The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1900-03-10
WINTER IN NEW YORK.
Jacob Riis Tells How He Came to
America

EuCIlCd.
Jacob A Riis. author of How the
Other Half Lives" etc. writing of win
ter in New York i'm the February Gem
fury. gives an amusing account of his
notions of the American metropolis before
he left his home in Denmark:
The very earliest impression I received
of Americas metropolis was through a
print in my childs picture-book that was
entitled Winter in New York" 1t
showed a sleighing party or half a dozen
such. mufied to the ears in furs and rae
ing with grim determination for some
place or another that lay beyond the page,
wrapped in the mystery which so tickles
the childish fancy. For it was clear to
me that it was not accident that they
were all going the same way. There was
evidently some prize away off there in
the waste Of snow that beclIOned them
on. The text gave me no clue to what iC
was. 1t only confirmed the impression,
which was strengthened by the introduce
ton Of a half-ndlled savage who Shivered
most wOefully in the foreground that
New York was somewhere within the arc
tic circle and q perfect paradise for q
neatthy boy, who takes to snow as ma
turally as duck takes to water. do
not know how the discovery that they
were probably making for Gabe Case =
and his bottle of champagne, which al
ways awaited the first sleigh on the road.
NOull nave SlIuGk me III those udNE. AlDSL
likely as grievous disappointment; for
my fancy, busy ever with UnCas and
ChingachcOOk and Narty BumppO. had
certainly a buffalo hunt. or an ambush,
or. at the very least. a big fire, ready at
the end of the road But such is life. It's
most cherished hopes have 10 be sur
rendered one by one to the prOsy facts Of
everyday existence. l recall distinctly
how it cut me to the heart when ] first
walked up Broadway, with an immense
navy pistol strapped around my waist. 70
fine it a paved street, actually paved.
with no buffalOes in sight and not a red
man or a beaver hut
However. life has its cOmpensariOns.
also. At 80 l am as willing to surrender
the arctic circle as L was hopeful of it
at 10. with the price of coal in the chronic
plight of my little boy when he has u
troublesome hitch in his trousers: "Oh.
dear me. my pants hang up and don L
hang down And Gabe Cases is a most
welcome exchange to me for the ambush
since | have left out the pistol and the
rest Of the armament. / listen to the
stories of the oldest inhabitant, of the
winters when the snow lay to the sec
ond-stOry windows in the Bowery.' with
the ferVent wish that they NAV never
come back. and secretly gloat over his
vail that the seasons have changed and
are not what they were. The man who
exuberantly proclaims that New York is
getting to nave the finest W1nter-resOrt
climate in the world is my friend, and L
do not care if [ never see another snow
ball. Alas. yesl though Deerslayer and L
dence is that L am growing old.
In the midst of the rejoicing comes Old
BOreas as last winter. for instance. and
blows down my house Of cards Just
when we thought ourselves safe in refer
ring to the great blizzard as mOnstrous.
unheard-Of thing. and were dwelling Sc
cUrely in the memory of how we gathered
VOlets in the woods out in Queens and
killed mosquitoes in the house in Christ
mas week comes grim winter and locks
the rivers and buries US up to the neck
in snow, before the Thanksgiving dinner
is cold. Then the seasons when Gabe5
muCh-cOveted bottle stood unclaimed on
the shelf in its bravery of fine ribbons
till far into the new year, and was won
then literally by a scratch on a road
hardly downy with white, seem like a tale
that is told. and we realize that latitude
does not unaided make temperature. 1t
is only in exceptional winters, after all.
that we class for a brief spell with Ma
pies. Greenland and the polar streams
are never long in asserting their claim
and Santa Claus to unchecked prog
ress to our hearths.