The Portland daily press., 1894-01-01
Thu ORGAN GRINDER.
The Business Is Not What 1t Used
10 Be and Is Gyerdone.

used to be-say & years ago. There have
ieen cycles in the calling. so to speak.
There was the time, for illustration. when
The "old soldier" played the street music
Just after the war. He was a pitiful spec
sacle, was the grim, war scared veteran,
and in those merry and ancient days it
was no uncommon feat for him to make $40
Or $40 day. "Here is dollar for the old
soldier!'' the good citizen would exclaim
| as he passed the bill into the one legged
mans hand. But that was long ago, and,
alas! the drawing powers of the veteran
who wore the blue have long since given
way before the upward and onward march
of civilization.
Then came the period of the German Or
gan grinder. Who does not recall the days
when Unser Fritz, that patient drudge,
wheeled his instrument along and had Ka-
treena at his side tunefully tapping on the
tambourine? He made the thing pay, too
| and many prominent citizen in German
affairs today, many a successful grocer
owes his start in life to the dimes and
quarters he collected while plodding the
streets playing ooh. Kaiser, Don't You
| Want to Buy Tog?"
Rocco, the Italian, faces life under diff
erent circumstances. The organ business,
he tells me sadly as drop into his mis-
| cradle rooms in Elizabeth street, is not
| what it used to be in the old soldier days,
| for example. II was out all day yester-
day." he says in his broken fashion, land
all l made was-how much, do you
Think"
IA dollar!''
"No; rs cents.''
In short, Rocco wishes he had back the
$3.50 he paid for his piano organ. lie
would, he says, go in the fruit business
and get rich after long time.
Rocco plays long and industriously for
| 10 hours a day. He was over on Sixth
avenue this morning. By invitation I
| joined him. He was playing in front of a
lager beer saloon. The people paid not
| the slightest attention. 1t was o'clock,
and the women who were early out shop
| ping eyed him with Indifference. The tunes
followed rapidly one after another. There
| would be jolly one, then a sad one. Aft
| er playing very, very sad tune, along
came an elderly gentleman, who, fun
| bling in his pocket, handed out cent. I
went out and got it in my hat, Rocco
bowed and smiled till his brown skin fair
| ly cracked. Well, that is a good begin
| ming. We were just starting in on third
| out and said:
'sSee ERE, dago, git out of this
Rocco stopped playing, and Selling the
heavy strap on the spring truck motioned
| to me to grasp one of the handles, and to-
gether we pulled the numbering instru-
ment up toward Eighteenth street Here
Rocco played merry air. A couple of
| men having their boots BACKED in street
chairs looked up from their morning pa
| pers with some little interest.
| went up and passed the hat. One man
| gave cent; the next, with grim show
| of being humorous, pulled beer check
| out of his pocket and said:
| Here; this is for your nibs; go after
ball''
At this the gentlemen in boot stands all
| laughed. I bowed, handed the coins over
to Rocco, who smiled, as usual, and pre-
pared to trudge further along, when up
came the policeman on the beat, who came
down to where we were standing and said
in very snappish fashion,
"Dago, don't you think you had better
move on? None of those organ grinders
will stay in one place on my beat Is min
utes if can help itr'
81 go! gor' said the frightened Rocco
"There; don't give me any of your lip!
And, by the way, where is your license,
eh?"
Rocco produced his card 1t certified
that he had paid 81 into the public treas
| ury, and that, in return, he was to be al
lowed to play in the streets of New York
| from o'clock in the morning until 9
o'clock in the evening, daily, except Sum
| days, for one year from date.
The officer scowled furiously, grunted
| softly to himself and permitted us to move
on.
We haunted the shopping district for the
next hour and won for Rocco just cents!
An hour later we were playing under
| window on West Nineteenth street. A
woman in third story fat wrapped a
nickel in piece of paper and threw it on
| the ringing pavement. Thus encouraged,
Rocco played on and on. Suddenly an
angry face appeared at the same window
and q voice exclaimed, sect out of this,
you BLACKBOARD, or I'll have you run imp
The man threw lump of coal at us! I
readily concluded that he was some night
worker who had been disturbed by our
music. So we went over in another street.
It now began to rain, but for the hand
organ man and myself there was no haven
of refuge. The cold, drizzling downfall
struck through our thin clothing, until
I, at least, shivered and shook! Still, that
| music must be continued! I had heard
"After the Ball' until I was fairly mad;
"Bow-wow," ''Ta-ra-ra' and all the
rest made me stark crazy; yet Rocco was
not in the least disturbed. Indeed doubt
very much if he heard the music at all.
His eyes were directed all that day toward
the upper story windows of the tall fiat
houses, looking for some one who might
throw down cent. If he did not have
erick in his neck, it was because his neck
was past all possibilities of the crick.
At noon we CHANGED to be on a Quiet
street, and near a livery stable, we saw
number of unused trucks drawn up at the
curb. Rocco wheeled his organ near by,
and crawling under one of the wagons
sat down on stone to eat. He had tin
dinner pail fastened to the instrument,
which, being opened, was found to contain
some Italian sticks of bread, piece of
meat and slice of cheese. This frugal
meal the patient organ grinder offered to
divide with me. After he had disposed of
the food he counted over his money and
found that he had that morning taken in
80 cents. He now brought forth tin tube