by Lois Lenski
School was out and Mei Gwen had stopped at the schoolyard, but Frankie and Freddie were not there. Where had they gone? She ran up the steps of the apartment house. She opened the door with her key, but there was no one there. All the rooms were silent and empty. The little boys were not there and it worried her. She decided they must have gone with Felix on his paper route. Snapping the lock behind her, Mei Gwen ran down the stairs.
The girl on the second floor tried to stop her, asking, “Where are you going?” but she did not answer. She would go to the jeans factory without her brothers. They did not like it there anyhow. She ran down the Washington Street hill and crossed over Grant to Clay. It did not take long to get to Commercial Street, even though she stopped at all the red lights.
Commercial Street was not much wider than an alley, but cars came through just the same. Mei Gwen felt very much at home there. Some of the buildings had seen better days, but now were shabby and used for factories. At the lower end of the street were the well-kept offices of a label company, a printing company and a bank. Mei Gwen had made friends in all these places.
A truck was standing in front of Aunty Rose’s jeans factory. The truck man had unloaded several large boxes containing blue denim cloth for making jeans and overalls. Opening a cellar door in the sidewalk, he slid the boxes down to the basement.
Mei Gwen hurried in at the front entrance. She blinked. The bright sun outside had blinded her, and the interior was very dark. The whirr of thirty-six power sewing machines and the talk and laughter of many workers made the factory a noisy place. The large room was divided by a partition. On one side the workers were mostly women, some dressed in colorful Chinese costumes, others in American dress. They started the jeans by sewing up the long side seams. On the other side of the partition, men workers sewed on pockets, belts and did the finishing details.
Aunty Rose, with a pencil behind one ear, came up holding a pile of order blanks in her hand. She was short, plump and businesslike. She ran the business, for she had a public school education, while Uncle Leon could neither read nor write, as he had had no opportunity to go to school.
“Where’s Mother?” asked Mei Gwen.
Aunty Rose pointed to the back of the room. “The women want you to go to the Café and get them some coffee,” she said.
Mei Gwen squeezed through the narrow aisle between the two rows of sewing machines and went to the back of the room. There, in the darkest corner, sat Mother hard at work. She looked very small and thin, sitting before the huge sewing machine, with its shaded light throwing dark shadows across her face. Great piles of blue denim, cut into patterns, both sewed and unsewed, lay in heaps on the floor around her. This part of the room was airless, smelling of dust and lint.
“Mother!” shouted Mei Gwen.
The clatter and vibration of the roaring motors kept Mother from hearing. When she saw the girl standing there, she stopped her machine and said, “Will you go get our coffee?”
The woman at the next machine spoke up. “We want four coffees and one French toast.” Several women handed the girl nickels and dimes.
“Mother,” Mei Gwen began, “I couldn’t find Frankie and Freddie. They were not at the schoolyard, and I stopped at the apartment and they were not there. They have run away again.”
“If you see Felix,” said Mother, “tell him to look for them.”
“But Mother, Felix has gone on his paper route,” said Mei Gwen.
“Tell him to let Roger deliver papers today,” said Mother. “Tell him to look for his younger brothers. I don’t want them to get lost. Felix should be responsible.”
“But I won’t see Felix, Mother,” said Mei Gwen. “He never comes down on this street.”
“Well—go get our coffee,” said Mother. Then she added, “Look over there and see if Susie is still sleeping. If she’s awake, take her down to the corner with you.”
A door opened into a small dark room. In it there was a table, a wall sink with a water tap, and a hot plate. In the corner was a rest room with women’s coats and sweaters hanging on coat hangers. Men’s hats and coats hung from hooks on the side wall. On the floor, beside Aunty Rose’s roll-top desk, stood a baby’s playpen with a blanket draped over the sides. Inside the pen lay Susie fast asleep. Her chubby face looked flushed and she moved restlessly.
Aunty Rose was sitting at her desk. She always had business matters to take care of.
“How can Susie sleep with all this racket going on?” asked Mei Gwen.
“She has the habit,” said Aunty Rose briefly. “Now run out to the Café and hurry back. Uncle Leon wants you to do some stapling in the basement.”
Mei Gwen picked up a white enamel coffee pot from the table. She made her way past the men’s machines to the front. Just inside the door, the factory children were playing. Cousin Paul, Aunty Rose’s boy, and James Gee were wrestling, tumbling over each other on top of a pile of cardboard cartons. A red hobbyhorse made a squeaking noise as little Lily Gee bounced up and down. Other small children were playing hide-and-seek among the piles of blue denim and cut-out jeans. Little Tom Chew was chasing a meowing cat.
“Take those kids outside with you, Mei Gwen,” called Mrs. Gee, the mother of James and Lily, from the other side.
Mei Gwen looked at Uncle Leon. “I can’t hurry if I take them,” she said. “Are they all right here?”
Uncle Leon nodded. “It’s O. K. as long as they stay away from the machines.” He smiled. “They’ve got plenty places to hide in here, anyhow. You want to staple on some labels?”
“I sure do,” said Mei Gwen, “just as soon as I get back.”
She hurried out the door and down the street. Soon she saw a girl of her own age coming toward her. She knew who it was—Jessie Chong. She had fuzzy hair, the end of an old permanent. Jessie lived across the street from the factory. Her mother sewed for Aunty Rose, too, so Jessie was always in and out. She and all her small brothers and sisters acted as if they owned the place. One brother, Jimmy, was the meanest boy on block. He was always hitting the little children.
Mei Gwen looked at Jessie. The first thing she saw was a pile of paper tablets in Jessie’s hands. Here were six or eight of them. Mei Gwen did not need to be told where they came from. There was only one place—the Henderson Paper Company right down the street.
“Where did you get those tablets?” asked Mei Gwen.
Jessie tossed her head. “Oh, Mr. Pete Henderson gave them to me.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Mei Gwen. “Mr. Pete gives paper only to me and to my younger brothers. Mr. Pete told me I could have all the paper I want. He told me I could take paper to my best friends or my cousins, but I was not to give it to strangers or enemies or people I don’t know too well. He told me one day at lunchtime long ago, when I went to get sandwiches for my Aunty.”
But Jessie Chong was very sure of herself. She smiled.
“Mr. Pete Henderson is a friend of mine too,” she said. “He likes me and gives me all the paper I want. He told me to come back again whenever I want some more. He gave me enough for all my brothers and sisters.”
Mei Gwen’s face clouded. “I don’t believe you,” she said. She paused, then she added slowly and deliberately, “You stole it! He never gave it to you at all!”
Jessie Chong grew angry. She set her lips and said, “You better not say that again, Mei Gwen Fong, or I’ll beat you up!”
Mei Gwen ran off down the street, holding fast to her coffeepot. Her confidence was shattered. Had Mr. Pete really gone back on her? Mei Gwen loved her street, every inch of it. She was as much at home here in the city as Felix had been in Alameda. She knew the people who lived and worked behind every door and window. She knew and liked them all. They were not all Chinese, like up on Grant Avenue or Stockton Street. Most of them were Americans, and they treated her as if she were not Chinese at all. She was very proud of her American friends, for she felt sure they loved her.
As she passed the McClain Label Company, s
he looked in through the open door and saw her friend Edith. Edith was packing small boxes of labels into a large carton. Edith was tall and beautiful, with blue eyes and red hair. Edith always gave Mei Gwen scraps of silver and gold paper left over from the beautiful labels printed by the label company machines. Just to make sure that Edith was still her friend, Mei Gwen walked in.
“You still like me, don’t you?” asked Mei Gwen.
“Why, of course,” said Edith. “You’ve been my friend ever since you moved to San Francisco.”
“Do you like me better than anybody else on Commercial Street?” asked Mei Gwen.
Edith thought for a minute, then she said, “I think I do.” She began to look behind a counter. “Would you like …”
“Oh no,” said Mei Gwen. “Please don’t give me anything. I don’t ever ask you to give me gold stars and things like that, do I?”
“Why no,” said Edith. “I don’t think you do.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Mei Gwen. She slipped out the door.
Her next stop was at the Henderson Paper Company. The paper company occupied the second floor over Harry’s Café. Harry’s Café had its entrance on Montgomery Street, but the entrance to the paper company was on Commercial. Mei Gwen had never gone up the long flight of stairs. All her dealings with Mr. Pete and Mr. John had been through their open windows.
Once long ago, when the Fongs had first moved to the city, Mei Gwen and Frankie walked down the street, lonely and sad. That day Mei Gwen saw two men upstairs at the window cutting paper with a big knife blade that went up and down like a chopper. One of the men called out to her, “You want some paper, little girl?” and Mei Gwen said, “Yes, please.” They threw down some loose sheets, and she and Frankie gathered them up and took them home.
One day after that, she met the same two men in the street. They were starting to go up the stairs to the paper company. Mei Gwen spoke to them. “Are you the two gentlemans that gave me the paper?” she asked, and they said, “Yes, we are.” “I just want to thank you for it,” she said. She asked them their names and they told her. That was how she knew they were Mr. Pete and Mr. John.
They were the very first American friends Mei Gwen had found in the big city. They had been her friends ever since. They had given her plenty of paper—small pieces and large pieces, big pads and little pads. Every day they gave her something because they liked her. When she was baby-sitting with the factory children, she sometimes used the paper for playing school. Or, the children took pretend-rides on the cable car, and she used the paper for tickets. Mei Gwen took some of the tablets to public school. She had never run out of paper, and had never had to buy any since she had come to the city.
Now, the windows of the paper company were open, as usual.
“Hi, Mr. Pete! Hi, Mr. John!” called Mei Gwen at the top of her voice.
No one could be seen at the windows. The printing machine was making loud bangs, so she knew they were busy printing something—maybe a sign, Apartment to Rent, or something like that. She waited until the banging stopped and then she called again. At last Mr. John came to the window.
“No paper today,” he called out. “Go away and don’t bother us.”
“Did you give any paper to Jessie Chong?” shouted Mei Gwen. “She wears a green sweater and has a fuzzy permanent. She’s not pretty and wears glasses.”
“Go away and don’t bother us, I said,” repeated Mr. John. He disappeared from the window.
“One thing I want to know,” cried Mei Gwen loudly. “Did you give her some paper, or did she steal it?”
No answer came. The printing machine began to bang again. Mei Gwen went inside the door of the vestibule. She looked up the long flight of stairs. She wished she had courage enough to go up and find out the truth. But up at the top, she could see that the glass-fronted door with the words Henderson Paper Company on it was shut tight. She knew she would be too scared to open it. She called up to the window a few more times in vain.
Discouraged, she walked slowly on to Harry’s Café. The women at the factory would be wanting their coffee. Maybe Jessie Chong was right. Maybe Mr. John had given the tablets to Jessie, and that’s why he had none left over to give to Mei Gwen. Mei Gwen felt very sad.
As soon as she went inside the Café, she felt better for she knew she was among friends again. Mr. Harry was always nice to her and she adored his waitresses. There were three, Dorothy and Tootsie and a new one. Mei Gwen liked Tootsie the best. Tootsie gave her a paint set last year for Christmas and Mr. Harry gave her a plastic doll for her birthday, a doll that opened and shut its eyes.
The waitresses were busy serving office people sitting on stools at the large circular counter. Mr. Harry was cashier, but he stopped work and took Mei Gwen’s coffeepot and shouted her order to the kitchen at the back, “Four coffees and one French toast to go.” Soon he came forward with the pot full of coffee and a paper sack in his hands.
Mei Gwen studied the new waitress. She had bunchy black hair in loose curls on her shoulders. She had white ivory-ball earrings bobbing in her ears. Her eyebrows were thin, sharp black lines, and her lips were painted red with lipstick.
“Gee! I don’t like her,” Mei Gwen whispered to Tootsie, who had blue eyes and bleached blonde hair. “She looks like some kind of a bird to me. What’s her name?”
“Beverly,” said Tootsie. “She used to be an actress.”
“Whew!” said Mei Gwen. “In the movies? Maybe I’ll like her after all.”
“Here’s an orange for you,” said Tootsie, slipping it into the girl’s pocket. “Now see that you don’t spill that hot coffee and scald yourself.”
Mei Gwen paid Mr. Harry the money in her hand and picked up the pot.
Mr. Harry smiled and said, “Mei Gwen knows how to carry it. She has learned to stuff the spout with a paper napkin to keep it from spilling. She holds the pot with napkins so she won’t burn her hand.”
A man held the door open and Mei Gwen walked out. She went past the doors of the paper company and the label company without stopping. When she reached the factory, the little children were playing on the sidewalk by the door. They danced around Mei Gwen and began teasing her.
“Tell us a story! Tell us about the polar bear!” cried Cousin Jean. “Take us for a walk,” begged James and Lily Gee. “Let’s play marching!” said Larry. “No, I want to sing Mulberry Bush,” cried little Dorinda, jumping up and down.
It made Mei Gwen happy to see how much the little children liked her. It was fun to be a baby sitter. She never ran out of ideas and the little ones always minded her. She happened to look up, and there across the street, standing at the second story apartment house window, she saw Jessie Chong as big as life. Jessie had a large tablet in one hand and a big red pencil in the other. She was busy writing on the tablet. She held it up so Mei Gwen could be sure to see.
Mei Gwen turned quickly and went in. “Get away,” she said to the little ones, “before I spill hot coffee on you.”
Back in the rear of the factory, the women who had ordered coffee stopped work and drank. All the work was piecework, each worker being paid for the number of pieces sewed, so they could stop whenever they wished. Only Aunty Rose was cross.
“Why did you stay so long?” she asked. “Uncle Leon is tired of waiting for you. You are big enough to do a little work and not play all day long.”
The little ones tried to get Mei Gwen to come and play with them, but Aunty Rose shooed them out on the sidewalk.
“Don’t go on the street, or the trucks will run over you,” called Aunty Rose. “Don’t run away or the policemens will catch you.”
Mei Gwen went down to the basement.
The cutting and finishing of the jeans was done in the basement. On one side were two cutting tables half a block long. Uncle Leon and a man helper were busy cutting. The electric cutting machines followed stencil patterns marked on the cloth. They cut through six or seven dozen thicknesses of blue denim in one
operation—a pile five inches thick. Enough pieces had already been cut to keep the workers busy sewing through the coming week.
In the other half of the basement, hundreds of piles of jeans and overalls lay on floor and tables. Two young women were working at pressing machines, which pressed pocket pieces and turned the edges under. The other workers were Chinese grandmothers, little old wrinkled women dressed in long straight black Chinese gowns, with their hair knotted in little buns on their necks. One of them was Grandmother Yee. Mei Gwen found a place beside her and picked up scissors and stapler.
“Now I have a helper,” said Grandmother with a smile. “These are the cowboy labels for this stack. Cut the threads off and staple the labels on. I’ll fold them and put them in bundles of twelve.”
“Just think, Grandmother,” said Mei Gwen, “real cowboys will be wearing these jeans while they ride and jump around on their horses. I saw them in the movies and their jeans looked just like these.” She picked them up and snipped off loose threads, then stapled a label on one pocket of each pair.
“So I see,” said Grandmother, studying the picture of a bucking bronco on the colorful label.
“And boys and girls all over the United States will be wearing them too—these small sizes,” Mei Gwen went on. “Uncle Leon says all the small sizes are worn by boys and girls. It doesn’t matter if they are rich or poor, or live in the country or the city. It is the style now for everybody to wear blue jeans!”
Grandmother shook her head. It was hard for her to get used to the strange ways of a new country.
When Uncle Leon finished his cutting job, he came over to the bundle table. As the old women bundled the jeans, he sent the bundles up to the first floor on a moving belt. Uncle Leon was very proud of the moving belt. It had cost him four hundred dollars and he liked to brag about it. “Boy!” he said, “am I glad I bought that! My back doesn’t ache any more now. When I used to carry all those bundles up the stairs, it was hard on my back and my legs too.”