help search the South Street docks. We hadn’t gone three blocks before we ran into them. They had the hearse backed up to the river, right beside the Porto Rico Line dock, and they were heaving the bundles of
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es in the water.”
“That was the right place for them,” said Mr. Flood.
At this moment, Mr. Trein, the manager of the Hartford, began to shout up the stairwell. “Is Mr. T.F. Bethea up there?” he shouted.
Mr. Bethea went to the door. “That’s me,” he said.
“You’re wanted on the telephone,” said Mr. Trein.
“I’ll be right down,” said Mr. Bethea. Then he turned to Mr. Cusack. “Please go right ahead, Mr. Cusack,” he said. “They’ll hold on.”
“I jumped off the running board of the radio car,” continued Mr. Cusack, “and began to interrogate the lads. ‘What are you lads doing?’ I asked. One of them, the littlest, heaved another bundle in the drink, and he said to me, ‘We’re having some fun. What’s it to you?’ I asked them didn’t they like newspapers, and they said they liked them all right. So I asked them what in hell was they heaving them bundles in the water for. They said they be damned if they knew. I asked was they drunk, and they said they wasn’t. Maybe a beer or two. I asked was they narcotic addicts, and they said they wasn’t. So I turned to the driver-officer, and I said, ‘It looks to me they’re Reds, or I.W.W.s, or Black Hands. All those radicals,’ I said, ‘are opposed to newspapers, the free press, and all like that.’ And the driver-officer said to me, ‘You sure are a thick one.’ He jerked his thumb upwards, and I looked up andthere was a full moon up there. It was as round as a basketball, and it was so full it was brimming over. It was very embarrassing. I just wasn’t thinking. I should’ve known all along that those lads were full-mooners.”
—(1945)
Joseph Mitchell (July 27, 1908 - May 24, 1996)
Photograph by James Hamilton
Daily News
es in the water.”
“That was the right place for them,” said Mr. Flood.
At this moment, Mr. Trein, the manager of the Hartford, began to shout up the stairwell. “Is Mr. T.F. Bethea up there?” he shouted.
Mr. Bethea went to the door. “That’s me,” he said.
“You’re wanted on the telephone,” said Mr. Trein.
“I’ll be right down,” said Mr. Bethea. Then he turned to Mr. Cusack. “Please go right ahead, Mr. Cusack,” he said. “They’ll hold on.”
“I jumped off the running board of the radio car,” continued Mr. Cusack, “and began to interrogate the lads. ‘What are you lads doing?’ I asked. One of them, the littlest, heaved another bundle in the drink, and he said to me, ‘We’re having some fun. What’s it to you?’ I asked them didn’t they like newspapers, and they said they liked them all right. So I asked them what in hell was they heaving them bundles in the water for. They said they be damned if they knew. I asked was they drunk, and they said they wasn’t. Maybe a beer or two. I asked was they narcotic addicts, and they said they wasn’t. So I turned to the driver-officer, and I said, ‘It looks to me they’re Reds, or I.W.W.s, or Black Hands. All those radicals,’ I said, ‘are opposed to newspapers, the free press, and all like that.’ And the driver-officer said to me, ‘You sure are a thick one.’ He jerked his thumb upwards, and I looked up andthere was a full moon up there. It was as round as a basketball, and it was so full it was brimming over. It was very embarrassing. I just wasn’t thinking. I should’ve known all along that those lads were full-mooners.”
—(1945)
Joseph Mitchell (July 27, 1908 - May 24, 1996)
Photograph by James Hamilton
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