Sugar House (9780991192519)

by Scheffler, Jean

  Chapter Six

  It was a short two blocks north to the end of Bates Street to purchase the tickets for the boat. The sidewalk here was cement and easy to maneuver. They had to stay close to each other, as there were so many people walking alongside them. When they reached their destination, Matka, Joe and Frank walked to the railing by the river and looked down at the water. Matka picked up Frank and held him in her arms, as the railing provided little protection from falling over the side. The river was a swirl of blues and grays as it traveled southward toward Lake Erie in a great rush.

  A young couple standing next to them pointed across the waterway toward the land on the other side, not a mile away. "I can't believe we can see Canada from right here!" they were saying. Joe looked, too, and marveled that another country was right before his eyes, within swimming distance. He felt he could easily swim across the river and walk right up the shores of the other country. His bravado was much stronger than his ability however. He had learned to swim fairly well in the Upper Peninsula, on a small lake near his family's rental cabin. But here the river was very swift, and many men had died trying to swim across.

  The greatest feast for Joe's eyes was the large steel steamer, Columbia. She was three stories high and could carry 3,500 passengers. Joe looked at the three open-air decks teeming with people already aboard. The steamboat and her railings were painted the bright white of the wispy clouds passing above. Two ten-foot-long sunlit red flags waved cheerily in the breeze on the top deck. Her great smokestack was painted a matching red, and she shined and sparkled like freshly polished silver. Well-dressed passengers continued to cross over the small gangplank. The crowd was excited and jovial. The sun, which had risen two short hours before, reflected on the water, creating millions of tiny jumping points of light.

  Ojciec joined them with the tickets—twenty-five cents apiece for Joe's and Frank's passage and thirty-five cents each for his and Matka's. The family walked toward the line of passengers crossing the gangplank, as music drifted onto the shore. Walking onto the boat, Joe saw a sixteen-piece orchestra playing a lively rendition of "Anchors Aweigh." The musicians—dressed alike in white seersucker suits, red bowties and white straw boaters with a red ribbon to match—swayed and tapped their feet, encouraging the boarding crowd to dance along to their song.

  "Can we ride on the top deck, please?" said Joe. Ojciec nodded his approval, and Joe took off running toward the ladder in the middle of the boat. Not stopping to glance at the second deck, he arrived on the third deck, found a bench with a view of Canada and sat down. Matka found him sitting there, ferociously swinging his feet, as if the force of his small legs could encourage the captain to power up the engines for the trip down the river.

  Ojciec stood in the center of the deck talking to two men in Polish. His father seemed to have a knack for finding his countrymen wherever he went. It was his way of feeling comfortable in a new country and learning of new employment possibilities. Not that Ojciec wanted to leave Ford Motor Company. He'd never earned a higher wage and was hoping to be promoted to a safer part of the line after his year anniversary. But foremen in the plant had much control, and any worker could lose his job with no notice. Ojciec had seen several men fired for such small indiscretions as missing one bolt on a wheel well or struggling to keep up as an engine moved down the line. The foreman, not always of the highest ethics, might have had an altercation outside of work with one or perhaps feel a line man was trying to take over his own position and would dismiss the employee for the smallest infraction. So Ojciec always kept his ear to the ground to stay abreast of the goings on within the labor community.

  Joe's bench trembled beneath him, and he could hear the engines come to life as the boat began to get under way. Slowly at first, then faster, the Columbia began her journey to Boblo Island.

  "May I go look on the other side of the boat, Matka?" asked Joe. He wiggled in his seat and craned his neck at the river.

  "Be careful, and meet me at this bench when we near the island," she replied, smiling.

  Weaving his way through the long skirts of the women on board, Joe made his way across the sixty-foot-wide wooden deck to the Detroit side of the boat. Nearing the front of the boat, he grabbed a vacant spot on the railing with his small hands and stepped up on the lowest bar to increase his field of vision.

  He watched the activity on the riverbank. The sprawling Wayne Hotel grabbed his attention first. A large sign on the top floor touted that it was the newest mineral bathhouse in the city. Bright blue awnings hung above hundreds of windows, and a pavilion and large cafeteria were located directly in front of the hotel.

  A smaller ferry was pulling away from its dock and heading north on the river. Joe waved at the riders as they passed by the Columbia, and they jovially waved back.

  A man in his early twenties standing next to Joe leaned down and asked, "Ever ate at the Gardens, boy?" His thick Hungarian accent sounded similar to the Polish accents of Joe's neighborhood. Joe looked up and saw a pair of warm brown eyes looking at him. The man's light brown hair was a bit too long and hung in his eyes when he looked down at Joe, but his face was friendly.

  "No, sir. Never ate at a restaurant before."

  "No? Well, nothing so great about it, anyhow. Probably nowhere near as good as your mama's cooking. I myself haven't eaten there either. I heard it's a decent meal but a bit pricey for my taste. Friend of mine went to the bathhouse to try to cure his bad back. Aches him all the time. Well, Old Serge paid three dollars to stay there for a day and get treated with this Sulpha-Saline water that's supposed to come from a spring on the property. Said he felt better the next day but by the next week it was hurting him same as before. Maybe that's how they make their money. Keep ya coming back every week." He laughed at this and continued, "Course don't know anyone who could afford that!"

  "My mother says the best thing for a sore back is to lie on the ground outside, and when you hear the call of the whip-poor-will roll over three times," Joe replied, trying to be helpful.

  "That so?" replied the man. "I'll have to let Serge in on that one. Worth a try and a lot cheaper than the bathhouse, that's for sure. Say boy, what's your name?"

  "Joe Jopolowski," he replied, extending his hand. The man grinned and took Joe's handshake, introducing himself as Vic Starboli.

  "Ever been to Boblo, boy?"

  "No, sir. Today's my first time. Heard about it from a friend of mine though."

  "You sneak on the boat? You can let me in on it. I won't tell no one," Vic said.

  "No, sir. My father bought my ticket. How can someone sneak on a boat? There are crewmen standing at the gangplank," he answered.

  "Well, a grown man would have a hard time of it, but a small boy could hide himself in between a couple of ladies' skirts and just walk right on without being noticed."

  "But that would be stealing, Mr. Starboli!"

  "Course it wouldn't… just taking a ride on a boat that's already going somewhere." Looking at his worried expression, Vic lightly jabbed Joe in the arm and said, "Now, you forget about what I said, and don't be worrying your folks about it. I was just teasing you. Let me show you a couple of sites along the way if ya want." Changing the subject, Vic pointed to a large building with fortresses on either side. It was surrounded by several small buildings along the riverbank.

  "Now that's Fort Wayne. It's not much of a defense against enemies, but soldiers still train there. It's over seventy-five years old and never had one shot fired in anger. They built it before we started getting along with those Canucks. Drank with a couple of enlisted men one time, and they said they like being stationed there because the work's easy and the city life is the greatest when they get furloughed." Joe hadn't known there was a fort with soldiers in Detroit.

  Vic pointed at large factory after factory flanking the water front. Huge cranes and smokestacks rose above the buildings. One chimney reached up two hundred sixty feet into the sky, blocking out views beyond it. A sulfurous smell dr
ifted into the open boat, and the ladies on board covered their noses with handkerchiefs. Two boys near Joe laughed and pointed at one another, blaming one another for the smell.

  "Those factories are processing salt they pull up from under the ground. Detroit is sitting on a giant bed of salt, and it's just there for the taking. Ten thousand men work at that plant alone. But the salt mines reach outside Detroit." The boat had passed the outer limits of the city now. "That's River Rouge, and just ahead is the village of Ecorse." Joe watched the men working around the plant. Despite being Saturday, it seemed the plant was in full work mode.

  Beyond the factories a small park appeared on the river's edge, and several grand houses with large yards dotted the shoreline. Many had docks with a small motorboat or rowboat tied to the side. The Columbia floated by a large shipyard. Men were hammering and sawing wood, constructing a large ship that was almost finished.

  "Ford City," said Vic.

  "I thought Henry Ford's city was Dearborn" said Joe, referring to the small city just west of Detroit that Henry Ford had founded. Mr. Ford had built a large mansion outside of the city because his wife didn't like the noise and pollution.

  "Different Ford," replied Vic. "This one is John Ford. He manufactures glass in Pennsylvania, and he uses the salt mines here to make chemicals for the glass somehow. Well, his sons do anyway. He's dead now. I'll show you where they live; you can see their houses from the boat."

  A little further down, after passing another large hotel, Vic pointed out two mansions. One sat directly on the water, and the other could be seen behind it, facing the avenue that ran along the river. "That's how the other half lives, my boy." The three-story homes had towers and ornate balconies, and turrets. Passing in front of the second mansion, Joe could see a streetcar lumbering along the middle of the avenue headed north.

  "Does that streetcar go to Detroit from all the way down here?" he asked his companion.

  "Sure does. Actually starts out farther south than here though."

  "Where'd you learn all this?" Joe asked. The breeze from the water poured into the open side of the boat and Joe took off his cap to let the soft wind ruffle his blond hair.

  "Well, don't have much of an education. Been working in factories or such since I was your age. My pa couldn't get much work when we got here. Back then, immigrants were the last to be hired, but children were a good commodity 'cause they don't cost as much to pay. I had little fingers for jobs that were in tight places, and I learned the language quick. Worked for the Detroit Stove Works starting at age seven, putting small pieces on the stoves. My ma took in laundry and seamstress work at home, but she died a few years ago. Pop finally got a steady job with the city in the Public Works Department. Ha! Ya know what he does all day? Walks the streets with a barrel wagon and a shovel, cleaning up after the horses. But he was happy to get it. Steady pay, and he likes being outside. Says working in a factory would kill him. Doesn't smell like a garden when he gets home, but he's happy as a rose, he says."

  "I think I'd rather work outside than in a hot factory too," Joe said.

  "Not sure how much longer he can go on with that work though. Lately there are more cars than horses on the streets. Well, by the time he got steady work it was too late for me to go back to school, so I've been working ever since. I started thinking I was going to be one ignorant son of a gun on account of not having any learning, so I set out to educate myself. Learning about my surroundings was one of the first things I did. Started riding the steam boats on my days off and listening to all the folks who knew what they was talking about while I rode up and down the river. Been down as far as Toledo, Ohio, and north to St. Clair Flats. Sometimes I take the interurban to Monroe—that's about forty miles south of Detroit—and see what I can in the country down there. Talk to the farmers and the fisherman; wander about and grab a ride home before it's even dark out. Don't cost much and I like to get out of the city sometimes. Don't get me wrong. I love Detroit and there's always something going on, but a fellow likes to breathe some fresh air sometimes, hear a little nature and have a little bit of quiet."

  Joe agreed. He hadn't left the city since arriving almost a year ago and had almost forgotten about the quiet solitude that Mother Nature provided. With the Columbia leaving Detroit far behind her, Joe realized how accustomed he had become to the dirt and grime of the city. For all its glory, Detroit was a loud, steaming town with smells of burning rubber, ash, chemicals and smoke.

  "You still work at the stove factory?" Joe asked.

  "Nah, I work for Stroh's now; biggest brewery in Detroit. Pays more, and I get two free beers on my lunch breaks. I'm saving up to buy a farm outside the city. Maybe down this way."

  Looking at the blue sky, trees, green grass and animals on the river banks, Joe took a few deep breaths and filled his lungs with the fresh county air. It was cool on this side of the boat, as the sun had not reached overhead. The orchestra downstairs continued to play, but even their songs had become gentler and slower as the Columbia moved closer to their destination. The passengers relaxed as the boat moved beyond the factories and boatyards and the land became greener and the trees denser on the riverbank and westward beyond it. When they passed a final small shipyard, Joe could see a three-story hotel a block from the river.

  "That's the Grand Hotel of Trenton," Vic said, when he saw Joe eyeing the pretty structure. "Trains come up from Ohio and stop at a small depot in the city. The railroad brings hundreds to Detroit every day. Some passengers stop farther south in a town called Flat Rock, just a few miles from here. There's a unique place there called the Huron River Inn. It sits five feet from the railroad tracks. When a train roars by the barkeep rings a bell above the bar and a shot of whiskey only costs five cents. It's more tavern than inn, and I must confess I had one too many whiskey specials one night and had to rent a room for the night. Maybe that's the master plan for making a profit. The Grand Hotel however, is for a more respectable crowd from what I've heard. Not much more to see from here on out on this side, Joe. Let's walk to the other side of the boat."

  Before turning to cross the deck, Joe noticed a large area of trees and grass with several elaborate bridges elegantly crossing over canals. "Hey Vic, what's that? A park?"

  "Nope. It's owned by Elizabeth Slocum Nichols. She inherited it from her parents, and she owns the whole small island. Her father owned a couple of those shipyards we saw on the way down here. Now, come on. We are almost to Boblo and I want to show you one more thing." On the other side of the ship, Joe saw another island, but this one was a lot larger.

  "That's Grosse Ile, or Big Island in French. You can take a train from there and cross over to Canada. They built a train track on the other side of the island and it crosses over part of the river. Then you take a ferry the rest of the way. Took it myself a year or so back. Stopped and wandered about the island a little. Not much to see; only has a horse stable, a small marina and one market on the whole island; but I caught a fifteen pound large-mouth bass right there off that little dock," Vic said, pointing to a small dock reaching out into the river. Behind the dock a large home with many windows and a wide covered porch overlooked the river.

  "You know who owns that house?" asked Joe.

  "No, don't think he was home. Lotta those guys only use those homes in the summer. They got big houses in Detroit too, but when it gets too hot in the city they come and stay on the island where it's cooler. They build a big old house to stay in for the summer. Man, the good life must be really good." Vic stared at the mansions sitting on the water and became quiet for the first time that morning.

  The orchestra started playing "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," and the instruments became louder, signaling to the crowd that the ship was nearing its destination.

  "Nice to have met you, Vic. Thanks for telling me all that stuff. You sure know a lot. I gotta go find my mother and brother now, OK?" Joe put his cap back on and turned to leave.

  "Sure, kid. Have fun. I'll see you around somet
ime." Vic waved as Joe walked off to find Matka.

  He found his family sitting on the bench where he had left them.

  "Well, there you are Joe. Thought you went overboard," his father joked, patting him on the head. "Having fun? I think we're almost there."

  "I hope so," Joe replied. "I can't wait to get there! Yes, I see it, Ojciec." Joe pointed at the island, which was peppered with small buildings. "We're here!"

  Chapter Seven

  As the great steamboat rounded the south end of Grosse Ile and headed into open water, the family descended the ladder to the bottom deck. When they reached the promenade deck, Joe saw many couples dancing on the large hardwood dance floor. Men and women floated over the floor, stepping in time to a waltz as the Zickels orchestra played. All aboard were in high spirits.

  Joe observed one young couple dancing differently than the others on the floor. With their elbows bent at shoulder height, they circled each other and came together again, embracing with their arms held high. Joe pointed them out to his mother, saying the couple looked like a couple of dancing bears. A moment later, a uniformed employee approached the couple, saying they must stop the odd dance. The man who had been dancing became upset, and his voice grew louder, allowing Joe to overhear the conversation.

  "We paid our money same as everyone else!"

  "Company policy. No ragtime dancing on the boat or on the island," replied the ship's officer.

  "It's just a dance. We're not hurting no one. We have the right to dance how we want!"

  "Sir, stay calm. No one wants any trouble. Just dance a nice waltz with your pretty lady, and have a nice time."

  His female companion grabbed the man's hand and pulled him to the back of the boat to try to calm him down and avoid further confrontation.