Sugar House (9780991192519) (6 page)

"What is that construction noise I hear,
Matka asked Ojciec. The noise came from a few blocks away.

"Crowley's department store is expanding.
They're taking over the whole block." Crowley's was a nine story
building taking up half a block from Gratiot to Monroe Street.
Ojciec had not been there but had heard the men at work talking
about what a large store it was.

Matka said, "A couple of the ladies in the
neighborhood shopped there and had afternoon tea in the mezzanine
dining room. There are ladies' lounges on several floors and even a
sick room staffed with a full time nurse." She laughed. "Can you
imagine getting ill in a store and not going home to care of
yourself?"

A few blocks later the family arrived at
Woodward Avenue. This main artery through the city was three times
as wide as a regular street. They waited at the corner for the
electric streetcar that would carry them to the Bois Blanc dock.
The street was bustling with horse-drawn carriages, Model T's and
bicyclists, and there were people everywhere.

Matka grabbed Joe's hand as they climbed into
the next streetcar. She sat down with Frank on a polished cane
seat. Joe and his father stood nearby and grabbed onto a brass
pole. The streetcar driver swung a knob that closed the folding
doors. Joe had never seen an automatic door before and stared at
the knob mechanism in amazement.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
the
bell rang out as the driver stamped his foot on a button in the
floor. He pulled a big lever with a wooden knob, and the car
started down the tracks. The motorman pulled the lever again, and
the car started speeding up. Joe started swinging side to side with
the car's motion. The motorman turned and smiled at Joe. "Hello,
good morning to you. Welcome aboard," he called in a friendly voice
that had an unmistakable English accent.

"Good morning, sir" Joe replied.

"Looks like you are on your way to an
adventure today… the Palace of Sweets or maybe Electric Park?"

"No, sir," replied Joe looking the driver in
the eye. "We're going to Bois Blanc." He pronounced it like the
French name it was,
bwah blanh
.

"Oh, you mean Boblo Island No one says Bois
Blanc anymore. No one round here can seem to pronounce it right, so
folks have been calling it Boblo. All these different languages
pouring into this fine city, and yet no one seems to speak French."
He laughed. "Don't know why, but it seems to fit, and everyone can
say it." The motorman was tall and slim, with auburn hair and light
brown eyes. He was Mikołaj's age or perhaps a few years younger.
Joe admired the motorman's ability to balance on one foot and clang
the bell with the other as he drove down the street.

"How long have you worked on the streetcar?"
Joe asked.

"Oh, about three years now, I'm guessing.
It's a nice job when the weather's good. Bit dirty and cold in the
winter, but I meet lots of nice folks like yourself. Name is
William Gribble."

"Joe Jopolowski." Joe extended his hand.

"That's a mouthful to be sure, Joe." William
laughed.

The trolley's pantograph sparked and crackled
as it met the copper catenary lines strung down the middle of the
avenue. An oncoming streetcar passed them on the other track,
pulling both cars slightly toward each other. What a rush! Joe
turned and waved at the passengers riding the opposing trolley.

The noise on the street turned to a din as
they traveled farther down Woodward Avenue. The ringing of the bell
on the streetcar, the horns of the cars, the people and horses,
musicians playing in front of a store to attract customers—it all
fascinated Joe.

Joe translated what the conductor said about
the island's name to his parents. He didn't want them to feel
ignorant when they bought the tickets.

"How long has your family been in Detroit?"
William said.

"About eight months—my father is working for
Mr. Ford," Joe replied.

"Mr. Ford hires a lot of Poles, and the Dodge
brothers are building an enormous plant in Hamtramck, and that
whole city is mostly made up of Poles. They're even taking over the
taverns the Germans always own. When I drive that route, I'm not
sure if I'm in Poland or America."

"It's like that in my neighborhood too," said
Joe.

The streetcar rails took them directly down
the center of the avenue, with its multitude of businesses and
stores. Tall wooden poles stood every twenty yards or so down the
city sidewalks, shouldering a maze of electric wires. Huge signs
stood on the rooftops of the large buildings advertising Light
Vaudeville and Photo Plays for 10 cents. Delicious smells drifted
out of the restaurants and bakeries into the streetcar.

Nickelodeons, barber shops, arcades,
restaurants, (even a Chinese Restaurant!) crowded the city blocks.
A sign for Heyn's Bazaar outlined with hundreds of electric bulbs
competed with Weitz Clothing, Himel Hochs and B. Siegel's for
customers' attention. Eureka Vacuum, Grinnel Brothers Music Store,
Wright Kay Jewelers, Annis Furs and Fyfe's Shoes advertised their
goods on giant signs hanging above their entrances. Taverns and
saloons crouched between enormous emporiums on every block.
Karsten's Cascade Room, Dolph's Saloon, Churchill's and the Hotel
Delmar promoted locally made beers for a nickel in their windows.
Detroit was known as the City of Saloons; it had over thirteen
hundred taverns.

Joe read the marquees for the Wonderland,
Temple, and Empress Theatres that offered vaudeville shows and
short films inside. As the streetcar entered Campus Martius Park,
Joe saw the Detroit Opera House perched on the corner.

The city's street plan had been redesigned by
Augustus B. Woodward, a prominent judge, after a huge fire
destroyed ninety-five percent of Detroit a century earlier, in
1805. Campus Martius was the hub of the city, with five major
streets striking out from there like wagon wheel spokes. According
to the motorman, Judge Woodward had simply taken the city map from
Washington, D.C., and tried to emulate it.

"Look, Joe!" Matka pointed. "Why is there a
giant chair in the middle of the park?" Joe turned his head and saw
an enormous dark red chair that was nearly twenty feet high and
eight feet wide.

"Why on earth would anyone build a chair that
big?" Matka asked. Joe thought it also strange but in a good way.
William said the monument was the Cadillac Chair of Justice and had
been erected in honor of the city's two hundredth anniversary.

"More like the Cadillac Chair of Wasted of
Tax Dollars," he said, laughing as they passed the huge
sculpture.

Joe related what William had said, and his
mother laughed. Passing the park, Joe saw a sign for J.L. Hudson
Clothiers. The elaborate window displays of the enormous store
enticed pedestrians to come inside and purchase a hat or fine
china. A dark-skinned doorman wearing a sharp red uniform stood at
the entrance welcoming customers. As the streetcar passed, he
opened the set of large doors for a lady balancing several
packages.

"See those big red and white awnings down
there?" William asked Joe. "That's the famous Palace of Sweets,
also known as Sanders Candy." This was the place that Sam and his
mother had visited the week prior. Sam had told Joe of the
beautiful marble counters with every conceivable kind of sweet
displayed behind glass. Joe just knew he had to get there as soon
as he had a chance. Men in straw hats and women in large feathered
hats holding small children's hands were pouring in and out the
front doors. How big could a candy store be to hold so many people?
Joe had to find out. And soon.

Now he could see the river looming ahead.
Large signs for Bois Blanc were mounted on the roofs and sides of
buildings.

"This is your stop coming up, lad," William
said. "Next time you need a ride, find car number 12. That's this
one you're on. Take good care of you, I will. Hope you have a
terrific time today."

Joe said goodbye. Ojciec instructed Joe to
take Frank's hand, and they made their way to the back of the
trolley. The conductor sat in a small cage collecting fares. Ojciec
dropped four nickels in a glass box, and Joe watched as the coins
bounced back and forth down the staggered chute. The conductor
pushed another button on the floor to open the back door. The
trolley stopped, and they stepped off. Ojciec assisted Matka so she
would not trip on her long skirt.

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.