Sugar House (9780991192519) (25 page)

Most of the time he was hungry, but there was
no use in complaining. Many children were hungry and poor. The
Spanish Flu targeted young adults in their prime, and many families
lost the men who provided for them during the war. Piles of
furniture and clothes thrown into alleys were a common sight as
landlords evicted immigrant family after family. Joe was thankful
they had enough to pay the rent but feared for the future. A dark
cloud seemed to hang over the city, and the poor were becoming more
and more desperate.

Every day the newspapers were filled with
stories of theft, burglary, and hangings. A man living a few blocks
from the Jopolowski's who had been out of work went missing for
several days and was found hanging from the clothesline in his
backyard. Another story reported that a man who lost his wife
during the flu outbreak was forced to leave his three children
alone in their eighth story apartment while he was at work. His
three-year-old daughter had been watching a puppy play in the
street and had fallen out the window to her death. Reading the
daily accounts of the destitute, hopeless, and starving only
motivated Joe to work harder to help support his mother and
brothers.

Joe was sitting on a bench in the park near
his house racking his brain, trying to think of a way to bring home
some meat for supper when a well-dressed man sat down next to him.
Joe turned and instantly recognized the man. The hair on the back
of his neck stood up. It was "Let's make them run home in their
underwear" Ray from that long ago Halloween night. Joe had tried to
steer clear of the Jewish neighborhood since that night, but the
Bernstein brothers and their juvenile street gang were infamous
throughout the north side of Detroit. Their gang looted boxcars,
pick pocketed, shoplifted, extorted, gambled, rumbled with other
gangs, and engaged in any other illegal or violent behavior
imaginable. Joe had seen Ray a few times around the city, but he'd
always pulled his cap down or ducked into the nearest store to
avoid him.

Joe would have stood up and run away, but he
didn't want to leave his wagon. And he was pretty sure Ray wouldn't
pummel him in the middle of a park.

Ray looked off across the grass to a pair of
swings that two little girls where playing on. "I been looking for
you, Joe. I heard you've been making the rounds doing errands for
old ladies, and I thought you might be interested in making some
extra cash. Me and my brothers got a stake in a wholesale sugar
business and we could use someone to do some errands for us."

"Why me?" Joe asked.

"We need a boy 'cause no one pays no
attention to kids," Ray said. "We've been watching you for a little
while. You're a hard worker, and we know your family's going thru a
hard time. Your dad died in the war, right?" Joe nodded and looked
down at his shoes. "So we figured you could use some dough.
Everyone around here is used to seeing you pull that wagon around,
so no one's gonna think any different if you do some errands for
us. Plus my brother Abe remembered you from that Halloween night.
He said you were a pretty smart kid to keep us from pummeling you,
so you might be the one for the job."

Joe already knew the Bernstein brothers had a
part in a wholesale sugar company that dealt in brewing products.
Under the Prohibition law, home brewing of liquor and beer was
allowed for personal consumption and the Oakland Sugar House was a
legitimate business that furnished corn sugar to home brewers.
However, Joe also knew that the Oakland Sugar House illegally
distributed the sugar to larger-scale operations. He was not
singular in having this information. Practically anyone who lived
in the area knew it, even the cops. He was also aware that the men
who ran the Sugar House were mean, ruthless, and the source of
perpetrators of kidnappings and murders.

"What kind of errands?" was all Joe asked.
Whatever answer Ray gave, he felt his fate was already mapped out.
Ray looked at Joe with his wide set eyes, and when he smiled Joe
noted a couple broken teeth. Never backing down from a fight had
not improved Ray's dental work, but his handsome baby face combined
with a strange charisma, magnetism, and violent temper had
convinced many a man to consent to the gang's extortion
tactics.

"Oh, just grabbing some lunch for the guys or
picking up an envelope or delivering a package in your wagon…
nothing too heavy or anything. Pays thirty bucks a week to start.
You're still in school, right?" Joe nodded. "Well, we'll need you
during the day so I guess you'll have to figure that out. I was
never much for schooling. Got sent to that Old Bishop School where
they send delinquents."

Ray Bernstein's eyes never stopped moving as
he spoke to Joe. Ray would look him in the eye for a mere second
and then glance to the left or behind him as he spoke. Joe didn't
trust Ray and was frightened of the brutal reputation he and his
brothers had. But he knew one other thing. He'd seen the money that
had started to flow through Detroit within days of Michigan's new
Dry Law, and getting in on the ground floor was his family's only
chance at a decent life. Joe made up his mind right there on that
park bench.

"You've got yourself an errand boy, Mr.
Bernstein," he said. Joe stuck out his hand.

"Mr. Bernstein," Ray laughed as he walked
away, shaking his head.

Matka was distraught when Joe sat down with
her in the kitchen and told her he was quitting school. But her
spirit had weakened over the last eighteen months, and she conceded
when he told her how much money he'd be bringing home. Frank had
started school that fall. This was another financial hardship, as
St. Josaphat could not sponsor two boys' tuition. Frank could take
over Joe's scholarship, resulting in one less bill for the family.
Matka had quit her job at the cigar factory to stay home with
Stephan. She took in sewing, and with Joe's contribution the family
would be making more than Ojciec had at the Ford factory.

A lot of Joe's time working for the Sugar
House was just spent sitting around and waiting. He arrived in the
mornings at eight and made coffee and ran over to the bakery for
pastries or donuts and then waited for the men to arrive, usually
around nine. To his surprise, Ray wasn't usually around; apparently
Ray was only a rung or two above Joe's position as errand boy. The
men who worked daily in the office were older, and Ray was
definitely not their equal in the pecking order.

At first Joe's responsibilities were to fetch
food for the men and occasionally deliver a note to a blind
pig—that's what they called an illegal gambling den—in the area.
The men told him to always take his wagon, even if he was just
delivering a message. He got to know the streets of the city like
the back of his hand, and the bosses were usually nice to him.
Charles Leiter was a stout man who dressed to the nines. His sharp
eyes never missed a thing. Henry Shorr was a quiet man who didn't
make small talk. He didn't dress well and had little personality as
far as Joe was concerned. In the morning, Henry would tell Joe what
his errands were and then ignore him for the rest of the day.

"Morning, Joe. Run out and grab me a paper
from the corner," Leiter said one morning as he walked into the
office and hung his long overcoat and bowler hat on a hook near the
door. Joe ran to the corner and back in two minutes. Leiter was
just sitting down at his desk with a cup of coffee as he came
bounding up the steps. "Pretty quick, Joe. But not as quick as the
dame I was with last night." Charles Leiter and Henry Shorr headed
the Oakland Sugar House operation.

Eventually, his tasks expanded to include
collecting profits from the gambling houses. Leiter took him to the
places they owned and introduced Joe to the men who ran them.
Monday through Friday, he'd walk the streets, visiting taverns,
dives, gambling dens, and storefronts that hid bootlegging
operations, where he would collect the receipts—small envelopes,
big envelopes, cash wrapped in brown paper, and rolls of money
stuffed into socks, tin cans, or empty cigar boxes. He'd throw it
into a false bottom he'd built into his wagon and cover it with an
old burlap bag and several empty tin cans so it appeared he was
collecting metal to sell for scrap. The ruse was unnecessary, as
the Sugar House Gang's fierce reputation protected young Joe like
an invisible phalanx.

He still played ball on the weekends with the
kids in the neighborhood and attended mass at St. Josaphat on
Sunday mornings. He'd made his first reconciliation and communion
the spring his father died, and he felt grown up when he knelt at
the altar to receive communion. Sunday dinners were once again
filled with the aroma of delicious foods and desserts thanks to
Joe's generous paycheck. Matka began to smile more as she cooked
and cared for him and his brothers.

Nearly a year passed this way until his
bosses decided that Joe should be used in a better way than just
collecting money and grabbing meals. One morning, Leiter called him
into the office as he was making coffee in the break area.

"Morning, Joe. Thanks," he said as Joe handed
him a cup of steaming coffee. "I can use this after the night I had
last night. Shorr tried to drink me under the table at the club."
Charles's eyes were bloodshot, and the smell of whiskey lightly
emanated on his breath from the night before. "We came up with an
idea though, so the hangover might be worth it." Joe looked around
the room, trying to decide if Leiter wanted him to sit down for
this conversation or just stand in front of the desk.

"The cops are getting tougher on us lately,
and they're gonna pull a sting on our transport route from Ohio."
Charles said, pointing to the wood chair behind Joe. Joe sat down.
"Did you hear anything on the street about it?" Ohio had not passed
the Temperance Law yet, and the gang had simply been driving the
forty-five miles south and picking up liquor and driving it back to
the city.

"Yeah, I heard something about it, but it
seemed more talk than anything. Cops don't really care about booze
smuggling, as far as I can see. I see them bellied up to the bar in
full uniform when I'm out collecting." Joe tried to make his voice
sound like the toughs that came and went at the Sugar House.

"You're right, Joe. They don't give a horse's
patoot about stopping booze from being funneled into the city
unless one of them gets high ambitions and is trying to get
promoted." Charles paused and took a sip of his coffee. "Meanwhile,
they collect hush money from us every week. You can't trust people
to keep their traps shut; even when you're paying them to look the
other way." Charles looked Joe up and down at this point and said,
"Can I trust you, Joe?"

"Yes sir," he replied. Joe sat straight and
erect in the chair, trying to look taller than he was. He'd grown a
lot over the last year, but puberty remained ahead of him.

"You've done a good job for us for almost a
year now, Joe. Not a penny missing from the kitty every week. So
Henry and I got to talking and decided we'd have you go down to
Grosse Ile on the train and meet one of our boys to help acquire a
little whiskey for us. We're figuring no one's gonna pay any
attention to a little boy, and you can meet our man down there and
hand off the dough for the booze. He'll make the deal, and you help
him get it back here. Ha! Those stupid cops'll never think a father
and son are smuggling across the river." Charles guffawed.

Joe however, didn't find it so amusing. "What
if the cops did notice?" Joe would probably be sent to a children's
home for the wayward or locked up. He wasn't really sure what they
did with kids who broke the law, but he knew there'd be
trouble.

"Don't look so worried, Joe. We've got a
designated spot south of here to drop the load if someone's on your
tail. Another guy can grab it and bring it into the city."

"What if somebody finds it?" he asked,
thoroughly confused now.

"Just wait and see, it'll work out; don't
worry so much, boy." Charles winked at him.

The train was slowing down. Joe opened his eyes to
look around. They were approaching a small wooden platform with a
neat, hand-painted sign with black lettering stating that the train
had arrived in Trenton. Charles had told Joe he should stay on the
train and cross the river to Grosse Ile. Several passengers exited
the train, and he saw only one pretty young lady get on. Her hair
was cut just below her ears, and she had on the shortest dress Joe
had ever seen a woman wear. Long strands of pearls fell to her
waist. She laughed loudly as she greeted a male companion at the
front of the car. He grabbed her waist and kissed her straight on
the mouth. Joe was shocked at their behavior, but the couple didn't
seem worried about the scandal they were causing. The conductor
walked down the aisle toward the couple, but Joe was unable to hear
what admonishments he was throwing their way. The woman didn't
appear to be concerned. She laughed even louder and waved the
embarrassed trainman away.

The train chugged toward the river and
crossed the precariously high trestle that traversed the fast
moving water. Joe was getting more and more nervous. He was
carrying an immense amount of money, and he was just supposed to
hand it off to some man he'd never seen and pretend he was his son?
"What if the man took the money and ran off? Would Leiter believe
him? Probably not. Then what—a beating? Or worse?" As the train hit
land on the other side, Joe crossed himself and said a quick prayer
to Saint Mary to watch over him. The engine chugged to a slow stop,
and Joe grabbed the empty suitcase that Leiter had given him to
carry so it would appear as if he was visiting family. He stepped
off the train and found a bench by the small stone depot.