The Washington times., 1935-03-16

nearest to heaven-was the old
convent. At the other end Of the
street-and plumb down in hell
were the red-light houses, built
out over the bay on rickety piles.
All day the tide came and went
beneath those shuttered houses.
At flood, the water clucked under
the rotting beams. At ebb, the
lusty smell Of the flats oozed
through the yawning cracks.
Then the sun set in q great SwaSh
Of scarlet-and suddenly, through
the chinks Of the shutters, there
broke the glow Of lamps, the
crackle Of laughter and the tinkle
Of mandolinS. Then out across
the Swaying planks, teetering on
their high heels, minced The
Girls on their evening parade.
A long, rough street that began
with a convent and ended in
bawdy houses. I loved the con-
vent.
A long dirt street. A big white
house on q hill. In that big
white house q little girl named
Elsinore Justinia Robinson. Elsie
to you!
What was the little girl like?
She wasn't like anything at
first. Just a couple Of busy blue
eyes that saw everything; q cou'
pie Of busy pigeon.toed feet that
went everywhere. Told to stay
home? OF course was. All Nice
Little Girls were told to stay
home. But did I let that cramp
my style? Read on. See for your
self.
A house on a hill. A girl in a
house. A street crying, Come on,
kidd" I came. And what did I
see? I saw what you've been led
to think was the Wild and Woolly
West.
I saw a runway Of white dust,
black mud-hub-high in summer,
hub.deep in winter. On both sides
Of that runway, rickety wooden
sidewalks on stills. Flanking
these, ramshackle shops-mostly
saloons-with two7Story false
fronts" And staggering, Stagger.
ing, slouching, sinking down
those walks-your America In the
making.
Farmers, wharf rats, cowboys,
sailors, remittance men. Miners,
booming down from the mother
lode with pockets full Of nuggets,
blowing back busted. Gamblers
curiously boneless, gentle gents.
Greek fishermen, big, black
bearded fellows, all members OF
some Old-Country society. They
lFed in an ark colony far back
in the marshes, and had their
own government.
Mormon missionaries. I was
quite wild about one once. His
creed intrigued me. Many wives!
That only made marriage the
more exciting for an energetic
young woman who could stand
competition.
Trappers; homesteaders: name
less men, fleeing from justice;
wandering evangelistS; battered
women with eyes like closed
doors-the list was endless.
There, within the span Of one
street, went the world-on its
way into the gold fields or the
wheat fields; on its way to Lon
don, Paris, Sydney, Shanghai, St.
Petersburg, BuenoS Aires or BoS-
ton. And there, standing in the
middle Of it, taking 1t all in but
not even trying to make sense
Of any Of it, was ALEX Robin
sons kid, Elsie.
CHAPTER II
And what sort Of little girl was
I? I was an America-in-the- Max.
ing-Nice-Little Girl. And If you
know what that meant, you're
hep to a lot of history.
It didn't mean what you prob
ably picture when you think Of
the Old West. On the contrary,
it meant being part Of something
which was Stubbornly opposed to,
and steadily fighting all that
wild and woolineSS."
But those amazing people,
those funny old houses, that saw.
age Scenery-wasn't that all
there, just as it's shown in the
movies today? It was. But the
real picture of the West is not
to be found in such romantic
stage properties. Our pioneer
fathers were not troupers on
location. They were decent, brave
citizens, with civilized standards,
who were trying to turn a fan.
dango into an orderly state. And
taking the helluva beating!
But-again-it was not the
kind of beating you think. Not
the thrilling raids, riots and
Shootin's-up generally supposed
to have enlivened those frontier
days. They had to face much
grimmer grillings. Monotony,
loneliness, brute drudgery, with.
out a modern convenience; home
sickness that can eat like acid
into the strongest morale; their
own deep restleSsneSS and dis
couragements-to endure these