But this comment on local life here and now, these trenchant5 bits on local street scenes, institutions, characters, functions, all moved me as nothing hitherto had. To me Chicago at this time seethed6 with a peculiarly human or realistic atmosphere. It is given to some cities, as to some lands, to suggest romance, and to me Chicago did that hourly. It sang, I thought, and in spite of what I deemed my various troubles—small enough as I now see them—I was singing with it. These seemingly drear neighborhoods through which I walked each day, doing collecting for an easy-payment furniture company, these ponderous7 regions of large homes where new-wealthy packers and manufacturers dwelt, these curiously8 foreign neighborhoods of almost all nationalities; and, lastly, that great downtown area, surrounded on two sides by the river, on the east by the lake, and on the south by railroad yards and stations, the whole set with these new tall buildings, the wonder of the western world, fascinated me. Chicago was so young, so blithe9, so new, I thought. Florence in its best days must have been something like this to young Florentines, or Venice to the young Venetians.
Here was a city which had no traditions but was making them, and this was the very thing that every one seemed to understand and rejoice in. Chicago was like no other city in the world, so said they all. Chicago would outstrip10 every other American city, New York included, and become the first of all American, if not European or world, cities.... This dream many hundreds of thousands of its citizens held dear. Chicago would be first in wealth, first in beauty, first in art achievement. A great World’s Fair was even then being planned that would bring people from all over the world. The Auditorium11, the new Great Northern Hotel, the amazing (for its day) Masonic Temple twenty-two stories high, a score of public institutions, depots12, theaters and the like, were being constructed. It is something wonderful to witness a world metropolis13 springing up under one’s very eyes, and this is what was happening here before me.
Nosing about the city in an inquiring way and dreaming half-formed dreams of one and another thing I would like to do, it finally came to me, dimly, like a bean that strains at its enveloping14 shell, that I would like to write of these things. It would be interesting, so I thought, to describe a place like Goose Island in the Chicago River, a mucky and neglected realm then covered with shanties15 made of upturned boats sawed in two, and yet which seemed to me the height of the picturesque16; also a building like the Auditorium or the Masonic Temple, that vast wall of masonry17 twenty-two stories high and at that time actually the largest building in the world; or a seething18 pit like that of the Board of Trade, which I had once visited and which astonished and fascinated me as much as anything ever had. That roaring, yelling, screaming whirlpool of life! And then the lake, with its pure white sails and its blue water; the Chicago River, with its black, oily water, its tall grain elevators and black coal pockets; the great railroad yards, covering miles and miles of space with their cars.
How wonderful it all was! As I walked from place to place collecting I began betimes to improvise19 rhythmic20, vaguely formulated21 word-pictures or rhapsodies anent these same and many other things—free verse, I suppose we should call it now—which concerned everything and nothing but somehow expressed the seething poetry of my soul and this thing to me. Indeed I was crazy with life, a little demented or frenzied22 with romance and hope. I wanted to sing, to dance, to eat, to love. My word-dreams and maunderings concerned my day, my age, poverty, hope, beauty, which I mouthed to myself, chanting aloud at times. Sometimes, because on a number of occasions I had heard the Reverend Frank W. Gunsaulus and his like spout23 rocket-like sputterings on the subjects of life and religion, I would orate, pleading great causes as I went. I imagined myself a great orator24 with thousands of people before me, my gestures and enunciation25 and thought perfect, poetic26, and all my hearers moved to tears or demonstrations27 of wild delight.
After a time I ventured to commit some of these things to paper, scarcely knowing what they were, and in a fever for self-advancement I bundled them up and sent them to Eugene Field. In his column and elsewhere I had read about geniuses being occasionally discovered by some chance composition or work noted28 by one in authority. I waited for a time, with great interest but no vast depression, to see what my fate would be. But no word came and in time I realized that they must have been very bad and had been dropped into the nearest waste basket. But this did not give me pause nor grieve me. I seethed to express myself. I bubbled. I dreamed. And I had a singing feeling, now that I had done this much, that some day I should really write and be very famous into the bargain.
But how? How? My feeling was that I ought to get into newspaper work, and yet this feeling was so nebulous that I thought it would never come to pass. I saw mention in the papers of reporters calling to find out this, or being sent to do that, and so the idea of becoming a reporter gradually formulated itself in my mind, though how I was to get such a place I had not the slightest idea. Perhaps reporters had to have a special training of some kind; maybe they had to begin as clerks behind a counter, and this made me very somber29, for those glowing business offices always seemed so far removed from anything to which I could aspire30. Most of them were ornate, floreate, with onyx or chalcedony wall trimmings, flambeaux of bronze or copper31 on the walls, imitation mother-of-pearl lights in the ceilings—in short, all the gorgeousness of a sultan’s court brought to the outer counter where people subscribed32 or paid for ads. Because the newspapers were always dealing33 with signs and wonders, great functions, great commercial schemes, great tragedies and pleasures, I began to conceive of them as wonderlands in which all concerned were prosperous and happy. I painted reporters and newspaper men generally as receiving fabulous34 salaries, being sent on the most urgent and interesting missions. I think I confused, inextricably, reporters with ambassadors and prominent men generally. Their lives were laid among great people, the rich, the famous, the powerful; and because of their position and facility of expression and mental force they were received everywhere as equals. Think of me, new, young, poor, being received in that way!
Imagine then my intense delight one day, when, scanning the “Help Wanted: Male” columns of the Chicago Herald35, I encountered an advertisement which ran (in substance):
Wanted: A number of bright young men to assist in the business department during the Christmas holidays. Promotion36 possible. Apply to Business Manager between 9 and 10 a.m.
“Here,” I thought as I read it, “is just the thing I am looking for. Here is this great paper, one of the most prosperous in Chicago, and here is an opening for me. If I can only get this my fortune is made. I shall rise rapidly.” I conceived of myself as being sent off the same day, as it were, on some brilliant mission and returning, somehow, covered with glory.
I hurried to the office of the Herald, in Washington Street near Fifth Avenue, this same morning, and asked to see the business manager. After a short wait I was permitted to enter the sanctuary37 of this great person, who to me, because of the material splendor38 of the front office, seemed to be the equal of a millionaire at least. He was tall, graceful39, dark, his full black whiskers parted aristocratically in the middle of his chin, his eyes vague pools of subtlety40. “See what a wonderful thing it is to be connected with the newspaper business!” I told myself.
“I saw your ad in this morning’s paper,” I said hopefully.
“Yes, I did want a half dozen young men,” he replied, beaming upon me reassuringly41, “but I think I have nearly enough. Most of the young men that come here seem to think they are to be connected with the Herald direct, but the fact is we want them only for clerks in our free Christmas gift bureau. They have to judge whether or not the applicants43 are impostors and keep people from imposing44 on the paper. The work will only be for a week or ten days, but you will probably earn ten or twelve dollars in that time——” My heart sank. “After the first of the year, if you take it, you may come around to see me. I may have something for you.”
When he spoke45 of the free Christmas gift bureau I vaguely understood what he meant. For weeks past, the Herald had been conducting a campaign for gifts for the poorest children of the city. It had been importuning46 the rich and the moderately comfortable to give, through the medium of its scheme, which was a bureau for the free distribution of all such things as could be gathered via cash or direct donation of supplies: toys, clothing, even food, for children.
“But I wanted to become a reporter if I could,” I suggested.
“Well,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “this is as good a way as any other. When this is over I may be able to introduce you to our city editor.” The title, “city editor,” mystified and intrigued47 me. It sounded so big and significant.
This offer was far from what I anticipated, but I took it joyfully48. Thus to step from one job to another, however brief, and one with such prospects49, seemed the greatest luck in the world. For by now I was nearly hypochondriacal on the subjects of poverty, loneliness, the want of the creature comforts and pleasures of life. The mere50 thought of having enough to eat and to wear and to do had something of paradise about it. Some previous long and fruitless searches for work had marked me with a horror of being without it.
I bustled51 about to the Herald’s Christmas Annex52, as it was called, a building standing53 in Fifth Avenue between Madison and Monroe, and reported to a brisk underling in charge of the doling54 out of these pittances55 to the poor. Without a word he put me behind the single long counter which ran across the front of the room and over which were handled all those toys and Christmas pleasure pieces which a loud tomtoming concerning the dire42 need of the poor and the proper Christmas spirit had produced.
Life certainly offers some amusing paradoxes56 at times, and that with that gay insouciance57 which life alone can muster58 and achieve when it is at its worst anachronistically. Here was I, a victim of what Socialists59 would look upon as wage slavery and economic robbery, quite as worthy60, I am sure, of gifts as any other, and yet lined up with fifteen or twenty other economic victims, ragamuffin souls like myself, all out of jobs, many of them out at elbows, and all of them doling out gifts from eight-thirty in the morning until eleven and twelve at night to people no worse off than themselves.
I wish you might have seen this chamber61 as I saw it for eight or nine days just preceding and including Christmas day itself. (Yes; we worked from eight a.m. to five-thirty p.m. on Christmas day, and very glad to get the money, thank you.) There poured in here from the day the bureau opened, which was the morning I called, and until it closed Christmas night, as diverse an assortment62 of alleged63 poverty-stricken souls as one would want to see. I do not say that many of them were not deserving; I am willing to believe that most of them were; but, deserving or no, they were still worthy of all they received here. Indeed when I think of the many who came miles, carrying slips of paper on which had been listed, as per the advice of this paper, all they wished Santa Claus to bring them or their children, and then recall that, for all their pains in having their minister or doctor or the Herald itself visé their request, they received only a fraction of what they sought, I am inclined to think that all were even more deserving than their reward indicated.
For the whole scheme, as I soon found in talking with others and seeing for myself how it worked, was most loosely managed. Endless varieties of toys and comforts had been talked about in the paper, but only a few of the things promised, or vaguely indicated, were here to give—for the very good reason that no one would give them for nothing to the Herald. Nor had any sensible plan been devised for checking up either the gifts given or the persons who had received them, and so the same person, as some of these recipients64 soon discovered, could come over and over, bearing different lists of toys, and get them, or at least a part of them, until some clerk with a better eye for faces than another would chance to recognize the offender65 and point him or her out. Jews, the fox-like Slavic type of course, and the poor Irish, were the worst offenders66 in this respect. The Herald was supposed to have kept all applications written by children to Santa Claus, but it had not done so, and so hundreds claimed that they had written letters and received no answer. At the end of the second or third day before Christmas it was found necessary, because of the confusion and uncertainty67, to throw the doors wide open and give to all and sundry68 who looked worthy of whatever was left or “handy,” we, the ragamuffin clerks, being the judges.
And now the clerks themselves, seeing that no records were kept and how without plan the whole thing was, notified poor relatives and friends, and these descended69 upon us with baskets, expecting candy, turkeys, suits of clothing and the like, but receiving instead only toy wagons70, toy stoves, baby brooms, Noah’s Arks, story books—the shabbiest mess of cheap things one could imagine. For the newspaper, true to that canon of commerce which demands the most for the least, the greatest show for the least money, had gathered all the odds71 and ends and left-overs of toy bargain sales and had dumped them into the large lofts72 above, to be doled73 out as best we could. We could not give a much-desired article to any one person because, supposing it were there, which was rarely the case, we could not get at it or find it; yet later another person might apply and receive the very thing the other had wanted.
And we clerks, going out to lunch or dinner (save the mark!), would seek some scrubby little restaurant and eat ham and beans, or crullers and coffee, or some other tasteless dish, at ten or fifteen cents per head. Hard luck stories, comments on what a botch the Herald gift bureau was, on the strange characters that showed up—the hooded74 Niobes and dusty Priams, with eyes too sunken and too dry for tears—were the order of the day. Here I met a young newspaper man, gloomy, out at elbows, who told me what a wretched, pathetic struggle the newspaper world presented, but I did not believe him although he had worked in Chicago, Denver, St. Paul.
“A poor failure,” I thought, “some one who can’t write and who now whines75 and wastes his substance in riotous76 living when he has it!”
So much for the sympathy of the poor for the poor.
But the Herald was doing very well. Daily it was filling its pages with the splendid results of its charity, the poor relieved, the darkling homes restored to gayety and bliss77.... Can you beat it? But it was good advertising78, and that was all the Herald wanted.
Hey, Rub-a-dub! Hey, Rub-a-dub-dub!
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1
formulating
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| v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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aphorisms
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| 格言，警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
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trenchant
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| adj.尖刻的，清晰的 | |
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seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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outstrip
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| v.超过，跑过 | |
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auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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depots
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| 仓库( depot的名词复数 )； 火车站； 车库； 军需库 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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improvise
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| v.即兴创作；临时准备，临时凑成 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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45
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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46
importuning
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的现在分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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47
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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50
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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51
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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annex
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| vt.兼并，吞并；n.附属建筑物 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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54
doling
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| 救济物( dole的现在分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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pittances
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| n.少量( pittance的名词复数 )；少许；微薄的工资；少量的收入 | |
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paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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60
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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recipients
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| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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67
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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69
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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70
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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71
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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72
lofts
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| 阁楼( loft的名词复数 )； （由工厂等改建的）套房； 上层楼面； 房间的越层 | |
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73
doled
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| 救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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74
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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75
whines
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| n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 )；哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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76
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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77
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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78
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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