“A Newsboy’s Progress”

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From the November 10, 1901 edition of the New York Tribune:

A Newsboy’s Progress.

Goes From This City to Louisville, Where He Organizes a Newsboys’ Club and Becomes A Stenographer.

“About four years ago,” said Superintendent Heig of the Newsboys’ Lodging House yesterday, “a boy named Herman Felten stopped at the lodging house. He became a regular attendant at our night school and at the Sunday evening meetings. As he had friends in Louisville, Ky., he wished to go there, and we sent him. He has since organized a newsboys’ club there of which he is the head.”

Mr. Heig received a letter from Felten a few days ago, which was as follows:

It is so long since I last wrote you that mayhap you think I have forgotten you and the Brace Memorial Lodging House. But, no; the lessons I learned and the kindnesses that I received are indelible impressions on my mind—effaceable only by the tragedy of death.

I am now no more the humble newsboy, shouting “Extree! All about the terrible murder!” but a plain stenographer. With the money I saved from selling papers I took a course in a business college and graduated, and procured a position as stenographer.

Inclosed [sic] is an extract from one of our papers regarding myself which may interest you and the boys in your charge. The personage of whom I spoke is but a second Charles Loring Brace—a man worthy to be emulated and honored, and, being emulated, makes the doer happier and of service to his fellowmen; and being of service to one’s fellowmen is a type of love that uplifts the soul to the pedestal of a better life.

This letter was written by a boy who only four years ago was selling newspapers in this city, and much less than four years ago was pursuing the same occupation in Louisville. The newspaper clipping mentioned is from one of the Louisville newspapers, and states that at the “Thompson memorial services of the Newsboys’ Home, held at the Elks’ Home last evening, many interesting addresses were made, of which the most novel was by Herman Felten, the crippled newsboy who stands at the corner of Fourth and Jefferson sts.” The paper went on to say that the address was considered remarkable from a boy so young, after which it gave the address in full.

Felten’s speech was a tribute to Judge R . H. Thompson, the one to whom he referred in his letter as a “second Charles Loring Brace.” The judge had been friendly to Felten when he was a poor newsboy and in actual want, and had helped him through his difficulties.

Advice from “Newsies” on the Day After the Election

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Elections are trying times; this year’s presidential election was no different. Tensions were high during the campaign season, and continue to be so over very divisive issues under the campaign slogan “Make America great again.”

Change doesn’t always start from the top. Newsies is a reminder of that. Children and young adults, at the bottom of the totem pole, went up against powerful newspapermen, and while they may not have gotten exactly what they wanted, both sides came to a compromise.

In order to make positive changes in this country over the next four years, it is up to us to work together to reach common goals. The time to start is now.  And we have the music and message of Newsies to remind us in the dark times.

 

From “The World Will Know”:

Everyday we wait,
is a day we lose,
and this ain’t for fun,
and it ain’t for show,
and we’ll fight ’em toe to toe to toe and Joe
your world will feel the fire and finally, finally know!

 

From “Watch What Happens”:

But all I know is nothing happens if you just give in.
It can’t be any worse than how it’s been.
And it just so happens that we just might win,
so whatever happens! Let’s begin!

 

And finally, from “Seize the Day”:

Now is the time to seize the day
Stare down the odds and seize the day
Minute by minute that’s how you win it
We will find a way
But let us seize the day
Courage cannot erase our fear
Courage is when we face our fear

“The New Colossus”

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Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

—Emma Lazarus, 1883

“‘The Evening World’s’ Guests”

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From The Evening World on October 12,1887:

“The Evening World’s” Guests.

Probably no playhouse walls ever inclosed a more appreciative audience than that which filled the People’s Theatre to overflowing last evening. Every one of the 3,247 newsboys and newsgirls who accepted THE EVENING WORLD’S invitation to witness a special performance of “Harbor Lights” will remember it as a red-letter occasion. They evinced an enthusiasm and a zest of pleasure that the chronic critic has long outlived. And with it was a discrimination worthy of the veteran theatre-goer. No good point of dialogue or scenery was missed by their alert eyes and ears. The tumultuous applause came in where it belonged. The heroine had their active encouragement. The villain was in imminent danger of being mobbed. At the happy denouement their joy was unconfined. THE EVENING WORLD takes pride in its 3,247 newsboy and newsgirl guests.

Song Lyrics: “The Newsboys of Chicago”

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The Newsboys of Chicago

Words by Reginald Mowbray
Music by Lutie St. Clair
The Newsboys of Chicago,
Are greatest in the world
you’ll find no better newsboys,
Wherever flags unfurled,
Their hearts are ever stoutest,
All trouble they defy,
And oh, their voice is loudest,
Whene’er you hear them cry:
Chorus
Have you have your morning papers,
All about the crimes,
Tribune, Inter Ocean, Herald, Morning Times,
In the evening hear them calling,
None can these boys match:
Five o’clock News, Journal, Post, Chicago, Mail, Dispatch.
As bright as copper pennies,
As honest as the day,
The newsboys of Chicago,
Adorn the city’s way,
In sunshine or in shadow,
And always free from blues,
They only strive to give us,
The very latest news.
O, people of this city,
Remember now and then,
The newsboys of Chicago,
Shall be our worthy men,
For to these ragged heroes,
No task to hard to try,
And honesty rings cheery,
In ev’ry passing cry:

Philip Marcus on Being Searched for Money

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XII

The prize one is the one about the time the two cops searched me for money an’ couldn’t find it on me. I was eight years old then. I’ run away from home.

I was hustlin’ papers; it was on a Sunday, an’ me an’ another kid, we was workin’ a roomin’-house neighborhood. Two guys call me up. One of ’em’s got a Sunday hard-one, an’ he wags it at me. Me, I’m on the make, but not that way, an’ I take a look around. I spy a purse that belongs to one of the lads an’ I take it. When I get downstairs I show it to the kid who’s workin’ with me, an’ he wants a cut. I wouldn’t give it to him. There was about twelve dollars.

I took the money an’ the purse an’ the rest of the stuff that’s in it I throw in an alley. There’s a wind blowin’, an’ all the papers that was in the purse blow away.

Pretty soon, along comes these two lads runnin’ after me, an’ there’s a couple o’ cops with them. “He’s the one, he’s the one,” one of the lads says, pointin’ to me, an’ one o’ the cops, he grabs me, an’ the other cop grabs the kid’s that with me. I play dumb rummy, an’ I don’t know what the hell they’re talkin’ about. But the other kid, he owns up he saw the purse an’ the money on me, an’ they start searchin’ me.

Well, they go through every inch o’ my clothes an’ they don’t find nothin. The two lads, they don’t care so much about the money, they say I can keep that, only they want the papers that was in the purse, papers that was important, and railroad tickets. I just played dumb. But the kid who was with me, he’d seen the money, an’ I called him a liar an’ told the cops, “All right, I took the money, huh? Then I oughtta have it on me? Why don’t you find it then? If I aint got it, then I couldn’ta taken the purse, could I? An’ they couldn’t find the money. So after a while they let us alone, an’ we go about our business selling these papers.

Me, I’m fellin’ pretty smart an’ laughlin’ to myself at this kid. An’ I was plenty sore at him because he’d snitched. So I get back at him. I roll down the sleeves of my shirt an’ pull the money out. I’d flattened the bills out an’ rolled ’em up in my sleeves. Seein’ I was only about eight years old then, I don’t know how the hell I got the idea to do that. “See smarty, “I said, “if you hadn’t been so smart an’ gone an’ snitched, I’d give you a cut outta this. But you know what you can do, don’t ya?” An’ I put the bills back in my sleeves again an’ rolled them up.

While I went in a house to sell a paper, this kid, he runs back an’ gets the cops an’ they pinch me. I was sent to the detention home, the reform school for a while for that.

“Where is Lillie Slitzka?”

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From the Evening World on September 12, 1890:

Where is Lillie Slitzka?

Strange Disappearance of the Equitable’s Sweet-Faced Newsgirl.

Lillie Slitzka, the rosy-cheeked, brown-haired, demure little creature who has served to the habitues of the Equitable Building their afternoon papers ever since she was but little more than a baby, is missing from her accustomed place in the mellow-tinted rotunda of that big business palace.

Lillie is fifteen years old, but she is small, and still seems to be as much a child as she was when, nine years ago, she first took her stand with her papers under her arm in the old building which stood where the Equitable Building is now.

The child was one of three bairns left to her mother’s care at the death of her father. The Widow Slitzka’s little figure and brisk, business-like ways are familiar to thousands of downtown business me, who have bought their evening papers of her at the corner of Broadway and Cedar street these many years.

The boys, two manly little fellows, have been at work for themselves for some years, and Lillie was also inducted into the work of newspaper selling by her mother. The family were close together in their work, and always went home together at night. They lived in a comfortable little flat at 162 Webster avenue, Jersey City Heights, and between them had laid up a sung little store ‘gainst a rainy day, in a savings’ bank.

Lillie attended the public school up to two years ago, coming over to “business” after school hours. Since then she has [unknown] typewriting and stenography [unknown] Mrs. Vermilye, 816 Broadway.

Two weeks ago the sweet-faced, shy little woman disappeared, and all the efforts of the police of three cities—New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City—have failed to discover her whereabouts.

“Some time ago she became acquainted with Annie and Mary McGee, who live on the Heights at 241 Central avenue alone,” says the distracted mother.

“One day one of them brought a letter to Lillie, and after reading it she wanted to go to a picnic. I let her go, and that was the last I ever saw of her. I went to the McGee’s next day, but they kept me in the hall while Lillie went out by a back door. She staid with a Mrs. Richards, a good woman, in Park avenue that night.

“I had Mary and Annie McGee before Judge Wanser, but they told him they knew nothing about my little girl.”

Ex-Alderman Tom Cleary, janitor of the Equitable, spoke with much feeling this morning.

“It is all a mystery to me,” he said. “Lillie was a modest, shy little one, not like most girls. I always kept an eye out for her, and no one ever molested her or offered any advances to her except once, and I warned that man, a stranger, out of the building. That was a year ago.

“She was not well developed for her age, and offered no inducement to familiarity or attraction to any villain. I have interested every one I could in tracing her, but I fear some one has taken advantage of her innocence and lured her away.”

Lillie’s place in the rotunda is kept open for her return.

“Begging Boy’s Honesty Proven.”

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From the September 8, 1902 edition of the Evening World:

Begging Boy’s Honesty Proven.

He Found a Pair of Valuable Opera Glasses in the Street and Gave Them to the Police.

Patrolman Barber, of the West Thirtieth street station, arrested a sharp-eyed German of seventeen years, named Otto Gries, on Fifth avenue. He said the boy was begging. The lad says his parents live in Hesse-Darmstadt, but that he left home to see the world, landing first in London, then in Ecuador and then in New York.

A man who recognized him knew him as a boy who had refused money a few nights ago because he wanted to go to the Newsboys’ Lodging-House and said he did not care to beg. Sergt. Fuchs also recognized the lad as the boy who a month ago had found a pair of valuable opera glasses and given them to a policeman.

The sergeant said he then told the boy to come in and see him if he stood in need, but the boy’s first visit to the station-house afterward was when under arrest.

“Comrade Remembered”

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From the July 15, 1899 edition of the Evening Telegram:

Comrade Remembered.

Newsboys Provide Floral Piece for Dominick Stanton.

The newsboys of the city appointed a committee to secure money to provide a floral piece for their late comrade, Dominick Stanton. They succeeded in raising $3.86, with which they purchased a beautiful anchor. The amounts subscribed were as follows: The Telegram boys 80 cents, the Herald boys $1.76, the Journal boys 23 cents, the Times 20 cents. M. A. Andrews 50 cents, Besanson’s restaurant 15 cents, Pelligrini 10 cents, Shattuck 25 cents, Friend 20 cents, Frank Matty 15 cents and friends 25 cents. The boys regret that they could secure no money from the Post-Standard. The boys who collected the funds were Samuel Cohen, Phillip Ecclestine and Samuel Cominsky.

Motion Picture: Racing at Sheepshead Bay

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From the Library of Congress collection “America at Work, America at Leisure: Motion Pictures from 1894-1915” comes this short gem depicting something dear to “Racetrack” Higgins’ heart, a horse race at the Sheepshead Bay Racetrack. The description from Edison’s film catalog is “The finish and weighing out of a running race with nine starters. Won by famous Clifford, Sloane up.” The race was filmed on June 22, 1897, and copyrighted on July 31, 1897.