Sugar House (9780991192519) (7 page)

"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 drifted
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
sometime." 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!"

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.

Matka observed the incident with a small
smile. "Thank goodness the company has the good sense to control
these young delinquents. One must watch these youngsters all the
time these days."

An older Polish woman overheard Blanca's
comment and joined in. "Dancing like animals! Why, they look like
Negroes dancing on a plantation! Can you imagine? They probably
snuck some liquor in a flask on board too. Thankfully the island
does not allow alcohol on land or on its boats. Makes it free from
rowdy and boisterous youths like those two. A place you can take
your family and feel at peace."