The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1932-12-05
BY TERRY DONOGHUE.

of his impressions of drifting with an
army Of unemployed
BY TERRY DONOGHUE,
Copyright. 1882, by New York World
Telegram Corporationl
r WALKED through Fresno.
l. Mexicans, Chinese, japanese
and Hindus loitered in the street.
My face was blistered from wind
and sun.
Thumb up on the edge of town,
I tried my luck on the highway.
A Californian bindle stiff, loaded
with a huge bedroll, walked by.
Give it up, kid. They don't ride
you on this highway"
Cars of every description passed.
They were loaded with baggage,
children, dogs; one car contained
a goat.
l did get rides, however Three
brought me to Monteca. / slept
in the Jail that night.
At IL the next morning I stood
at a fork in the road, thirty-three
miles from Oakland.
A car stopped. I had not tagged
it. The door was open and I
climbed in. A large, smiling face
greeted me.
AS we rode along the driver told
me he was going to San Francisco
in search for work on the pro-
posed Golden Gate bridge.
n. oh no vino q
conference today, and one of
them is friend of mine. 1t will
mean an engineering job for
couple of years"
I wished him luck.
Lets hope we both find jobs"
he said.
At the Oakland ferry I said:
You'll have to pay a nickel
for me. I'm broke"
That's all right he answered,
digging into his pocket for
change.
~ULLS wheeled above us on
" the ferry, like vain actresses
performing intricate, aerial curli-
cues for us to applaud. San Fran
cisco was a fairy city of spires
and green hills.
Beautiful day, eh, boy?" the
big engineer said. He stretched
his arms Skyward. Look at those
buildings. They look like a stage
backdrop.'
The engineer reached into his
right hand pocket. His fingers,
closed over something, were ex-
fenced to me.
Take this, Red" The day is
too beautiful for a man to arrive
in San Francisco broke"
1 took his gift. My fingers
gripped it tightly. 1t was silver
dollar!
I'D give you more, Red, but I'm
rather light myself"
More? Why, this dollar looks
like all the money in the world"
I exclaimed. 1 held the silver dol
lar in my sweaty palm. 1t felt
big; with it I felt could lick the
city.
Howard street, the Broadway of
the unemployed Of San Francisco,
was a series of pawn shops, cheap
restaurants and flop houses. The
sidewalks were crowded with poor
ly dressed men, most of them
elderly and American.
Occasional MeXicanS in SOM
hreroed splendor touched the
drab parade with color. Bindle
stiffs, bundles, roped and can
vased, hanging from their backs,
Shambled by.
No women walked the street;
it was skidrow, where the unem-
ployed, the bum, the hobo and
the whipped met.
I TANTALIZED myself standing
Il outside of a restaurant looking
at prices. Full meals, with soup,
salad and dessert, Is cents; four
eggs, dessert, coffee, 10 cents. 1
selected a white-front restaurant,
between Third and Fourth streets.
I actually felt sorry for the
men sitting eating coffee and, 1
had a dollar to spend and I was
going to eat real meal.
A waiter with a belly that kept
him a distance from the coun-
ter asked me with easy familiar
ity: What will it be, Red; coup
firSt?"
Right"
The soup was thick and more
like stew. Following it, I ate
liver and onions, a limp lettuce
salad, large slice of casaba melon
and a fat mug full of coffee. I
paid my check for Is cents. at
tobacco counter on the corner I
bought three bags of tobacco.
1 walked to the state employ
ment agency. The malodorouS
room was crowded with dazed-
faced men, crumpled up on long
benches. Smoke clouded the room.
On a, sign I saw scrawled, in