who comes along but a well-dressed guy with nothing to do—like me—and he flops down ... right here on this same bench. Now what do you do? You go up to him, same as always, and you say—'Spare a dime, mister?’ And he'll shake his head. No! Now then, here's the surprise, here's the thought I had for you. Don't run away with your tail between your legs. Stand firm and smile ... a kindly smile. Then say: Mister, I was only joking. I don't need no dime. Here's a buck for you, and may God protect you always! See? Won't that be jolly?
In a panic he clutched the bill which I held in my fingers and struggled free of my grip.
Mister, he said, backing away, you're nuts. Plain nuts.
He turned and hurried off. A few yards away he stopped, faced about. Waving his fist at me and grimacing like a loon, he shouted at the top of his lungs: You crazy bugger! You dirty cocksucker! Piss on you, you goon! He waved the bill in the air, made a few dirty faces, stuck his tongue out, then took to his heels.
There you are, I said to myself. Couldn't take a little joke. Had I offered him six bits and said, ‘Now try to imitate a stench trap in a soil pipe,’ he would have been grateful. I reached down and salvaged the quarter that was in the gutter. Now he'll really get a surprise, I murmured, placing the coin on the bench.
I opened the newspaper, turned to the theatre section, and scanned the bill of fare. Nothing to rave about at the Palace. The movies? Same old chili con carne. The burlesque? Closed for repairs.
What a city! There were the museums and the art galleries, of course. And the Aquarium. If I were a bum, now, and some one handed me a thousand dollar bill by mistake, I wouldn't know what to do with it.
Such a wonderful day too. The sun was eating into me like a million moth balls. A millionaire in a world where money was worthless.
I tried to summon a pleasant thought. I tried to think of America as a place I had only heard about.
Open, in the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress!
And it opened like the door of a hidden vault. There it was, America: the Garden of the Gods, the Grand Canyon of Arizona, the Great Smokies, the Painted Desert, Mesa Verde, the Mojave Desert, the Klondike, the Great Divide, the Wabash far away, the great Serpent Mound, the Valley of the Moon, the great Salt Lake, the Monongahela, the Ozarks, the Mother Lode country, the Blue Grass of Kentucky, the bayous of Louisiana, the Bad Lands of Dakota, Sing Sing, Walla Walla, Ponce de Leon, Oraibi, Jesse James, the Alamo, the Everglades, the Okifinokee, the Pony Express, Gettysburg, Mt. Shasta, the Tehachipis, Fort Ticonderoga.
It's the day after to-morrow and I'm standing at the taffrail aboard the S. S. Buford ... I mean the Ile de France. (I forgot, I'm not being deported, I'm going to have a holiday abroad.) For a moment I thought I was that beloved anarchist, Emma Goldman, who, as she was approaching the land of exile, is reported to have said: I long for the land (America) that has made me suffer. Have I not also known love and joy there...? She too had come in search of freedom, like many another. Had it not been opened, this blessed land of freedom, for every one to enjoy? (With the exception, to be sure, of the redskins, the black skins and the yellow bellies of Asia.) It was in this spirit my Grosspapas and my Grossmamas had come. The long voyage home. Windjammers. Ninety to a hundred days at sea, with dysentery, beri-beri, crabs, lice, rabies, yellow jaundice, malaria, katzenjammer and other ocean going delights. They had found life good here in America, my forbears, though in the struggle to keep body and soul together they had fallen apart before their time. (Still, their graves are in good condition.) They had come some decades after Ethan Allen had forced Ticonderoga open in the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress. To be exact, they had come just in time to witness the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Other assassinations were to follow—but of lesser figures. And we have survived, we crap shooters.
The boat will be pulling out soon. Time to say goodbye. Will I too miss this land that has made me suffer so? I answered that question before. Nevertheless, I do want to say good-bye to those who once meant something to me. What am I saying? Who still mean something! Step forward, won't you, and let me shake you by the hand. Come, comrades, a last handshake!
Up comes William F. Cody, the first in line. Dear Buffalo Bill, what an ignominious end we reserved for you! Good-bye, Mr. Cody, and God speed! And is this Jesse James? Good-bye, Jesse James, you were tops! Good-bye, you Tuscaroras, you Navajos and Apaches! Good-bye, you valiant, peace-loving Hopis! And this distinguished, olive-skinned gentleman with the goatee, can it be W. E. Burghardt Dubois, the very soul of black folk? Good-bye, dear, honored Sir, what a noble champion you have been! And you there, Al Jennings, once of the Ohio Penitentiary, greetings! and may you walk through the shadows with some greater soul than O'Henry! Good-bye, John Brown, and bless you for your rare, high courage! Good-bye, dear old Walt! There will never be another singer like you in all the land. Good-bye Martin Eden, good-bye, Uncas, good-bye, David Copperfield! Good-bye, John Barleycorn, and say hello to Jack! Good-bye, you six-day bike riders ... I'll be pacing you in Hell! Good-bye, dear Jim Londos, you staunch little Hercules! Good-bye, Oscar Hammerstein, Good-bye, Gatti-Cassazza! And you too, Rudolf Friml! Good-bye now, you members of the Xerxes Society! Fratres Semper! Good-bye, Elsie Janis! Good-bye, John L. and Gentleman Jim! Good-bye, old Kentucky! Good-bye, old Shamrock! Good-bye, Montezuma, last great sovereign of the old New World! Good-bye, Sherlock Holmes! Good-bye, Houdini! Good-bye, you wobblies and all saboteurs of progress! Good-bye, Mr. Sacco, good-bye, Mr. Vanzetti! Forgive us our sins! Good- bye, Minnehaha, goodbye, Hiawatha! Good-bye, dear Pocahontas! Good-bye, you trail blazers, good-bye to Wells Fargo and all that! Good-bye, Walden Pond! Good-bye, you Cherokees and Seminoles! Good-bye, you Mississippi steamboats! Goodbye, Tomashevsky! Good-bye, P. T. Barnum! Good-bye, Herald Square! Good-bye, O Fountain of Youth! Goodbye, Daniel Boone! Good-bye, Grosspapa! Good-bye, Street of Early Sorrows, and may I never set eyes on you again! Good-bye, everybody ... good-bye now! Keep the aspidistra flying!
