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar - 1000 Natural Remedy
19 Health Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar 19 Health Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar Mishri (Rock Sugar): Nutritional Value Of Mishri: Tal Mishri & Its Properties: Main Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar: 1. Rock Sugar for Eyes: 2. Mishri as Brain Tonic: 3. Good for Cough & Sore Throat: 4. Mishri for Impotency: 5. Improves Digestion: 6. Nose bleeding (Naksir): 7. Mishri for Mouth Ulcers: 8. Hoarseness of Voice: Other Benefits of Mishri: 1. Mishri for Kidney Stone: 2. Mishri for Stomachache: 3. Breathing Problem: 4. Good for Lactating Mothers: 5. Mishri for Bad Breath: 6. Headache due to Poor Vision: 7. Burning Eyes: 8. Piles (Bawasir): 9. Neck Pain: 10. Loose Motion: Note:
19 Health Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar - 1000 Natural Remedy 19 Health Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Mishri (Rock Sugar): Mishri (rock sugar or candy sugar in English) is a unrefined form of sugar. It is used for culinary as well as medicinal purposes. Rock sugar has its origin in India and Persia; it is made from crystallized and flavored sugar. Actually, rock sugar (also known as Sita or khanda sharkara in Sanskrit) is a type of confectionery mineral which is edible and tasty as well. It is basically of two types- non-crystalline candy and crystalline candy. Mishri is made from the solution of sugarcane (ganna) and the sap of Palmyra palm tree (Taad ka ped). It is made by pouring the solution of sugarcane into drums where threads are already placed and the solution is allowed to dry around the threads. Crystals were grown as a result of cooling supersaturated sugar solutions. Nutritional Value Of Mishri: According to Ayurveda, rock sugar is a coolant which is known for its vata and pitta reducing properties. It is more healthier than sugar because it is purified naturally. Rock sugar is very rich in essential vitamins, minerals and amino acids. It is believed to have an important vitamin- B-12, which is rarely found in vegetarian food. Remember, 15 gm rock sugar approximately contains 60 calories (net carbs 15 gm), therefore consume it in a limited quantity. Tal Mishri & Its Properties: Rock sugar, made from the solution of the sap of the Palmyra palm or the date palm, is famous by the name of ‘Tal Mishri’. Actually, Tal mishri is a form of rock sugar and is very good to cure kidney ailments. For producing palm sugar, firstly, sap of the inflorescences of the palm tree is collected by tapping; then the sap is boiled until it thickens. Now, the syrup is allowed to crystallize into various shapes and sizes. Palmyra Palm Sugar (Tal mishri) is very rich in essential vitamins, minerals, and amino acids. An important vitamin- Vitamin B12, which is mostly found in non-vegetarian diet, is found in this rare plant of Palmyra palm. Known for its 24 natural nutrients, Palm sugar is an essential part of many Ayurvedic medicines and traditional home remedies. It is good to treat many health problems such as- kidney ailment, high blood pressure, cold cough, breathing problem, anemia, asthma etc. Palm sugar helps to strengthen teeth, bones and heart, therefore good for arthritis, respiratory diseases, diabetes and other problems. Main Benefits of Mishri or Rock Sugar: 1. Rock Sugar for Eyes: Mishri or rock sugar is good for eyes. It is used in traditional medicines to improve vision with fennel seeds and almonds. To know more about recipe of the remedy, read- Recipe 1 for Eyesight: 2. Mishri as Brain Tonic: Rock sugar improves strength of brain; take it with walnuts (akhrot). For details, read- Recipe-2 for Brain: 3. Good for Cough & Sore Throat: Mishri is the best supportive natural medicine for prevention of cold, cough and sore throat. It clears cough and soothes the oral cavity. It also loosens up excess mucus and provides quick relief. Take a medium sized piece of rock sugar and keep it in your mouth and swallow its juice (do not chew) for cough and sore throat. Because of its sweet taste, it can be used for any age group either it is a small child or older people. Similarly, mishri also helps to soothe sore throat. If you take it with black pepper and almonds, it will release excess nasal mucus. For more details, read- Recipe -3 for Sore throat : & Recipe- 4 for cough and sore throat: 4. Mishri for Impotency: According to Ayurveda, rock sugar is ‘shukranu-vardhaka’; it improves seminal fluid in males. By eating rock sugar with walnuts (akhrot) and saffron, one can treat impotency. For detailed remedy, read ‘Recipe- 5 for Impotency’: Rock Sugar with Walnuts & Saffron: & ‘ Recipe- 6 for impotency ‘: Mishri with Root of Lady-finger: 5. Improves Digestion: Mishri with fennel seeds after a meal facilitates easy digestion, prevents acidity. If you have burning in your chest, simply put a small piece of rock sugar on your tongue and swallow. It is a very effective remedy that works within seconds, especially in mild acidity. 6. Nose bleeding (Naksir): Rock sugar has ‘Rakta-pittahara properties’; it helps in curing bleeding disorders like ‘naksir’. Nose bleeding (naksir) usually occurred during summers. Whenever you face this problem, simply put some rock sugar powder near your nostrils and inhale its smell. But if you usually face this problem (naksir), take rock sugar with dry lotus flower leaves. Read ‘ Recipe- 7 for Nose bleeding ‘ for details: 7. Mishri for Mouth Ulcers: Rock sugar is good to cure mouth ulcers (chhale); simply use it with green cardamom (chhoti elaichi ). For details, read ‘ Recipe- 8 for mouth ulcers ‘. 8. Hoarseness of Voice: Mishri (rock sugar) is very effective to cure hoarseness of voice. Whenever you have dry, hoarse throat and loss of voice, consume rock sugar with dry ginger (sonth). For more details, read- ‘ Recipe- 9 for hoarseness of voice ‘. Other Benefits of Mishri: 1. Mishri for Kidney Stone: Rock sugar is a supportive medicine of removing kidney stone; use it with onion juice if you have kidney stone. For details, read – ‘ Recipe- 10 for Kidney stone ‘. 2. Mishri for Stomachache: Simply, take 10-12 tender neem (Azadirachta indica) leaves and 10 gm mishri and ingest it, stomach-ache will be vanished within few minutes. 3. Breathing Problem: Mishri is helpful in breathing problem too; use it with black pepper (kali mirch) and milk cream (malai). Read detailed remedy in – ‘ Recipe- 11 for breathing problem ‘. 4. Good for Lactating Mothers: Mishri or rock sugar is also good to increase lactation; use it with black sesame seeds (kale til) for improving milk in lactating mothers. Simply, grind equal amount of black sesame seeds and rock sugar. And after mixing well both the ingredients, give 1 tbsp of this powder with hot milk twice a day to lactating mother. 5. Mishri for Bad Breath: Mishri helps to control bad breath. Use it with fennel seed s (saunf) as mouth freshener daily to control bad breath. 6. Headache due to Poor Vision: Many people generally face the problem of headache due to poor vision; mishri helps to control this headache naturally. Eat rock sugar with fennel seeds and green cardamom. For details, read- ‘ Recipe- 12 for Headache ‘. 7. Burning Eyes: Burning eyes problem is very common during summer; it generally occurs due to eye allergies or bacterial and viral eye infections. Rock sugar works well in curing this burning. Use rock sugar with black pepper. Read- ‘ Recipe- 13 for Burning of eyes ‘. 8. Piles (Bawasir): Mishri is a suppportive home medicine to cure piles; take it with nag kesar. For details, read- ‘ Recipe- 14 for Piles ‘. 9. Neck Pain: If you usually have pain in your neck, eat mishri with poppy seeds (khus khus). To know about how to use it, read- ‘ Recipe- 15 for Neck pain ‘. 10. Loose Motion: Use of Mishri is very effective as a supportive medicine in loose motion; consume it with dry coriander (sukha dhania) powder. For details, read- ‘ Recipe- 16 for loose motion ‘ for details. Note: Though rock sugar or mishri is completely harmless but it is not advisable for diabetics. It is also high in carbs and may increase weight, therefore take it in limited quantity.
msmarco_doc_00_1379821
http://1000naturalremedy.com/20-health-benefits-raisin-munakka/
Health Benefits of Raisin or Munakka - 1000 Natural Remedy
Health Benefits of Raisin or Munakka Health Benefits of Raisin or Munakka Health Benefits of Munakka (Raisin): 1. Raisin for Vertigo: 2. Munakka for Headache: 3. Good for Mouth Ulcers: 4. Munakka for Nosebleed: 5. Controls Bad Breath: 6. Munakka for Chest Wound: 7. Cures Dry Cough: Ingredients: 8. Munakka for Constipation: a. Raisins with Milk: b. Raisins with Rock Salt: c. Raisin with Figs & Fennel Seeds: d. Munakka with Cumin Seeds: 9. Controls Acidity: 10. Munakka for Anemia: 11. Bed Wetting Disorder: 12. Complete Health Tonic: 13. Good for Vision: 14. Munakka for Bones Health: 15. Helps in Weight Gain: 16. Raisin for Teeth: 17. Good for Cancer Prevention: 18. Raisins for Hypertension: 19. Reduces High Fever: a. Raisin with Lemon Juice: b. Raisin & Fig: c. Raisin Avleh: Ingredients: Side effects of Munakka: Note:
Health Benefits of Raisin or Munakka - 1000 Natural Remedy Health Benefits of Raisin or Munakka March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Raisin (Munakka in Hiindi) is a type of grapes, dried in a certain manner. It is grown mostly in the Mediterranean region of the world. Raisin is sweet in nature and has cooling effect on body. It is good for health and cures multiple of health problems naturally. Raisin is known as a energetic dry fruit and does not have any side effect but diabetics should not use it without consulting to physician. Raisins (munakka) are a good source of fiber, anti-oxidants, iron, calcium, potassium and natural sugar- Sucrose and Glucose. ( 1) Because of these nutrients, it helps to strengthen our bones and teeth. Munakka (raisin) has countless benefits. It helps to cure many diseases such as – cardiovascular, stomach, and lungs diseases. Moreover, it is highly beneficial to get faster relief after long illness. Health Benefits of Munakka (Raisin): 1. Raisin for Vertigo: Munakka helps to control vertigo (chakkar). Simply, fry some raisins in clarified butter (ghee) and eat 5-7 raisins with a pinch of rock salt daily in the morning. Continue this remedy for 3-4 weeks. Alternatively, you can soak 8-10 raisins or munakka into water overnight. Next day morning, mash them in the same water thoroughly after removing seeds; then ingest it on an empty stomach. 2. Munakka for Headache: Raisin is also known for its healing properties. If you often have headache – Just take 8-10 raisins, 10 gm liquorice (mulethi) and 10 gm mishri. Then grind all the three ingredients to make fine powder. Now, take a pinch of snuff of this powder. It is very effective in headache due to acidity. 3. Good for Mouth Ulcers: Raisins are good to cure any type of oral problem including mouth ulcers. Simply, boil 8-10 raisins and 3-4 leaves of blackberry in a glass of water for 10 minutes. Make gargles of this decoction (lukewarm) for 3-4 times in a day. This is an effective home remedy; if you do not have any relief within 1 or 2 days that means something is serious and you should consult your doctor. 4. Munakka for Nosebleed: To control nose bleeding (naksir), put 3-4 drops of grapes or raisin juice in nostrils. Even by taking only smell of juice of grapes or munakka you will get immediate relief. 5. Controls Bad Breath: Munakka has anti-bacterial properties and works well to control bad breath due to cough or indigestion. It helps to release mucus and improves digestion. If you eat 5-10 raisins daily, you will get rid of bad breath without mouth freshener. 6. Munakka for Chest Wound: To cure chest wound, eat munakka with paddy seeds. Paddy seeds 10 gm Raisins 10 gm Water 100 gm Soak paddy seeds and raisins into water for two hours. Then mash them with finger tips thoroughly to make paste. Ingest 6 gm (dosage) of this paste with honey for 3-4 times in a day. This home remedy is also good to control vomiting. 7. Cures Dry Cough: Raisin can cure even chronic or dry cough; you can treat it as follows – Ingredients: Raisin (munakka) 10 gm Piper longum (pipali) 10 gm Black Pepper (kali mirch) 10 gm Dates (khajoor) 10 gm Firstly, collect all the ingredients and remove the seeds of raisins and dates. Then, grind all the ingredients one by one and mix well. Now, consume 5 gm of this chutney or paste 3-4 times in a day. It is an excellent home remedy that will cure dry cough completely. 8. Munakka for Constipation: Munakka is an amazing natural medicine of constipation (kabj). To cure constipation, you can consume raisin with different combination. Some of them are – a. Raisins with Milk: Boil 10-20 raisins into a glass of milk for ten minutes and drink it at night with raisins. It is a safe laxative. b. Raisins with Rock Salt: If you often have problem of constipation (kabj), take roasted raisins with a pinch of rock salt at night before going to sleep. c. Raisin with Figs & Fennel Seeds: To cure old and chronic constipation, decoction (kadha) of raisin, figs, fennel seed (saunf), rose leaves and Amaltas fruit pulp is very effective and safe. Drink this at night for 5-7 days to cure chronic constipation. d. Munakka with Cumin Seeds: Similarly, munakka with cumin seeds and black pepper works well to cure constipation naturally. You can prepare chutney of all these ingredients and lick 2-3 times in a day. To know about the detailed remedies of raisins for constipation with different compositions, refer to ‘ Raisin good for constipation ‘. 9. Controls Acidity: Raisins with fennel seeds (saunf) cures acidity. Soak 10 gm raisins and 5 gm fennel seeds in 100 ml water at night and mash them in the morning with finger tips. Drink this water after sieving on an empty stomach. 10. Munakka for Anemia: Raisin or munakka is rich source of iron and vitamin B- complex. By eating 5-10 raisins daily with milk, you can increase your hemoglobin level and cure anemia naturally. 11. Bed Wetting Disorder: Bed wetting is a common problem of small children; to cure bed wetting​- Take two raisins, remove its seed and insert 1-1 black pepper seed in it. Give it to the child to eat before going to sleep at night regularly for 2-3 weeks. Or you can give 2 raisins only without black pepper. 12. Complete Health Tonic: Raisin is full of nutrients and works as a complete health tonic. It helps to make your body healthy and energetic. Therefore eat 5-10 raisins daily with milk or soaking into water overnight. Because, it is hot in nature, so consume it after soaking into water during summer season. It is rich source of iron and very effective in weight gaining. Therefore, consume it in a little quantity if your weight is already at higher side. 13. Good for Vision: Munakka is good source of Polyphenolic- a phytonutrients that is good for eyes. Its anti oxidants and other nutrients are good for ocular health and protect our eyes from glaucoma, night blindness and cataract etc. 14. Munakka for Bones Health: Raisins are rich source of calcium and the micro-nutrient ‘boron’ which help to strengthen our bones and teeth. It also helps to protect from the dangerous disease of bones- Osteoporosis. Therefore, include it in your daily diet and ingest 5-10 raisins daily. 15. Helps in Weight Gain: Raisin is very helpful in gaining weight because of its iron and natural sugars- Sucrose and Glucose. If you are weak or under weight, there is no need to take any health supplements available in market; only eat munakka (7-10) with milk twice a day. However, you can eat raisins (7-10) after frying in clarified butter (ghee) too. At first, remove seeds of raisins and fry with ghee in a pan over heat. Now, put a pinch of black salt over raisins and eat it daily in the morning on an empty stomach. 16. Raisin for Teeth: Raisins have certain types of photo-chemicals which are necessary for teeth health. By eating 5-7 munakka daily, you can protect your teeth from cavity, tooth decay and other gums problem. 17. Good for Cancer Prevention: Raisins have ‘catechin’- an invaluable anti-oxidant and ‘Kaempferol’, a flavonoid which are available in raisins naturally. ‘Catechin’ and ‘Kaempferol’ help to decrease the growth of cancerous colon tumors. Therefore, eat 5 raisins daily with milk or soaking into water. 18. Raisins for Hypertension: Raisins contain potassium which helps to reduce tension in blood vessels. If you are a patient of high blood pressure, take munakka daily in a limited quantity. Its other important nutrients like- fiber, antioxidants and Iron- also help to control blood pressure naturally. (Note: If you are already taking hypertension medicine, don’t stop without consulting your doctor. Raisin (munakka) is not the substitute of any medicine and not advisable for diabetics.) 19. Reduces High Fever: Munakka (raisin) strengthens the immune system; it is also good to control chronic and high fever. If you are prone to chronic fever and inflammation, try any of the following natural medicine. a. Raisin with Lemon Juice: For reducing high fever, soak 25 raisins in 200 ml of water for few hours. Then, mash the raisins with fingertips into the water and add half lemon juice in it. Now, strain the water into a cup and ingest twice a day. b. Raisin & Fig: Another remedy for reducing high fever is to ingest raisins with figs. Soak 10 munakka and 1 fig into a half cup of water for few hours. At night, remove the soaked raisins and fig from the water and boil in a glass of milk and drink milk with raisins and fig before going to sleep (remove the seeds). Continue to follow this remedy 3-5 days; it will completely cure any type of high fever. c. Raisin Avleh: Ingredients: Raisins 20 gm Piper Longum 20 gm Dates 20 gm Honey 20 gm Ghee 20 gm Firstly, collect all the five ingredient and remove the seeds of raisins and dates. Then, grind raisins, dates and piper longum one by one. Now, mix all the ingredients thoroughly to make paste (avleh). Lick 5 gm of this paste four times in a day to cure chronic fever. Side effects of Munakka: Raisin is an excellent dry fruit for over all body health if it is consumed in a limited quantity and proper supervision. Though there is no known side effect of munakka, but because of its sweet content diabetics should not take it without consulting to physician. It is considered as a great source of calories and may be harmful for over weight people. 10 gm of raisins have 30 calories, therefore it is better to take dietitian’s advice about its quantity. Note: Purpose of remedial uses of raisins or munakka given above, is only to make aware people about health benefits of raisins; it is only for knowledge purpose, not for any treatment or business purpose. You can purchase munakka or raisin and other ingredients from grocery shop or any super market or even from on line food stores.
msmarco_doc_00_1388365
http://1000naturalremedy.com/20-natural-remedies-for-ribs-pain/
20 Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain - 1000 Natural Remedy
20 Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain 20 Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain: 1. Dry Ginger for Ribs Pain: 2. Garlic for Ribs Pain: 3. Mustard oil Massage: 4. Mustard Seeds for Ribs Pain: 5. Fenugreek Seeds for Ribs Pain: 6. Asafoetida & Egg yolk: 7. Milk with Turmeric: 8. Carom Seeds Fomentation: 9. Carom Seeds Decoction: 10. Flax seeds Poultice: 11. Wheat Flour Fomentation: 12. Honey and Limestone: 13. Camphor Oil for Ribs Pain: 14. Honey and Vermilion for Ribs: 15. Tulsi (Basil) for Ribs Pain: Ingredients: 16. Nutmeg for Ribs Pain: 17. Cumin Seeds Water Fomentation: 18. Piper Longum: Ingredients: 19. Raisin with Black Pepper: Note:
20 Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain - 1000 Natural Remedy 20 Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Ribs pain is a common health problem that may affect any age group of person. It is most common among children. Human body has 24 ribs (12 pairs). Ribs are the long curved bones which form the rib cage in human body. The ribs (pasli) provide protection for vital organs in the upper body, including the heart and lungs; they help to breathe. The ribs also help to protect major vessels in the upper body and give shape and support to the chest. They also protect other organs like- stomach, spleen and kidneys. Ribs pain (pasliyon me dard) may be felt at or below the chest or above the naval point. This pain may be dull or sharp. It may occur due to injury like- pulled muscle or bruise or any other reason. It may also occur due to affected lungs with severe cold or accumulated mucus (chest congestion). This problem is very common during winter. If you are feeling pain in your ribs when you sneeze, cough or breathe deeply, it may be due to chest congestion or excess formation of mucus. There are some natural remedies to cure this type of pain before seeking medical help. But if the pain is due to injury or it becomes too much to bear, you go to your doctor for thorough checkup. Natural Remedies for Ribs Pain: 1. Dry Ginger for Ribs Pain: Ribs pain can be cured by using dry ginger decoction (kadha). To get rid of ribs pain, take 25 gm dry ginger ( sonth ), crush it and boil in two glass of water till it reduces to half. After sieving, divide the water into four doses and consume in a day. Or simply boil dry ginger powder (6 gm) and jaggery (6 gm) in a cup of water for few minutes like tea. Then sieve it and sip lukewarm. 2. Garlic for Ribs Pain: To cure ribs pain, take five garlic cloves (Lahsun ki Kali) and peel them. Deep fry these garlic cloves in pure ghee and eat with lunch and dinner; continue this home remedy till you get complete relief from ribs pain. 3. Mustard oil Massage: If you have ribs pain due to coughing, make massage of ribs with lukewarm mustard oil. Firstly, boil some mustard oil (sarson ka tel) with crushed garlic cloves (lahsun ki kaliyan) till the garlic becomes brown. Let it to be cool and store it into a jar after removing garlic cloves. 4. Mustard Seeds for Ribs Pain: By applying mustard seeds (Rai or sarson) paste on ribs, you can control ribs pain without medication. Grind some mustard (Rai) with water to make paste and apply it lukewarm on the ribs 4-5 times a day. After applying the paste, wrap it with a thin cotton cloth. 5. Fenugreek Seeds for Ribs Pain: To treat ribs pain without pain killer, consume fenugreek seeds (methi dana) powder. Roast 50 gm fenugreek seeds slightly on gas and then crush them. Add 10 gm black salt (kala namak) powder and mix well. Now, ingest 2 tsp powder with water twice a day. Continue it for 15 days or till it requires. 6. Asafoetida & Egg yolk: To cure ribs pain, mix 1 gm asafoetida (heeng) powder with one egg yolk (ande ki jardi) and apply on the ribs gently. Moreover, you can apply asafoetida locally on the ribs; make a paste of pure asafoetida with the help of warm water. Now apply this paste on the ribs locally and cover with clothes. Repeat it 3-4 times in a day, you will get relief from ribs pain definitely. 7. Milk with Turmeric: MIlk with turmeric (haldi) is a traditional pain relieving remedy which cures any type of pain without medication. To treat ribs pain, drink a glass of turmeric milk. Boil a glass of milk with 3-4 cardamom (chhoti elaichi ). Mix ¼ tsp of turmeric powder in milk. And drink it before going to sleep till required. 8. Carom Seeds Fomentation: If you want to treat ribs pain without medicines, tie some carom (ajwain) seeds in a cotton cloth to make swag. Keep this swag on a pre-heated pan and give a fomentation (sake) on the ribs for 5-10 minutes. Repeat this 4-5 times a day, it removes inflammation and pain naturally. Or simply boil some carom seeds in water to apply warm wet covering on the ribs to relieve pain. It means- Simply, dip the dry cotton cloth or napkin in the preheated water with carom seeds. Wring out the cloth and cover the ribs or affected area with this wet cloth. Repeat this fomentation 4-5 times a day. 9. Carom Seeds Decoction: If you have pain in your ribs due to the accumulation of mucus, boil 1 tbsp carom seeds in 200 ml of water till it remains 50 ml. Sieve it and consume 2 tbsp of warm decoction before going to bed. With a regular use of 4-5 days, you will get complete relief in chest congestion. 10. Flax seeds Poultice: To make flax seeds (alsi) poultice, grind some flax seeds with water and heat it in a pan slightly. Apply this poultice lukewarm on the chest at night and wrap with a thin cotton cloth. It removes inflammation and controls rib pain naturally. Flax seeds are good to clear congestion; in Unani system of medicine, it is used as phlegm expectorant and chest cleanser. ( 1) 11. Wheat Flour Fomentation: Make a thick chapati of wheat (gehun) flour; bake it from one side only and remove from the pan. Apply hot mustard oil over the unbaked or raw side and tie down on the ribs. It helps to remove pain within minutes. 12. Honey and Limestone: Honey and limestone (chuna) are also effectively cure ribs pain. Make a paste of a pinch of limestone and 2-3 spoon of honey (shahad) and apply on the aching ribs; you will get relief within some time. 13. Camphor Oil for Ribs Pain: a. Whenever you have pain in your ribs due to accumulation of mucus ( chest congestion ), massage gently over chest and ribs with camphor oil. You will get relief within few minutes. Camphor oil can be prepared at home or you can purchase it from market. For making camphor oil at home, put some cubes of camphor in coconut oil (nariyal ka tel) and keep it into a airtight jar. Within few hours, coconut oil will absorb the properties of camphor. b. Moreover, you can use turpentine oil instead of coconut oil. Mix some camphor in white turpentine oil and rub over the ribs in every 2-3 hours. Don’t forget to cover the ribs after applying oil. 14. Honey and Vermilion for Ribs: To cure ribs pain, apply sindoor (vermilion) and honey topically over ribs; it gives instant relief. At first, mix some sindoor in honey and paste it over a small cotton cloth. Then, fix this cloth over the aching ribs (pasliyan). Now keep a cotton cloth on a pre-heated pan and give a fomentation (sake) on the ribs for 5-10 minutes. You can purchase sindoor (powder) from grocery shop. 15. Tulsi (Basil) for Ribs Pain: To cure ribs pain, prepare basil leaves decoction with ginger, black pepper and cloves. Ingredients: Basil Leaves (Tulsi) 4-5 Cloves (laung) 2 Black Pepper (kali mirch) 2 Ginger (adrak) 10 gm Rock Salt (sendha namak) 1 gm Crush all the ingredients and put into a glass of water. Boil this water till it remains half and ingest lukewarm after sieving. It is a good home remedy for ribs pain but don’t give it to children. 16. Nutmeg for Ribs Pain: Nutmeg or jaiphal is good to cure ribs pain; it is also safe for small children. Rub the nutmeg with water on hard surface and put the paste in a spoon. Heat it slightly to make lukewarm and apply over the ribs. Repeat it 2-3 times in a day. You can even ingest jaiphal (1/4th tsp) by rubbing on hard stone in similar way. Dosage will be half in case of small children. 17. Cumin Seeds Water Fomentation: To cure ribs pain, boil 2 spoons of cumin seeds (jeera) in a glass of water. Dip a cotton cloth in this preheated water and squeeze, then give fomentation (sake) by covering the ribs to relieve pain. Again dip the cloth and apply over the ribs. Repeat this fomentation 4-5 times a day. 18. Piper Longum: Piper Longum or Long Pepper is very good to cure ribs pain. Ingredients: Piper Longum ( Pippali) 5 gm Black Pepper (Kali Mirch) 5 gm Dry Ginger ( Sonth) 5 gm Clove s (Laung) 5 gm Grind all the ingredients to make fine powder and keep into a jar. Now ingest half tsp of this powder with honey twice a day. It will help to clear chest congestion and give relief in ribs pain. 19. Raisin with Black Pepper: To cure ribs pain due to chest congestion, ingest raisins (Munakka) and black pepper decoction (kadha). Boil a glass of water with 5 raisins and 5 black pepper till it remains half; sieve it and ingest lukewarm. Note: All the above ingredients of home remedies like- dry ginger, mustard oil, mustard seeds, asafoetida, flax seeds, wheat flour etc. – are available in almost all grocery shops or supermarkets like- big bazaar, reliance fresh, D-mart etc.. The information given above is for knowledge purpose only; they are not the substitute of medical treatment or diagnosis. Though all the home remedies are quite safe and simple because all the ingredients used are part of spices available in every kitchen. But if you are allergic to any spice, don’t use. Or if you are not getting any relief, consult your doctor immediately.
msmarco_doc_00_1399437
http://1000naturalremedy.com/benefits-watermelon-seeds/
Benefits of Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) - 1000 Natural Remedy
Benefits of Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) Benefits of Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) Why should You Eat Watermelon Seeds? How to Eat Watermelon Seeds? a. Roasting of Seeds: b. Sprouting of Seeds: c. Watermelon Seed Tea: d. Watermelon seed extract/oil: Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) Benefits: 1. Watermelon Seeds for Digestion : 2. Watermelon Seeds as Nutritional Supplement : 3. Improves Male Fertility: 4. Watermelon Seeds for Diabetes: 5. Watermelon seeds for Kidneys: 6. Cardiovascular Health: 7. Watermelon Seeds for Headache: 8. Cures Skin Diseases: Recipe : 9. Seeds for Jaundice: Recipe: 10. Good for Hair: 11. Controls High Blood Pressure: Caution:
Benefits of Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) - 1000 Natural Remedy Benefits of Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) April 25, 2018 March 14, 2020 Watermelon (Citrullus lanatus) is one of the favorite summer fruit for all the age groups. Watermelon seeds (tarbuj ke beej) are highly underrated and are usually thrown while eating the juicy red part of watermelon. But did you know these seeds are fully packed with nutrients, essential amino acids, vitamins and minerals. Why should You Eat Watermelon Seeds? Watermelon seeds have much higher nutritional values than the flesh of the fruit. They have tons of health benefits that is hard to get from other sources. These seeds contain essential amino acids arginine, isoleucine, leucine and phenylalanine in good quantities. These are the building blocks of proteins and responsible for almost all the physiological functions of the body. Other important amino acids present in these seeds are Glutamic acid and Aspartic acid. Glutamic acid is an important amino acid which is essential for a healthy brain development and function. Aspartic acid plays a vital role in hormone production and release as well as normal function of Nervous System. Moreover, these seeds are rich in Vitamin B group including niacin, thiamin etc. Vitamin A and Vitamin E are also present in significant amount. These seeds are also rich in zinc and magnesium- two essential minerals which not only help to boost body metabolism, but also give more energy and support to mental clarity. Another important nutrient, you will find in these seeds is iron that is necessary for healthy functioning of the body. Likewise, seeds of watermelon are also an excellent source of copper which protects skin and hair against UV rays. Other minerals present in watermelon seeds are potassium, manganese, sodium and phosphorus. How to Eat Watermelon Seeds? People some time ask, is it good to eat the seeds along with the watermelon? Actually, eating watermelon seeds is completely safe and good because of its overall health benefits. However, you should remove the outer hard covering of the seed before eating because if you don’t do it, it will pass undigested through your digestive tract. In order to have their nutrients, we should peel them and then chew properly. There are number of ways of eating these seeds such as- roasting them, letting them sprout or extracting oil etc. a. Roasting of Seeds: The inner part of seeds of watermelon have great nutty taste. You can eat the inner part raw or can roast to get the crunch. Or you can add it to your favorite salad, rice, cereal, yogurt, soup or smoothie. Simply, spread the seeds of watermelon on baking tray and bake for 10-15 minutes at 180 degree. Or simply roast them in a pan (kadhai) on a cook top for few minutes. However, it is also of the opinion of some experts that the nutrients of the seeds are destroyed on exposure of heat while roasting. Therefore, it is better to eat straight out of your palm. b. Sprouting of Seeds: Sprouting of the seeds are considered the best way to get most of the nutrition. Simply, collect the fresh seeds from your watermelon recently finished. Rinse them thoroughly and dry out under direct sunlight at least for one week. Then, soak the seeds in water for a day and cover them with a cotton cloth; it will take few days to be sprouted. Eventually, the seeds will sprout and the outer shell can be removed. Dry the seeds in the sun or use a dehydrator. Now, keep the seeds into an airtight container. If not dried properly there are chances of fungus formation. c. Watermelon Seed Tea: For making tea, take fresh watermelon seeds, peel the outer part and grind the inner shell. Or you can also use the peeled seeds available in the market. Take two tablespoon of seeds (peeled) and grind them. Boil 4 cups of water in a pan and add the seeds powder in boiling water. Then cover the pan with a lid to steep the watermelon seeds powder. Let it to be cool and strain the liquid after 10-15 minutes. Consume it within a day and repeat it again on a second day. Watermelon seed tea is good to cleanse the kidneys and to get rid of the kidney stone. d. Watermelon seed extract/oil: Generally, watermelon seed oil is used for topical (external) healing. Due to higher fat content, it has limited use for culinary purposes. But you can- Apply it as a hair oil for better hair growth. Apply it on your skin to prevent acne. Add it to your favorite salad. Having a teaspoon of oil will help to remove toxins from the body. Watermelon Seeds (Tarbuj-ke-beej) Benefits: 1. Watermelon Seeds for Digestion : Seeds of watermelon are the good source of vitamin-B and fiber that improve digestion. These seeds contain vitamin-B- ‘niacin’ which is essential for keeping our digestive system healthy. Other vitamin-B found in watermelon seeds are thiamine, folic, riboflavin, and pantothenic acid and vitamin-B6. Vitamin-B is necessary for our body to transform food intake into energy. Watermelon seeds are rich in magnesium too. Magnesium helps in the activation of digestive enzyme and proper absorption of nutrients. 2. Watermelon Seeds as Nutritional Supplement : Seeds of watermelon (tarbuj ke beej) are loaded with higher nutritional values. Just grab a handful of nuts for a snack or add it to your favorite dish or drink. These seeds are rich in protein elements, vitamins, minerals and essential fatty acids. These seeds contain the most essential protein – nisin. In addition, the seeds of watermelon are rich in amino acids like- arginine and lysine- which is necessary for proper functioning of our body. Arginine plays an important role in increasing metabolism of body whereas lysine is essential for calcium absorption. Magnesium is another important mineral, the seeds of watermelon have. Research says that 100 gm of seeds provide 139% of magnesium that our body required. Magnesium is important to regulate many functions in the body including protein synthesis, muscle and nerve function, blood pressure and blood glucose control. In addition, they are rich in Vitamin B group including niacin, thiamin, folate,vitamin B6, riboflavin, and pantothenic acid. Manganese, phosphorus, iron, potassium, zinc and copper are other important minerals, the watermelon seeds provide to our body. 3. Improves Male Fertility: Watermelon seed contains lycopene and several vitamins. Lycopene is an antioxidant that helps to improve male fertility (prajnan Kshamta). It is also good for sexual passion. Another important nutrient is its amino acid- Arginine. Arginine is helpful to increase sperm (shukranu) count and treat erectile dysfunction (napunsakta or stambhan dosh). Seeds of watermelon contain high level of zinc. Zinc help to increase testosterone level, sperm count and sperm motility. Therefore, include it as a snack in your diet. Or you can have watermelon seeds tea for better results. 4. Watermelon Seeds for Diabetes: Watermelon seed has lots of minerals. It is excellent source of magnesium which helps to control blood sugar level naturally. Similarly, unsaturated fatty acids present in these seeds also help to lower the blood sugar level. If your diabetes has recently started take powdered mixture of these seeds and Indian blackberry (Jamun) everyday. It is a very effective natural medicine. To control diabetes, have watermelon seed tea every day. For more remedies go to ‘ Top 10 Home Remedies for Diabetes ’. 5. Watermelon seeds for Kidneys: Watermelon seed tea is highly effective in kidney stone removal. Its diuretic properties make it an effective kidney cleanser. It also helps to remove toxins and stimulate under-active kidneys. Pour 500 ml of boiled water over one and half tablespoon of seeds and allow it to steep. Cool it down and have it. It is better, if you make fresh tea every time. Watermelon rind juice is also very effective to remove kidney stones. Simply, section a big watermelon, remove the red flesh, peel the dark green outer layer and keep the white rind aside. Then extract the juice of this white rind and drink it down. 6. Cardiovascular Health: Watermelon seeds have unsaturated fats and Omega 6 fatty acids. These unsaturated fats and omega 6 help to control cholesterol level in the body and high blood pressure. Watermelon seed is also excellent in magnesium. Magnesium plays an important role in proper functioning of heart and metabolic process. Amino acid found in watermelon seeds ‘arginine’ helps in proper blood flow in the blood vessels. Therefore, include it in your daily diet for cardiovascular health. 7. Watermelon Seeds for Headache: If Headache trouble you for a long time, make a paste of the seeds of watermelon powder with the help of water. Now, apply this paste on your forehead and you will see the wonder. 8. Cures Skin Diseases: Watermelon seeds (tarbuj k beej) are rich in antioxidants and make your skin look young and healthy. These seeds are rich in micro nutrients and provide nourishment to your skin. It also helps to maintain the elasticity of the skin. These seeds are potent blackhead remover. The unsaturated fatty acids present in these seeds, make your skin fairer, smooth and moisturized. For treatment of Eczema (Atopic Dermatitis) and Psoriasis, watermelon seeds has been used for centuries. In addition, watermelon seeds oil treats acne, wrinkles, blemishes and skin dullness. Recipe : Grind the seeds into grinder to make powder and make a paste by adding little water. Then apply the paste of watermelon seeds powder on your face for 20 minutes. Rinse your face with water after that. 9. Seeds for Jaundice: Watermelon seeds are highly effective natural remedy for curing Jaundice. Recipe: Take 2 tbsp of fresh seeds and grind them to make a paste. Then ingest 1 tbsp of this paste with a glass of water. Repeat it three times in a day. Alternatively, you can take powder of the seeds with radish leaves juice. For extracting juice of radish leaves, grind few leaves of radish and extract the juice with the help of a cotton cloth. Ingest 1 tsp of seeds powder with 2-3 tbsp of radish leaves juice. Repeat it two times in day. Or blend 2 tbsp of watermelon seeds in 4 cups of water. Consume it in 3-4 equal doses in a day. 10. Good for Hair: Seeds of watermelon are rich in magnesium, copper, proteins and fatty acids. Proteins and fatty acids help in strengthening hair and making them thick. Likewise, magnesium helps to make your hair strong and prevent breakage. Copper helps in melanin production and provide color to your hair. Eat handful of these seeds daily and make your hair thick and strong. Watermelon seed oil is very light in nature and does not clog the hair follicle pores. It provide moisture to the scalp and prevent itchy scalp. For more remedies go to ‘ Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair ’. 11. Controls High Blood Pressure: Magnesium and Arginine amino acid found in watermelon seeds are essential for controlling blood pressure. Therefore, include it in your daily diet to control blood pressure. Simply, collect watermelon seeds and poppy seeds (khus khus) in equal quantity. Then, grind them to make fine powder. Now, ingest 3 gm of this powder with water daily on an empty stomach. Repeat it twice in morning and evening for 4-5 weeks. It controls blood pressure and makes the blood vessels soft and flexible. Caution: All the remedies given above are for the purpose of knowledge only; it is neither to be construed as a diagnosis or treatment, nor to be considered as a substitute for medical care from a doctor. Better to consult your doctor before trying these natural remedies. Results are not guaranteed; it may vary from person to person. Related
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http://1000naturalremedy.com/best-home-remedies-get-thicker-hair/
Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair - 1000 Natural Remedy
Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair Home Remedies to Get Thicker Hair: 1. Mango Bark for Thicker Hair: 2. Amla Water for Thicker Hair : 3. Aloe Vera to Get Thicker Hair: Note: 4. Amla with Mulethi: Ingredients: 5. Amla Pulp To Get Thicker Hair: 6. Fenugreek Seeds for Thicker Hair: 7. Amla with Coconut Oil: 8. Amla with Acacia Concinna: 9. Carom Seeds Oil to Get Thicker Hair: Note:
Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair - 1000 Natural Remedy Best Home Remedies To Get Thicker Hair March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Every woman likes to have thick and black hair; whether your hair is long or short, thickness does matter for looking better. Though there are many products available in market to get thicker hair. But their reliability is doubtful; it may harm your hair. So it is good to follow some natural remedies to get thicker hair. First and foremost remedy to get thicker hair is to take a balanced diet daily. Balanced diet means you should include necessary minerals and vitamins such as iron, Vitamins C, B, copper, and zinc in your diet. These nutrients help to increase the volume of your hair naturally. Home Remedies to Get Thicker Hair: 1. Mango Bark for Thicker Hair: All parts of mango tree are useful for human being. If your hair is not thick enough and also started premature graying, apply decoction (kadha) of mango bark. To prepare decoction of mango bark, boil 500 ml water in a pan with some mango bark (aam ki chhal) till it remains half. Now, rub this decoction on your hair like oil to get thicker hair. 2. Amla Water for Thicker Hair : Amla ( Indian gooseberry) is great for healthy hairs; it is used in various shampoo, oil and hair tonics. It enriches hair growth and hair pigmentation. By eating fresh amla daily, you can strengthen the roots of hair; by applying its paste on hair roots, you can improve growth and make your hair thicker and black. Soak one tablespoon amla powder in a cup overnight; on the next day morning, apply the water of the amla powder (strain the powder) on your hair with a brush. Follow this remedy continuously for 2-3 months without gap; there is no need to wash the hair daily after applying amla water. Similarly, juice of Indian gooseberry may be applied on your hair during winter season i.e. from October to March. Amla powder remains available in grocery shops, Ayurvedic medicine shops and even in super markets. 3. Aloe Vera to Get Thicker Hair: Aloe vera, a green cactus looking plant, is very good for hair growth. It contains proteolysis enzymes which repairs dead skin cells on the scalp. To make your hair thicker, take one leaf of aloe vera and remove its outer layer (peel it). Then mash the pu Note: For better results, eat a small piece of aloe vera (ghritkumari) daily. Peel the aloe vera leaf after washing. And eat the pulp empty stomach daily. 4. Amla with Mulethi: To make your hair thicker and black, collect the following ingredients at first- Ingredients: Indian gooseberry ( Amla) Juice 500ml Liquorice (Mulethi) Powder 250 gm Clarified Butter (Ghee) 500 gm Mix all the ingredients in a pan and keep on the medium gas to heat. After burning the water of the mixture, turn off the gas and keep the remaining ghee in a bottle after cooling. Apply this ghee daily on your hairs to make them thicker and black; even gray hairs will become black after some days. 5. Amla Pulp To Get Thicker Hair: Amla pulp is one of the best home remedy to get thicker hair (ghane baal). Apply amla pulp on your hair 2-3 times in a week and notice the change after one month. Fresh Indian gooseberry remains available in market during winter season. For detailed information, read “ Amla for Premature graying of hair ‘ because this remedy is quite effective to make your hair thicker and black. 6. Fenugreek Seeds for Thicker Hair: Fenugreek seed (methi) is a good source of protein, vitamin- C, potassium, lecithin and nicotinic acid that strengthen the hair naturally. Firstly, soak 2-3 tbsp fenugreek seeds (methi) in water and leave them overnight. In the next day morning, grind them to make paste. Now apply the paste on your scalp and hair. Leave it for 1 hour and then wash it off. Use this fenugreek seeds paste once a week for better hair growth. Fenugreek seeds (methi) help to increase the volume of the hair. The hair looks shiny and smooth. 7. Amla with Coconut Oil: Amla has vitamin-C, minerals, amino acids, tannins and flavonoid. Regular use of coconut oil with amla makes your hair thicker and black naturally. Simply, boil dried amla chunks (20 gm) and coconut oil (200 gm) in a pan (preferably with iron pan) for 10-15 minutes. Put it off from the flame and then store it into a bottle after cooling. Use this oil lukewarm on your scalp and hair at night and rinse your hair in the next day morning. Apply this remedy at least twice or thrice a week for better results. 8. Amla with Acacia Concinna: To get thicker hair, wash your hair with amla and shikakai (Indian gooseberry and acacia concinna). (For detailed information, also read ‘Amla for Premature graying of hair‘). 9. Carom Seeds Oil to Get Thicker Hair: Carom is a fragrant herb, known for its various health benefits. Its seeds and oil are also good for hair growth. Mix some carom seeds ( ajwain) oil in coconut oil and give head massage with this oil. It improves blood circulation on the scalp and make hair healthier and shiny. Note: Though all the above hair remedies are safe and effective but results may vary from person to person. If you are allergic to any ingredient or any ingredient does not suit you, stop the application immediately. Ingredients required for above said remedies remain available on all the grocery shops or super markets.
msmarco_doc_00_1422142
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Best Natural Anti Depression Foods - 1000 Natural Remedy
Best Natural Anti Depression Foods Best Natural Anti Depression Foods Foods That Help to Overcome Depression: 1. Bananas as Anti Depression Foods: 2. Walnuts as Anti Depression Foods: 3. Cashew nuts or Kaju: 4. Avocados: 5. Apples as Anti Depression Foods: 6. Dark Chocolates: 7. Pumpkin Seeds: 8. Salmon for Depression:
Best Natural Anti Depression Foods - 1000 Natural Remedy Best Natural Anti Depression Foods November 4, 2018 April 16, 2020 Depression or avsaad is a curable disease. Have you heard about happy foods? Yes, there are some happy foods which help to beat depression naturally; you may call them anti depression foods. Though, these anti depression foods don’t cure depression directly but they certainly help to overcome depression. They act as good mood elevator to keep the depression patients happy and healthy. In fact, eating the right foods is most important for patient to treat depression. The theory behind this is that what we eat and drink has direct impact on our mood. Recent researches prove that foods promote sanity which send an alarm to your limbic system (emotion center) and cause inflammation. Moreover, a number of studies have shown that some foods influence the production of chemicals that are directly involved in determining mood, mental energy, performance and behavior. Serotonin and nor-epinephrine are two brain chemicals which play an important role to affect mood. Serotonin and nor-epinephrine are often found lacking in depressed people. Therefore, it is quite necessary to give proper diet to depression patients. You should increase the intake of natural anti depression foods, such as bananas, apples, cashew nuts, walnuts etc. At the same time, you should eliminate gluten, dairy, caffeine, and sugar from the diet of depression patient. Eat fresh food throughout the day as far as possible. Some of the main natural anti depression foods are bananas, whole grain bread, cashew, walnuts, apple, avocados, dark chocolate and salmon. These natural foods help to boost the level of happy hormones (brain chemical)- ‘Serotonin’. Foods That Help to Overcome Depression: 1. Bananas as Anti Depression Foods: Banana are very good anti depression foods. They are rich source of magnesium and vitamin B6. In addition, bananas contains a type of protein called tryptophan; tryptophan helps the body to synthesize its own serotonin. Actually, serotonin is a type of brain chemical (happy hormone) responsible for keeping your mood happy, relaxed and stress free. And because low level of serotonin causes depression, eating bananas may help to beat depression indirectly. It is also proved from current studies that by taking 1000 mg of tryptophan three times a day, you can boost up your mood effectively. A single banana contains high fiber and vitamin B6 (22 percent of your daily requirement). Moreover, bananas are a rich source of potassium that support nerves and maintains blood pressure. Therefore, eating more tryptophan and vitamin B6 rich foods like bananas may certainly help to beat depression naturally. Other tryptophan rich foods are milk, dates, peanuts and fish. 2. Walnuts as Anti Depression Foods: Walnuts are one of the richest plant sources of omega-3 fatty acids. They have long been considered good for the brain and act as an excellent mood booster. Walnuts (akhrot) are made up of 15 to 20 percent protein. In addition, they also contain omega-6 and omega-3 fatty acids, vitamin E and vitamin B6. These nutrients make it an excellent source of nourishment for nervous system. However, it helps to reduce anxiety and depression too by increasing serotonin level. Many studies have proved that omega-3 fatty acids support brain function and reduce depression symptoms. Therefore, eat walnuts daily to boost the brain’s serotonin levels. However, walnuts are high in calories, eat in small quantity (not more than 1 ounce or 14 walnut halves). 3. Cashew nuts or Kaju: Cashew nuts or kaju are good natural anti depression foods. They contain mood booster vitamins- B6, magnesium, tryptophan and niacin. Vitamin B6 is especially important to the function of the central nervous system. It helps to convert the tryptophan into serotonin and then helps the magnesium enter into the nerve cells. Presence of vitamin B helps to stimulate nervous system and helps in keeping the brain cheerful, active, and energetic. Researchers claim that eating two handfuls of cashews is equivalent to taking a prescription dose of the popular antidepressant. You will get enough tryptophan to alter and boost your mood. 4. Avocados: Now, it is a strong belief that there is a great connection between food and people’s mental health. Our brain mainly relies on the nutrients, such as -Omega-3, amino acids, Vitamin B, D, zinc, magnesium and iron,- to work smoothly. Avocados are excellent anti depression foods that help to overcome depression naturally. They are rich in stress-relieving vitamin B and healthy fatty acids. Many studies have confirmed the association between folate deficiency and depression. Foods, which are high in folate (like- avocados) may help to prevent the build-up of homo-cysteine in the brain. In addition, avocado also contains Omega-3 (healthy fatty acids) and tryptophan that help to regulate the neurotransmitters in the brain. Therefore, eat at least one avocado every day in breakfast if you are facing depression. 5. Apples as Anti Depression Foods: ‘Eats an apple a day, keeps the doctor away’ whether it is physician or psychiatrist. We can not ignore the importance of good nutrition to fight depression. Apple is an excellent fruit full of antioxidants and soluble fibre. It is very good to overcome depression because of its nutrients like- Vitamin B1, potassium, phosphorus etc which helps to control wear and tear of nerve cells. Therefore, eat at least one apple daily with milk and honey. It works as a very effective nerve tonic that gives an extra energy to nerves. 6. Dark Chocolates: Dark chocolate is very good for brain because of its beneficial anti- inflammatory properties. It is rich in antioxidants, especially various flavonoids. Researchers say that flavonoids help to overcome depression if it is given in limited quantity. Results of some studies state that flavanol also helps in regulating mood and even depression. Dark chocolates are considered as good anti depression foods because of its flavonoids. In short, dark chocolates are good for brain and also help to alleviate depression. Its main component- ‘Cocoa’ contains serotonin which plays an important role in depression. Cocoa facilitates the release of serotonin. Some studies state that dark chocolate helps to reduce the levels of stress hormones- Cortisol and catecholamines. Therefore, daily dose of 1 ounce of dark chocolate helps to overcome depression. But over dose of dark chocolate may increase depression. 7. Pumpkin Seeds: Pumpkin (kaddu) is a powerhouse of mental health nutrients. Its seeds are indirectly help in curing depression. It contains tryptophan (an amino acid) that helps in production of serotonin. However, pumpkin seeds ( kaddu ke beej) are also a very good source of zinc, manganese, copper, phosphorous and magnesium. These are the most common nutritional deficiencies found in almost all depression patients. Amino acids are precursors of neurotransmitters such as L-tryptophan. Depression is believed to be caused due to decreased release of two brain transmitters- serotonin and nor-adrenaline. Pumpkin seeds are good as anti depression foods because of its tryptophan. Tryptophan converts to serotonin in the brain. Therefore, eat handful of pumpkin seeds (kaddu ke beej) daily to boost serotonin level in the brain. It is good for anxiety and depression both. You can consume pumpkin seeds after baking, boiling or roasting or even raw. Moreover, you can add them into soups, smoothies, and desserts. 8. Salmon for Depression: Do you know, your diet may provide you an alternative treatment of depression? One of the best things, you can do for your brain is to get more Omega-3 fatty acids in your diet. Omega 3s are important not only for the proper structure of membranes in the brain, but also helps in the transmission of the neurotransmitters serotonin and dopamine. Results of some studies state that serotonin is directly linked to depression. In addition, people who eat omega-3-rich fish tend to have a lower risk of depression and a more positive affect. The findings of a study published in ‘Journal of Epidemiology & Community Health’ showed that high consumption of fish can reduce the risk of depression. ( 1) Here, it is not necessary to mention that Salmon is an excellent source of omega-3 fatty acids and vitamin B6. It is an edible fish which is famous for its nutritional perspective. If you are non-vegetarian, you can opt salmon as an anti depression food. Six ounces of salmon contain more than half of your daily needs of omega-3 fatty acids. Experts generally recommend it if you are are not vegetarian. Salmon is also effective food for preventing depression; try eating fish twice per week for maximum benefit.
msmarco_doc_00_1428179
http://1000naturalremedy.com/papaya-papita-good-constipation/
Papaya (Papita) Good for Constipation - 1000 Natural Remedy
Papaya (Papita) Good for Constipation Papaya (Papita) Good for Constipation Papita or Papaya- an amazing fruit: Papaya (Papita)- Good for Constipation: Papaya with Figs: Papaya with Lemon Water: Papaya (Papita) Juice: Salad of Papaya (Papita): Unripe Papaya Juice: Caution:
Papaya (Papita) Good for Constipation - 1000 Natural Remedy Papaya (Papita) Good for Constipation March 23, 2018 March 14, 2020 Papita or Papaya- an amazing fruit: Constipation is very common problem today. It occurs when the bowel movements are not regular. Constipation generally experienced by adults and kids and may create a chronic health problem such as- piles if not cured timely. Papaya (papita in Hindi) is an excellent fruit which is very good for human digestive system. ( 1) Because of its laxative properties, it is effective in curing constipation naturally. Because of its dietary fiber, vitamins, minerals, amino acids and several proteolytic (protein-digesting) enzymes, papaya is very good to cure constipation. It has ‘Papain’ that plays an important role in improving the digestion; it is extracted from unripe papaya. Therefore, unripe papaya is considered to be more effective to treat constipation in comparison to the ripe one. Papaya (Papita)- Good for Constipation: Papaya works as a natural laxative and is very good to treat constipation. To cure constipation, eat one bowl ripe papaya (4-5 pieces of five inches papaya) after removing seeds in breakfast and at evening daily. Papaya (papita) fruit is rich in dietary fiber which helps in bowel movement. You can take papaya juice instead of eating. You can give it to babies too for constipation by mashing it or making juice. Best time for eating papaya fruit is in the morning or by lunch time as it gives a plenty of time for bowel movements. Papaya with Figs: Eat papaya and 4-6 figs (fresh or dried) in breakfast daily to cure constipation completely. If you are using dried figs, soak them into water before eating. Papaya with Lemon Water: Papita or papaya along with 2 glasses of lemon water is good for constipation. Eat ripe papaya fruit after removing seeds with 2 glass of lemon water at night. Papaya (Papita) Juice: Drinking of Papaya juice instead of eating is more effective to relieve constipation if you blend papaya directly or with water because it is more concentrated form of papain. Salad of Papaya (Papita): By eating salad of papaya fruit after every meal, you can get relief in constipation ( kabz) naturally. For a taste, you can sprinkle a little bit of black salt or chat masala on it. Unripe Papaya Juice: Unripe papaya (papita) is heavy in gluten and is more effective to prevent constipation. To make unripe papaya juice, peel off the skin of papaya and cut into small pieces. Then put few pieces of papaya into the blender with some water and mix; consume after a meal. Papaya (papita) is a type of fruit and there is no side effect of it if you eat in limited quantity. But if you are pregnant, don’t use papaya fruit without consulting your doctor. In villages, people use raw papaya as a natural way to terminate unwanted pregnancies even today; therefore it is not safe in pregnancy. Caution: Though papita or papaya is a wonderful fruit provided by the nature but it has some side effects also. However, there is no need to be panic, just take some precautions and eat it to make you healthy. Papaya fruit is rich in fibre and it requires more water consumption. While eating papaya, your fibre intake becomes high and lack of water may cause stool hardness. So drink more water (at least 10-12 glass in a day). Excessive intake of papaya may affect your digestive system negatively; you can eat 250-350 gm of papaya in a day. All the remedies are given for the purposes of knowledge only; it is not to be considered as a substitute of medical treatment. It is better to consult your doctor before trying these remedies; results are not guaranteed and may vary from person to person.
msmarco_doc_00_1437631
http://1000naturalremedy.com/raisin-munakka-good-constipation/
Raisin (Munakka) Good For Constipation - 1000 Natural Remedy
Raisin (Munakka) Good For Constipation Raisin (Munakka) Good For Constipation Raisin (Munakka) For Constipation: 1. Soaked Raisins: 2. Raisin with Milk to cure Constipation: 3. Raisin with Rock Salt: 4. Raisin and Lemon: 5. Raisin with Amaltas & Figs: Ingredients: 6. Raisins with Cumin Seeds: Ingredients: Note:
Raisin (Munakka) Good For Constipation - 1000 Natural Remedy Raisin (Munakka) Good For Constipation March 24, 2018 March 14, 2020 Constipation has become a common problem which is mainly because of improper diet and lack of fiber in food. It is the main reason of many stomach related health problems such as- acidity, gastric problem, piles, indigestion, headache etc. To prevent constipation, we should eat proper diet which is full of fiber because fiber rich diet stop sticking of food to the wall of intestine. If you are facing persistent constipation, raisin (munakka) can help you to cure it naturally. Raisin is a good source of fibre as well as antioxidants, calcium, iron and many other. It is the wonder product for controlling the constipation. Regular intake of munakka (especially black raisin) helps in improving bowel movement and relieving you from constipation. Raisin (Munakka) For Constipation: 1. Soaked Raisins: Raisin is rich in fibre; it acts as a natural laxative by loosening up the the stool. Soak 11 raisins ( munakka) in half cup of water at night and ingest (with water) on the next day morning with an empty stomach. 2. Raisin with Milk to cure Constipation: In case of persistent constipation, you can take raisin with milk for best results. Take 9-11 pieces of raisins and a glass of fresh milk. Wash raisins with water and remove the seeds. Pour the milk into a sauce pan with munakka and put it over the flame for boiling. Boil it for 5-7 minutes and put it off from the heat. Pour the milk into a glass and take out the raisins. Drink the milk and eat munakka at night before going to bed. In case of acute constipation, you can take as many as 15 – 20 raisins (munakka) with milk. 3. Raisin with Rock Salt: Daily consumption of raisins, especially black raisins help you to get rid of constipation. Take 10-15 raisins ( munakka) and roast them with little ghee on a pan; add a pinch of rock salt and consume before going to sleep at night. 4. Raisin and Lemon: Raisin has malic acid that helps in the easy stool passage. Likewise lemon contains citric acid which acts as a stimulant for digestive system. It also helps in flushing out the toxins and undigested food. Therefore, soak 10-12 raisins (munakka) and one fig (anjeer) in a glass of water overnight. In the morning, mash them thoroughly with finger tips and sieve into a cup. Add one lemon juice and 2 tsp of honey in raisin water and then sip it slowly. This home remedy shows amazing results; even chronic constipation will be cured completely in just a few days. 5. Raisin with Amaltas & Figs: Amaltas (Cassia Fistula) is a type of herbal plant, known for its medicinal values. Its fruit pulp is very good to cure constipation. Similarly, figs contain high fibre that promotes healthy and regular bowel movement. If you are suffering from constipation since long and it became painful, try munakka with figs and Amaltas. Ingredients: Raisins or Munakka 10 pieces Fennel seeds or saunf 3 gm Figs or Anjeer 5 pieces Amaltas Pulp (Cassia Fistula) 3 gm Rose Flower Leaves 3 gm Remove the seeds of munakka after cleaning with water. Soak the raisins and Amaltas pulp in water for some time. Then, boil all the ingredients in a glass of water till it reduces half. Now, sieve it into a cup and drink this decoction (kadha) at night. You can continue this remedy for 5-7 days; it will definitely give you relief from chronic constipation. 6. Raisins with Cumin Seeds: Cumin seeds (Jeera) is also an important ingredient that helps in digestion. Composition of raisin with cumin seeds and black pepper works well to improve the bowel movement. To cure constipation, you can make a chutney (paste) of these ingredients in a certain ratio. Ingredients: Raisin 7 pieces Roasted Cumin seeds 10 gm Black Pepper (Kali Mirch) 5 Seeds Rock Salt (Sendha namak) 6 gm Citric Acid (Tatri) ½ gm Remove the seeds of munakka and grind all the ingredients in the mixer grinder to make chutney. Now, lick this chutney 2-3 times in a day to improve bowel improvement. Note: Munakka or raisin is a type of dry fruit which has lots of health benefits. It has been used as a traditional home remedy of constipation since long back and has no side effects. But raisins, especially golden variety, are treated with sulphur dioxide that may aggravate asthma and other allergic reactions in sulphur sensitive persons. Therefore, be careful before buying it and read carefully the labels which may instruct about the sulphur treated products; sun dried products are safe to use. (100 gm of raisins have 249 calories). The home remedies given above is for the purpose of knowledge only; it is neither to be construed as a diagnosis, treatment, or cure for any disease nor to be considered as a substitute for medical care from a doctor. Don’t forget to consult your doctor before trying these natural remedies; results are not guaranteed and may vary from person to person. Related
msmarco_doc_00_1441863
http://1000pictures.com/animals/bird-wtr/index.htm
Water Birds Pictures
Water Birds Pictures Water Birds Pictures
Water Birds Pictures Water Birds Pictures Interior Least Tern - an adult interior least tern with a caught fish in its beak flies over, seen from left under clear blue sky. Picture by USAF. Pelican 1 - a large California Brown Pelican in flight, seen from front and below. Picture by NOAA. Blue-winged Teals - two blue-winged teals swim in a deep blue pond, seen from right. Picture by KSC. Pelicans - white pelicans with black wingtips soar into the clear blue sunny sky. Picture by KSC. Yellowlegs Sandpiper - a Yellowlegs Sandpiper bird wades in calm blue shallow water, seen from left. Picture by Jim Grossmann, NASA. Northern Pintail Ducks 1 - many Northern Pintail ducks in a blue pond. Picture by KSC. Northern Pintail Ducks 2 - a pair of Northern Pintail ducks, female and male, flying, seen from left under clear blue sky. Picture by Gary Kramer, USFWS. Two Swans 1 - two white swans in a pond, one facing left and one facing right. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Duck 1 - close up of a brown duck swimming in a lake, seen from above right. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Wild Ducks - three colorful wild ducks swimming together in a lake, seen from left, lit by the sun. Kingfisher 1 - a common kingfisher stands on a high branch looking at a nearby lake, seen from right over clear blue sky background. Grey-headed Albatross - a Grey-headed albatross, its large wings rolled left, seen from front and below under blue sky. Picture by Elizabeth Crapo, NOAA. Forster's Tern - a white and black Forster's tern sea bird in flight, seen from below left under clear blue sky. Picture by NOAA. Pelican 2 - a pelican in flight, seen from front and below. Picture by NOAA. Pelican 3 - a pelican in flight seen from below right. Picture by NOAA. Swans 1 - a group of white swans with black beaks, seen from right, swimming together in a pond in a forest. Picture by NOAA. Touching the water - a dark sea bird soaring so low that one wing tip is touching the water, seen from right. Picture by Wayne Hoggard, NOAA. Fairy tern - a bright white fairy tern soaring just overhead, lit by the sun, looking at the camera. Picture by NOAA. Albatross - an adult waved albatross in flight, black with white head under deep blue clear sky, seen from front and below. Picture by Elizabeth Crapo, NOAA. Horned Puffin - a Horned Puffin standing on a rock ledge. Picture by USFWS. Cormorant 1 - a black Double-crested Cormorant, seen from right. Picture by USFWS. Belted Kingfisher - close up of a male Belted Kingfisher, sitting, seen from left. Picture by USFWS. Canada Goose - canada Goose chicks with mom in mirror flat water. Picture by USFWS. Ducklings - close up of six brown American Wigeon chicks in pairs, following their mom in a lake, seen from left. Picture by USFWS. Mallard duck 1 - close up of a Mallard duck in a lake, seen from left. Picture by USFWS. Gadwall Drake - a Gadwall duck standing on a piece of wood in a blue lake. Picture by USFWS. Swimming pair - a pair of red black and white Red-necked Grebe swimming beside each other in a lake, reflected by the water. Picture by USFWS. Water takeoff - a Mallard drake running over water at full speed for takeoff, seen from left. Picture by USFWS. Mallard duck 2 - a Mallard duck in water, seen from left, partly reflected by the water. Picture by USFWS. Two Swans 2 - two white swans swimming in a canal. Gray Crane - a large Gray Crane with a large crest on its head. Two Color Flamingos - a mixed group of red flamingos and white pink flamingos, all asleep while standing on just one leg with their heads resting on their backs. Red Flamingos - these birds are really red. Pink Flamingos - from the picture it seems that these white flamingos with pink beaks will also eventually turn red. Kingfisher 2 - close up on a small blue and brown Kingfisher. Red Ibis - an amazingly bright red Ibis, with a long and thin curved beak, standing on one leg. Brown Seagull - a brown seagull flying low over the ocean surface, lit by by the sun. Picture by Vitaly Fainitsky (contact directly for full size original or print). Low Flying Seagulls - gray brown and white seagulls flying together very low over the ocean's shoreline. Picture by Vitaly Fainitsky (contact directly for full size original or print). Sea Gull 1 - a sea gull passing overhead under clear blue sky, lit by the sun from above. Picture by NOAA. Migrating Geese - Geese flying along Oregon's Pacific coast under blue sky. Picture by NOAA. Cormorant 2 - a large dark cormorant standing on a small rock in the water, waving its wings. Picture by Vitaly Fainitsky (contact directly for full size original or print). Swan 1 - a white swan, bright white with sun light, floating over dark water. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Swans 2 - two bright white swans in a lake, with lots of tree leaves in the water around them, from trees that reflect in the water. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Swans 3 - two bright white swans with orange red beaks, picking the water at the lake's bank. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Swan 2 - a bright white swan demonstrating its white wing feathers by raising them as it swims in a lake. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Ducks 1 - a group of funny looking ducks, with brown heads and small orange beaks in a blue lake. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Cormorants 1 - three dark cormorants standing on three rocks in the water of a blue lake, and a single sea gull between them. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Cormorants 2 - a black cormorant standing on a rock at the bank of a lake, and another one advancing in the water, leaving a wake behind it. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Cormorant 3 - a close up of a black cormorant. Picture by Inna Fainitsky. Seagulls - a flock of seagulls closely trailing a boat, as seen from the boat. Picture by Natasha Morozov. Duck 2 - a blue headed duck with yellow beak, brown and white feathers, in dark green water. Picture by Natasha Morozov. Ducks 2 - two white and brown ducks with dark heads swimming in a lake. Duck 3 - a close up of a brown duck with dark head. Ducks 3 - two white ducks and a brown dark headed duck swimming in a triangle formation in a lake. Ducks 4 - a group of white and brown ducks. Sea Gull 2 - a single white sea gull over a background of gray sky. Sea Gull 3 - a large sea gull passing low overhead with spread wings. Cormorants on rock - a large group of cormorants standing in a large rock in the water. Picture by Vitaly Fainitsky (contact directly for full size original or print). Basking Seagulls - a flock of seagulls basking in the sun on a beach in North Carolina. Picture by NOAA. Pelican take-off - with wings spread, a pelican takes off to the air from the flat ocean water. Picture by NOAA. Mallard duck 3 - a Mallard duck with a dark green head and neck, standing on a pier. Picture by NOAA. Pictures list color code legend: Fit for your device's screen shape and size. Fit for use as wallpaper. Fit for your screen's shape but somewhat smaller than its size. May still look good and sharp as wallpaper. Fit for your screen's shape but too small in size to fit well as wallpaper. No precise fit for your screen' shape, but you can still click to see the picture.
msmarco_doc_00_1447412
http://1000ventures.com/business_guide/lean_5s.html
5S (Five Ss, 5S Program): Sort, Straighten, Shine, Standardize, Sustain. Lean Manufacturing, Lean Production, and Toyota Production System (TPS): Key Elements.
5S (Five Ss, 5S Program): Sort, Straighten, Shine, Standardize, Sustain. Lean Manufacturing, Lean Production, and Toyota Production System (TPS): Key Elements. Business Success 360 CIF & Kaizen Lean Manufacturing 5Ss: Sort, Set in order, Shine, Standardize, Sustain Vadim Kotelnikov The Five Ss refer to the five dimensions of of workplace optimization: Seiri (Sort), Seiton (Set in order), Seiso (Shine, clean up), Seiketsu (Standardize), and Shitsuke (Sustain). Like many concepts of Kaizen and Lean Manufacturing, the 5S can be interpreted narrowly or broadly, depending on circumstances of their use. Lean Manufacturing: 10 Tips Key Features of Lean Manufacturing The 5S Program defines the steps that are used to make all work spaces efficient and productive, help people share work stations, reduce time looking for needed tools and improve the work environment. >>> S ort: Straighten up; sort out unneeded items S et in order: Have a place for everything S hine: Keep the area clean S tandardize: Create rules and standard operating procedures S ustain: Maintain the system and continue to improve it 5 Features of Lean Approach Phases of 5S There are 5 primary phases of 5S: sorting, straightening, systematic cleaning, standardizing, and sustaining. Additionally, there is an additional phase, safety, that is sometimes included. Sorting (Seiri): Differentiate between the necessary and unnecessary and discard the unnecessary. Eliminate all unnecessary tools, parts, instructions: work-in-process; unnecessary tools; unused machinery; defective products; papers and documents. Go through all tools, materials, etc., in the plant and work area. Keep only essential items. Everything else is stored or discarded. Setting in Order (Seiton): There should be a place for everything and everything should be in its place. The place for each item should be clearly labeled or demarcated. Items should be arranged in a manner that promotes efficient work flow. Workers should not have to repetitively bend to access materials. Each tool, part, supply, piece of equipment, etc. should be kept close to where it will be used (i.e. straighten the flow path). Seiton is one of the features that distinguishes 5S from "standardized cleanup". Shining or Sweeping or Cleanliness / Systematic Cleaning (Seiso): Keep the workplace tidy and organized. At the end of each shift, clean the work area and be sure everything is restored to its place. This makes it easy to know what goes where and ensures that everything is where it belongs. A key point is that maintaining cleanliness should be part of the daily work – not an occasional activity initiated when things get too messy. Standardizing (Seiketsu): Work practices should be consistent and standardized. Everyone should know exactly what his or her responsibilities are for adhering to the first 3 S's. Sustaining the discipline (Shitsuke): Maintain and review standards. Once the previous 4 S's have been established, they become the new way to operate. Maintain focus on this new way and do not allow a gradual decline back to the old ways. While thinking about the new way, also be thinking about yet better ways. When an issue arises such as a suggested improvement, a new way of working, a new tool or a new output requirement, review the first 4 S's and make changes as appropriate. Toyota Production System → 7 Principles of TPS ▪ Toyota Corporate Culture PowerPoint Slides for Teachers Continuous Improvement Firm The Toyota Way: 14 Principles Applications of Lean Lean vs. Traditional Manufacturing 3 Broad Types of Wastes 7 Wastes Kaizen Culture Japanese Suggestion System Just-in-Time (JIT) Areas Targeted by TQM in Japan Glossary ▪ Quotes
msmarco_doc_00_1454834
http://1000ventures.com/business_guide/mgmt_new-model_25lessons-welch.html
25 LESSONS from JACK WELCH - Business Leadership and New Management Model, Great Business Leaders, Great CEOs, Transformational Leadership, Business Transformation
25 Lessons from Jack Welch
25 LESSONS from JACK WELCH - Business Leadership and New Management Model, Great Business Leaders, Great CEOs, Transformational Leadership, Business Transformation 25 Lessons from Jack Welch Management Insight and Leadership Secrets of the Legendary Former CEO of GE The techniques and ideas that Welch has employed to move GE forward are applicable to any size corporations, small, medium, or large. Our vision is to create the world's most competitive enterprise. Jack Welch GE Jack Welch 's goal was to make GE "the world's most competitive enterprise". He knew that it would take nothing less than a "revolution" to transform that dream into a reality. In his self-proclaimed revolution, Welch waged war on GE's old ways of doing things where forms and approvals and bureaucracy ruled the day. Jack Welch reinvented the company from top to bottom. for Teachers Business Success 360 Creating an Extraordinary Organization ▪ GE Values Guide Leading Organizational Transformation at GE ▪ 3Ss of Winning Create Change ▪ 7-Point Change Program for Leadership 25 Lessons from Jack Welch Lead more, manage less 1. Lead Managers muddle – leaders inspire. Leaders are people who inspire with clear vision of how things can be done better... More What we are looking for are leaders at every level who can energize , excite and inspire rather than enervate, depress, and control. Jack Welch GE for Teachers Leadership Success 360 2. Manage Less In the new knowledge-based economy, people should make their own decision. Managing less is managing better. Close supervision, control and bureaucracy kill the competitive spirit of the company. "Weak managers are the killers of business; they are the job killers. You can't manage self-confidence into people." We are constantly amazed by how much people will do when they are not told what to do by management. Jack Welch GE for Teachers Manager ++ 3. Articulate Your Vision The best leader do not provide a step-by-step instruction manual for workers. The best leaders are those who come up with new idea, and articulate a vision that inspires others to act... More Leaders inspire people with clear visions of how things can be done better. Jack Welch GE 4. Simplify Keeping things simple is one of the keys to business success . Have the courage to be simple. Simplicity is practically an art form, with many definitions. "Simple messages travel faster, simpler designs reach the market faster and the elimination of clutter allows faster decision making ."... More You can't believe how hard it is for people to be simple... Clear tough-minded people are most simple. Jack Welch GE 5. Get Less Formal Harness the power of an informal place. "Today form isn't allowed. Global battles don't allow forms. It's all substance. Form means somebody is not intensely interested in the company." ... More Without needless rules, titles, and approvals people are not afraid to voice their ideas, even they go against conventional company wisdom. Jack Welch GE for Teachers Manager ++ 6. Energize Others Be energized and energize others. Genuine leadership comes from the quality of your vision and your ability to spark others to extraordinary performance . Getting employees excited about their work is the key to being a great business leader ... More The idea flow from the human spirit is absolutely unlimited. All you have to do is tap into that well. Jack Welch GE for Teachers Business Success 360 What It Takes To Be a Great Corporate Leader >> The Role The Role of the Leader in the New Economy >> 6 Rules Top Management Team ▪ GE Leadership Effectiveness Survey
msmarco_doc_00_1459049
http://1000waystodie.wikia.com/wiki/Category:Way_to_die
Category:Way to die | 1000 Ways To Die Wiki | Fandom
Way to die Way to die Ways to die Trending pages All items (715)
Category:Way to die | 1000 Ways To Die Wiki | Fandom Way to die Ways to die A list of deaths as described in the series. Trending pages The List Bad Max Titty Titty Bang Bang Ichiboned Premature Endings Vom-Ate-Dead Jaw Boned I'll Sleep When I'm Dead All items (715) # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Other ' 'Dis Still Killed 'Em 1 1000 Ways to Die -- Extra Segments 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 1 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 2 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 3 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 4 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 5 1000 Ways to Die -- Season 6 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 1 - 100 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 101 - 200 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 201 - 300 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 301 - 400 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 401 - 500 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 501 - 600 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 601 - 700 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 701 - 800 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 801 - 900 1000 Ways to Die -- Segments 901 - 1000 A A New App Called Death A Turn For The Purse Abracadaver African't American Died'ol Amish-tinguished Anger Damagement Another Up The Butt Story Any Given Gunday Apocalypse Harley Arriva-deadci Art Attack As-Capped Category:Asian deaths Asphyxi-Asian Ass Phyxiated Ass-Hoppered Ass-Plosion B Back Broke Mountain Backseat Die-er Bad Hair Day Bad Laps Bad Max Category:Bad people Category:Baked to Death Ball 'n Pain Ball Sacked Balloon-a-tic Bank Ruptured Bats All Folks Batter Upped Bed Buggered Beer Bashed Category:Beheaded victims Belly'd Up Better Them Than Us Bibli-killed Bird Brained Bitch Zapped Blast Call Category:Bleeding in water Category:Bleeding to death Blend-Dead Blogged Artery Blood Bath & Beyond Category:Blood Coming From The Mouth Category:Blood Poisoning Blown Job (118) Blown Job (201) Board Stiff Category:Body Cut-off Category:Body Damage Category:Body failure Bomb-Bino Boobicide Booby-Zapped Booty Trapped Boris Bititoff Bot-ily Harm Botoxicated Bowed Out Boweled Out Bowled Over Boys 2 Dead Category:Brain Damage Brain Worms Branched Out Bringing in the Dead Broke-Back Cowboy Bubbled Out Bucky Boned Bull-Heavia Bull-shido Category:Bullies' deaths Bush Defeated Bush Whacked Bush Whacked 2: South of the Border Bush Whacked 3: Waxed Off Category:Busy-bodies Butt F***ed Butt Plugged C Car Jacked Cardiac-A-Breast Cast Offed Cat Fight On A Hot Tin Hood Cat Got Your Life Catch and Decease Caught In A Lye Caulk Blocked Caved In Chain Gang Banged Chain On You Chairway to Heaven Category:Challenge Accidents Cham-Pained Category:Cheater Deaths Chef Boy-R-Dead Chemi-Killed Category:Chemical accidents Chess Pain Category:Chest damage Chicken Boned Chili Today... Dead Tomorrow Chippin Dale Choke-A-Lot Chucked Up Clay Achin' Cleane-Dead Solution Cloudy With A Chance Of Pain Category:Clumsy Accidents Cock-A-Doodle-Die Coffin Nailed Coffin to Death Colon-Gross-Opy Come On, Get Deathy Coming & Going Constriction Accident Contact Die Cop Out Category:Corrupt Officials Corset Killed Him Crack Piped Crappy Ending Crash-endo Crate and Buried Cream-ated Create your own deathcards!!! Crib Your Enthusiasm Category:Criminal Deaths Critter in the S****er Cross Bown'd Cruci-Fried Crying Over Spilled Blood Cult Evaded Cure for the Common Death, Part I Cure for the Common Death, Part II Curl Up And Die D D-Parted D. U. Die De-Coffinated De-faced De-throned Dead and Deader Dead Before They Know It Dead Eye Dead Fixe Dead Heat Dead Kacynski Dead Light Green Light Dead Me Stallion Dead Meat-Eorite Dead Mime ☺ Dead Necked Dead On Arrival Dead on Dead Dead to Rights Dead Weight Dead Wrongs Dead-dy Dearest Deadliest Catch Deadliest Kitsch Deadliest Munch Deaf Jammed Category:Death as consequences Category:Death as justice Death Be a Lady Tonight Death Be Not Stupid Death Bites! Category:Death by bisection Category:Death by broke skull Category:Death by broken neck Category:Death by calamity Category:Death by castration Category:Death by crushing Category:Death by decapitation Category:Death by defense Category:Death by dehydration Category:Death by electrocution Category:Death by evaporation Category:Death by explosion Category:Death by food Category:Death by hypothermia Next Last Retrieved from " https://1000waystodie.fandom.com/wiki/Category:Way_to_die?oldid=19305 " Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.
msmarco_doc_00_1463458
http://1000waystosave.com/how-to-get-the-best-deal-on-a-rental-car/
How to Get the Best Deal on a Rental Car - 17 Easy Tips
How to Get the Best Deal on a Rental Car – 17 Easy Tips How to Get the Best Deal on a Rental Car – 17 Easy Tips 1- Shop around. 2- Consider multiple dealerships. 3- If the price works out, try to keep with the same brand. 4- Always become a rewards member. 5- Pay now for a discount. 6- Skip the airport car rentals. 7- Get the smallest car you can. 8- Rent longer if its needed. 9- Show your affiliation. 10- Can your credit card or rewards program get you a discount? 11- Google for promos. 12- No, thank you. I don’t need the up-grade. 13- Skip the rental car insurance. 14- Skip pre-paying the gas for the rental car. 15- Remember to fill-up when you’re done. 16- Skip Sirius Radio or the GPS rental. 17- Take note of the vehicle before and after you rent.
How to Get the Best Deal on a Rental Car - 17 Easy Tips How to Get the Best Deal on a Rental Car – 17 Easy Tips March 3, 2019 DJ 13 Comments If driving around from place to place is a part of your next travel plans, then you’re definitely going to want to know how to get a rental vehicle for cheap. I’ve personally rented cars at several places all around the world, and found it to be a very easy-to-do process. But, of course, not all service providers and prices are the same. There can be quite a bit variance from one seemingly similar place to the next. On top of that, there are lots of new marketing tricks and up-sells that each company can use to try to drive up how much you’re going to pay. Forget that! Here’s how to get the best deal on a rental car using 17 of my favorite time-tested tricks for hitting the road without leaving skid-marks on your wallet. 1- Shop around. Although it can seem very obvious, one of the best things you can do to get the best deal possible on your rental car is to simply shop around. I’m mean it. You wouldn’t believe the differences in prices I’ve seen. I’ll check one site, then another, and another thinking they are all about the same price. But then – wham! – I’ll find one that’s a deal. How can that be? Remember that just like department stores, car rental dealerships are in the game to make money. Vehicles sitting in their lot aren’t generating any revenue at all. And since something is better than nothing, they are often willing to make you a good deal by renting you the car at a (sometimes deeply) discounted rate. 2- Consider multiple dealerships. It’s not the 1990’s anymore. The days of only going to Hertz or Enterprise if you need to rent a car long gone. There are dozens of reputable names out there for you to consider. An easy place to find the best car rental providers is to do a quick Google search. Here’s one that ranks them according to their reviews. 3- If the price works out, try to keep with the same brand. Okay, so maybe you’ve shopped around and find that one particular brand in your area is always the cheapest. Or maybe you’re booking the vehicle for work and quite frankly don’t really care which service provider has the best deals. In either case, try then to be strategic by sticking with the same service provider. Why do this? Because when you do, you’ll rack up more loyalty points that way. Oh, wait, you’re not a member? 4- Always become a rewards member. Anytime you rent a car (or fly on a plane or stay in a hotel ), be sure to sign-up for their free loyalty program. Though it may not seem like it at the time, sometimes those points can accumulate and be worth something valuable some day. Of course, I emphasize that the program must be FREE. Unless you travel every day for work, it’s not worth it to become a member of a dozen loyalty programs where you have to pay some sort of fee. There are plenty of other good ones out there where you don’t, so let’s stick with those. Here’s a list of the best rental car programs to join. 5- Pay now for a discount. Usually when you reserve a car, you’re not automatically billed right away. They might just make the reservation or perhaps take some small amount for a discount, and allow you to pay the rest later. However, if you’re 100% certain you’re going to rent a car on a certain date (perhaps for a vacation or to go see family), then opt to pay for it now. When you do this, most dealers will give you a much better price than what they are currently advertising to everyone else. When we made our latest travel plans, I paid in advance and got an awesome 20% discount from the sticker prices I was seeing everywhere else. Again – just be certain that you’re actually going to travel on the dates you book. Usually these kinds of payments are non-refundable. 6- Skip the airport car rentals. What’s the first thing almost every airline traveler does after they get to their destination and grab their bag? They book a car, right? Why? Because car rentals and airports go together like peanut-butter and jelly. It’s the most convenient location for a traveler to get a vehicle and get to where they need to go next. So here’s the thing: If you’re NOT flying, don’t rent your car from the airport. As you might imagine, that convenience of grabbing your car right after your flight comes with a pretty steep up-charge. If you instead shop around to non-airport locations, you might find some much better deals. 7- Get the smallest car you can. When it’s just you traveling, you really don’t need a full size vehicle, truck, or SUV. Something small and compact will do just fine; especially if you’re paying the bill out of your pocket and looking to save a few bucks. Remember too: The more compact cars will also likely use less gas. So that’s another bonus savings for you! 8- Rent longer if its needed. Is there a chance that you’ll need your rental car for longer than you think? Make your reservation for longer. Usually the longer you need the car, the less expensive your daily rate will be. 9- Show your affiliation. Do you belong to AAA, AARP, a credit union, or some other group affiliation? If so, be sure to mention it to the clerk and see if it helps to qualify you for a discount. Even if its just 10% off, that could still add up to 10’s or 100’s of dollars saved. 10- Can your credit card or rewards program get you a discount? Did you know that some types of credit cards can give you access to deals and discounts with certain auto rental services? For example, American Express has an affiliation with Avis, Hertz, and National where customers can get preferential treatment as well as deep discounts. Be on the look out for weekly deals and specials. Often you can find these types of deals on any number of places such as the service provider’s site, travel websites, marketing emails, and even social media. 11- Google for promos. Before you rent your next car (or buy anything for that matter), Google the service provider with the phrase “promo code”. Chances are very high that you’re likely to find some kind of promo or discount code that will get you a better deal. I did for my last auto rental and received 25% off the total bill. Not bad for 15 seconds of work! 12- No, thank you. I don’t need the up-grade. Here’s one of the most seemingly innocent upgrades an auto rental provider will try to get you to do: “Oh, for just a few dollars more, we can get you into this nicer vehicle …” Say “No thank you”. A few extra bucks here and there can add up to a lotta bucks later on. And for what? To look fancier for the week? Plus, many times, the nicer vehicle gets worse gas millage. Skip! 13- Skip the rental car insurance. Auto rental providers love to up-sell you on the idea that you NEED rental insurance. But do you? Chances are … probably not. According to The Simple Dollar, there’s a very strong likelihood that one or several of the insurance policies you already hold (such as your auto, health, etc.) include some type of coverage. Don’t forget to check the fine print on your credit card too. Many travel oriented or business level credit cards already provide this benefit as well. 14- Skip pre-paying the gas for the rental car. Another famous up-sell for auto rental providers is to try to sell you on the concept of filling up your gas tank in advance. This is a convenience thing. It allows you to bring the car back without the hassle of having to stop and get gas for it. The only time this really pays off on your behalf is if you bring the car back absolutely empty; which is highly unlikely that you will do. Personally, I’d skip it. 15- Remember to fill-up when you’re done. Okay, so you’re going to take my advice on the last tip and fill your own gas tank. Good! But remember to actually fill up. If you forget, the rental company will charge you a bundle for it – way above the market price of what each gallon of gas should cost. 16- Skip Sirius Radio or the GPS rental. If you’ve got a smartphone, then you’ve basically already got the equivalent of both of those things. Since most newer vehicles are BlueTooth enabled, you should be able to play your audio through the speakers with no problem. 17- Take note of the vehicle before and after you rent. Remember that if you return a vehicle and it has dings, scratches, or dents on it, you’re on the hook. I have heard over the years of some horror stories where people returned a car that they thought was fine, and then the auto rental provider claimed they had damaged it in some way. To help avoid this, take five minutes to walk around the vehicle and check it out when you first receive it. Be sure to point out anything you think is questionable to the rep, and note it or snap a photo. That way you’ll have a much better case in case you get accused of something later. Featured image courtesy of Fiverr
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