The Destruction of Isle Demieres

By Deborah Trimm

In the late 1800s, a small barrier island was located off the coast of Louisiana and was a popular resort for the socialites or New Orleans and surrounding areas. Dave Morgan saw Isle Demieres as his chance for a better life and his escape from the city where he lived with Mrs. Buckley near the red-light district of New Orleans. Dave’s carefully planned trip happened to be the same weekend of the deadliest storm to ever hit the coast. Drawing from documents, letters, and newspaper accounts, Ms. Trimm has written a powerful narrative of compassion and survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685265915

Book preview

Chapter 1

Friday, August 1871

Dave, you need to hurry up so you can eat before you go catch that boat, yelled Mrs. Buckley through the thin wall that separated the kitchen from his bedroom in the old boardinghouse. You hear me, boy? This is the last time I’m calling you.

Before locking his door behind him, Dave Morgan paused and surveyed his unadorned room that was located in the back of the house, overlooking the alley. Though the room was small, it was big enough for him with his cot positioned against one wall. A small cracked mirror hung over the chest of drawers that was centered on the opposite wall. Someone had hammered large nails in the wall next to the door to hang clothes. A single bare light hung in the center of the ceiling. He managed to save enough money to buy netting and had draped it over his bed from a nail he’d driven into the wood ceiling to form a tent that protected him from the mosquitoes. He hoped he’d return only long enough to pack the rest of his things and say his final goodbyes. At first, he wasn’t going to tell his landlady, but later he decided to share his plans with her. Her reaction was just as he’d predicted. She didn’t understand the trip was something he had to make. It was a chance to become a better person. He dropped the key in his pocket and, with his newly purchased suitcase in hand, he walked to the kitchen.

Yes, ma’am, the boy said as he stood smiling in the doorway.

You look like you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, she observed as she set his plate on the table. You wanted to get up before sunrise, and the sun is already peaking over the roof tops. She turned toward the oven and continued, Didn’t you pack last night? That would have been the smart thing to do if you wanted to leave that early.

Yes, ma’am, he answered sleepily and took his place at the table. He carefully picked up the steaming cup of coffee Mrs. Buckley had already placed on the table. I packed my clothes and cleaned my shoes last night. I crawled under the net tent after midnight. I think I’d just gone to sleep when you knocked on the door the first time. Dave gazed down at his empty plate and blew gently over the cup before taking a sip of the chicory coffee while he checked off his mental list of things he had planned to do before catching the boat. Despite her being bossy and nosy, Dave liked his landlady. He had learned early that she repeated everything that he told her, so he was careful with his words.

She placed a pan of biscuits near his plate. You sure you’re up to making this trip? You look like you’re still asleep, and even if you’re a grown man, you need your rest, Mrs. Buckley teased.

Dave snapped back from his thoughts. I was trying to remember if I finished all the chores.

I think you did most of them, and if you missed something, you can finish when you get back, she said. I sure don’t know why you want to go out to that island with all those rich folks. There’s just some places folks like us don’t belong, but you seem set on the idea. The landlady set a jar of cane syrup on the table and looked at her young tenant. What did he know about life anyway? she thought. He hadn’t lived in New Orleans long enough to know what kind of people went out there.

I already made up my mind about this, Mrs. Buckley. He paused. I’m not going out there just to get away from the city for a couple of days. I’m going to find me a job.

A job? Out there? She laughed. She’d heard that story many times before. Boy, there’s no jobs out there unless you’re connected or wanting to work in one of them gambling places. I hear there’s wicked things going on out there and, well, I know it’s no place for the likes of you.

It can’t be any worse than what I’m doing now, he countered. Being a handyman at the brothels and having to put up with those women isn’t my idea of a decent living. Dave dropped his knife on the table and glared at Mrs. Buckley. He didn’t want to argue with her, but he had to stand his ground.

You can do better if you wanted, she preached. There’s jobs at the shipyards and factories over by the river.

Yes, and there’s farms out there, he argued. And there’s the hotel. Maybe I can get a job at the hotel. Besides, the jobs you’re talking about want experience, and you know I don’t have any.

Mrs. Buckley looked at her young tenant. Pipe dreams is all you got. And they’re going to break your heart.

This isn’t a pipe dream. He raised his voice. I just want to better myself so I can have a family and a place of my own. I’m going, and you’re not going talk me out of this. He’d never talked that way to her before.

Now you listen here, she fussed. You think you’re the only one that’s ever wanted that? I seen a lot of my boarders go out there and comeback just beaten down. You don’t belong out on that island with all them high-class folks, and you never will.

I don’t believe that. Dave stared into her eyes. I’m as good as anybody, and all I need is a break. That island is going to give me that break too.

Well, I say you don’t have a chance working in that hotel. You can’t read or write, so how are you going to work at the front desk? You can’t cook, and you sure can’t wait tables since you have no manners. All’s that left is washing dishes and mopping floors or cleaning up after them ritzy people. If you think working at the brothels is bad, wait until you have to take care of the whores and drunks at them other places.

The truth stung. Dave could feel his anger getting out of control, and he wanted to end the conversation before he said something he didn’t want to say and would later regret. I’m going, and that’s the end of it.

You can’t go off without something in your belly, and you got a lot of walking ahead of you this morning. Mrs. Buckley decided she wasn’t going to change this stubborn boy’s mind.

He reminded her so much of her brother. He, too, was strong-willed and stubborn. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t miss him. They’d been through so much after their parents passed and left them to fend for themselves. It was his strength and determination that pulled them through the hard times. Together, they’d saved enough money to buy the old boardinghouse. When he passed, all she had was their meager savings and the house. She regretted she never told him how much she loved him.

Dave didn’t have much of an appetite so early in the morning, but he managed to eat the biscuit and syrup she had prepared. The sun was above the rooftops by the time he finished, and the summer temperature was already rising. He knew he would have to leave soon, and he didn’t want to go with bad feelings between them.

Stuff some of them crackers in your pockets just in case you get hungry on the boat, the landlady ordered. Dave grabbed a handful, and as he crossed the threshold, he looked back at the lady who had taken him in when he didn’t have a penny and had been nice to him. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I hope you understand this is something I have to do.

Expect you’ll be back in a couple of days. She laughed. She watched him turn the corner around the back of the house before she walked through the long entrance hall to the front porch.

You be careful out there, you hear? she yelled. Dave turned and waved.

The run-down boardinghouse was a mere two blocks from the red-light district in the poorest part of the city. The nicer rooms located on the upper floors were rented to those with full-time jobs and who paid the weekly rent every Friday night before dinner. Dave’s room was adequate, but he wanted something better. He wanted to live in his own house in a better part of the city where he would have a closet to hang his store-bought suits and a chest to store his white linen shirts. Since he’d arrived in New Orleans with his belongings stuffed in a flour sack, the only work he found were odd jobs around the brothels repairing windows, painting, and changing door locks. He couldn’t complain too much because at least he could pay for his room and board, and when work was slow, Mrs. Buckley let him pay the balance by working around the house.

The streets were quiet since the early-morning delivery wagons hadn’t started their rounds, and those who didn’t have the luxury of riding to work had not begun their morning walks. He wanted to make the long walk before it got too hot, but now that the sun was up, Dave could already feel the heat beating down. He hated the city, the filth, and the mosquitoes. He regretted his decision to move to New Orleans from Chicago many times.

The district had once been filled with prominent businessmen and their families. As the city expanded, new areas were developed that offered the rich citizens new neighborhoods where they could build more extravagant homes with all the conveniences of that time. Promises of a better life lured those who could afford to move and left many of the buildings vacant. They were taken over by those less fortunate. As with many declining neighborhoods, the area was taken over by those of despicable character who were ready to feed off the poor and desperate. Most of the larger homes were now boardinghouses for those, like Dave, who were barely making ends meet. The old hotels were easily turned into brothels.

After the city tried to shut down the houses of ill repute, there was such an uproar of protests, the city officials designated the area as the red-light district in an attempt to maintain control of prostitution. The women were required to purchase a license every year, which could only be obtained after showing a doctor’s certificate of good health. Now, as Dave made his way through the narrow streets, he tried to visualize what the buildings must have looked like before they were abandoned and no longer kept in repair.

Hey, Dave. What’re you doing up so early? Don’t you know boys need lots of rest? a prostitute teased from her second-floor balcony. You come on up here and let me rock you to sleep. Dressed in a flimsy red robe with black feathers around the neck, she leaned over the railing, exposing her cleavage.

Dave could recognize her shrill voice anywhere. She liked to tease him and, when he was there making repairs, she would rub against him at every opportunity. Not this morning, Rose, Dave yelled back and quickened his step.

He sure is in a hurry, Rose. You reckon he’s got important business at one of the other houses? another prostitute called. Dave knew that voice too. Her teasing was brutal at times when he tried to ignore her.

I’m not going to another house! Dave yelled and hurried down the street.

I told him I’d make him a man and wouldn’t charge a penny, the second whore called.

He knows I’ll be gently with him. Rose laughed loudly and opened her robe to expose a sheer nightgown.

Where you going with your hair all slicked down? Is that perfume I smell? What’re you doing with a suitcase? Rose was all questions this morning, and Dave didn’t have time to stop and talk.

Look at him, Rose, the woman yelled. He won’t even look up at us. Just keeps his head down and walks like he don’t know who we are. Like we’re not good enough and he’s too uppity.

Take care of yourself, Bernice. Don’t take any wooden nickels, and don’t let yourself get beat up anymore, Dave sarcastically yelled back. She always had a visible bruise either on her face, her arms, or her legs.

Bernice quickly raised her hand and covered her bruised eye. Don’t get smart-mouthed with me, you hear? She turned on her heel and left the balcony.

Goodbye, Rose. Dave hoped he’d never see her or any of the other women again. There were only a few more blocks until he’d be out of the district. He was almost running when he finally reached the last cross street that identified the boundary between the slums and the rest of the city.

By the time he reached Canal Street, he was tired and felt the first signs of a headache coming on. Seeing the boarding platform just ahead gave him new energy. The main street was lined with boutiques, fashionable men’s shops, and elegant restaurants that offered quiet dining tables where business deals were negotiated and closed. There were banks and attorney offices with heavy, ornate doors and gold writing on the windows. Fancy carriages and freight wagons loaded with trunks passed him as they made their way to the dock at the end of the street.

Chapter 2

The dock was more crowded than Dave expected, with doctors, lawyers, merchants, and city officials huddled in the groups discussing the most recent events. Plantation owners from Mississippi, who often traveled with their families to New Orleans and ferried out to the island, distanced themselves from everyone else. They waited for the porters to unload their luggage from the freight wagons that just arrived from the train station. Unsupervised children were playing tag while their mothers gathered and talked in low voices. Just beyond the passengers, Dave noticed a small boy and a man who looked as out of place to be on the dock as he did. The boy looked frightened while standing next to the man who silently watched the rich with envy and hatred.

Pardon me, young man, but would you mind telling me the time?

Dave glanced at the thin old man standing in front of him before checking his watch. "It’s about twenty minutes of the hour. The Star should be coming soon."

Thank you. It seems I’ve been standing out here for hours in this heat. I can’t remember when the mornings were this hot. The old man slowly wiped his face with a faded blue handkerchief.

Yes, sir, Dave replied. It does seem uncommonly hot for this time of the year. It sure has been dry.

I’ve seen more failing crops here and about than I’ve seen in a long time, the old man added. Maybe the farmers will get some rain if those dark clouds keep rolling in. He tilted his head back and watched the clouds move swiftly overhead. Lord knows we sure could use some. He stared at the sky as though he was waiting for a raindrop to fall.

Maybe a good rain will wash away the smells and filth. Maybe even drown some of the mosquitoes too, Dave continued.

Yes, maybe so. Maybe so. The old man smiled and walked away as quietly as he had approached.

Dave wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve and looked for a patch of shade to shield him from this hot August morning sun. Even though he’d moved from Chicago about a year ago, this month was the hottest and most humid he’d encountered since arriving in the Crescent City. The mosquitoes were thriving and multiplying faster than ever. The city officials issued orders to empty everything that could hold stagnant water, explaining that such places were nothing more than perfect breeding grounds for the dreaded insects.

Dave’s neighborhood was surrounded by low marshlands and bayous, and there was no way to control those areas. Despite the awful temperature, he always wore long-sleeved shirts and a kerchief around his neck. He was miserable. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, and his woolen work pants had reached their saturation point. He could feel droplets of sweat run down the back of his legs.

Any available shade had already been taken by the ladies. He wondered how they managed to look so neat and cool beneath the layers of pantaloons and petticoats. He grew impatient with the rowdy children running about screaming and laughing. He wanted to tell the parents that they should make their precious offspring behave like the precocious gentlemen and pampered ladies they would grow up to be. No one with money and prestige would ever take him seriously anyway.

His headache was getting worse while the sun beat down on his bare head and the unruly children were making so much noise. All he wanted was a quiet weekend away from the daily noises, sights, and smells of city life. He wasn’t looking forward to spending most of the day in the confines of the boat with those kids. Dave glanced toward the south before checking the time again. The blue sky was dotted with low gray clouds moving to the northwest, and the wind seemed to be picking up a bit. According to his pocket watch, the boat should be coming into view any time.

Watch where you’re going! Dave snapped and moved quickly to avoid being hit by one of the kids playing tag. He watched the youngster carelessly dart in and out of the crowd, trying to outmaneuver the boy chasing him.

If he had kids, they would be better behaved. If he had kids, the boys would be tall and lanky with a thick tuft of blond hair like their father, and the girls would be tall and feminine. They would be dressed in the best store-bought clothes he could afford. Straw panamas would shade the boys from the Southern sun, and frilly bonnets with long, flowing pastel ribbons tied in bows would protect his daughters’ fair skin. His children would look just like all those on the dock whose parents were known as the upper crust of New Orleans society. He didn’t have any children. He didn’t even have a lady friend. He glanced at his watch again, then down the river. Rising above the cypress trees, a column of gray smoke curled upward. Soon the boat would be docking to ferry another group of passengers to Isle Dermieres.

In the 1800s, the isle was a popular resort. The barrier island’s highest point was only five feet above sea level and was home to about a hundred residents who lived there all year. Most visitors were rich plantation owners who stayed at the luxury hotel and casinos that were constructed near the beach and long dock. The island was spotted with summer cottages owned by those hoping the sea breezes would provide an escape from the intolerable heat. Others, who were fortunate enough to receive invitations from the permanent residents, stayed in large homes surrounded by tropical trees and green pastures. Nights at the hotel were filled with wonderful dining experiences in one of four huge halls decorated with rattan furnishings. Menus offered French, Spanish, and German cuisine served by waiters in long-tailed tuxedos balancing silver trays above their shoulders.

An orchestra was positioned at the far end of the long ballroom where guests drank champagne and danced until the early morning hours. A casino room was located on the other side of the lobby where the gentlemen smoked their expensive cigars, played cards, or threw dice. The ladies retired to their salon on the mezzanine for a quiet evening trading recipes, needlework, or solving wooden jigsaw puzzles. Other gambling halls lined the beaches and offered female companionship to those who had the extra money to spend. Rumor held that the resident doctor was kept busy keeping the young ladies healthy. After all, no fine gentleman wanted to return to his wife infected with lice or worse.

Located about thirty miles south of the Louisiana coastline and southwest of New Orleans between Cailou Bay, Lake Pelto, and the Gulf of Mexico, the island could only be reached by boat. Paddle wheel boats hauled passengers and goods from Orleans, Terrebone, and Plaquemines Parishes to the resort. The Star ferried vacationers from the Canal Street dock following the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico, then over to the island every day. The boat was scheduled to arrive with returning passengers who had boarded her the previous evening for the night trip back to New Orleans. After the resort guests disembarked, the captain turned over his logbook to the relieving pilot who would steer the boat back to the island. The three captains assigned to the Star rotated their day and night trips all week. A standby captain relieved them so they could have a few days with their families.

Dave checked his watch again. The ferry was on time and was just now being moored to the dock while the heavy gangway was being lowered. He lifted his small cardboard suitcase and moved into the boarding line. He watched the arriving passengers make their way down the ramp and tried to separate the visitors from the residents and workers. Some men, dressed in linen suits and newly polished boots, absentmindedly swung their silver-studded canes. A few departed alone with a steward close behind carrying their heavy leather suitcases. Husbands walked cautiously down the planks while holding the arm of their pretty wives who were dressed in long dresses over heavily starched petticoats that rustled when they walked. A group exited wearing laced-up work boots, faded serge pants, and open-neck shirts. They were surely the workers who were often called out to the island to construct another building or repair leaking roofs and such. The female workers donned flour-sack cotton skirts and blouses. All the children looked amazingly similar with their deep suntans and light hair. It didn’t seem to matter whether their parents were upper society or lowly laborers. At their age, it didn’t seem to matter much who belonged to which parents while they played together on the beach building sandcastles and splashing in the waves. Dave wondered at what age the children would realize their social standings and take on the roles assigned by class structure.

He wiped his brow again as he shuffled toward the captain who was taking up the tickets for boarding. The suitcase handle was wet from his sweaty palms. Dave hoped the cardboard didn’t disintegrate before he reached his seat.

Where’s the other ticket? the captain asked the man whom Dave had seen earlier standing quietly with the small boy.

I can’t go out there. I got to work. I’m already late for my shift. My boss isn’t going to be too happy with me. The burly man grabbed the boy’s arm and nudged him past the captain. He’s got a ticket, and he won’t be no trouble.

I can’t let him onboard without an adult. It’s company policy, the captain explained.

They never said nothing about that at the ticket window. Just took my money, the man protested loudly.

I’m sorry, mister, the captain apologized, hoping the man wouldn’t make a scene. I can’t let this boy travel by himself. Now you’re holding up the line, so you need to just move on.

This isn’t right, you know. The man grabbed the boy’s arm again and jerked him out of the line. Dragging the youngster behind, they quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Dave stepped forward and extended his hand. The captain scanned the limp ticket, looked at Dave, then at the ticket again. While Dave waited, he felt droplets of perspiration run down his legs again.

Are you traveling alone, son? the captain asked while inspecting Dave. You don’t look old enough to be going out there by yourself. I’m not supposed to let any runaways onboard. If that’s what you’re doing, then I can’t be responsible for letting you on the boat.

No, sir. I’m no runaway, and I’m old enough to travel by myself, Dave assured the captain. I just want to get away from the city for a while and maybe find some work out there.

The captain looked at him again as though something would appear on Dave’s face, indicating he was either lying or telling the truth. The wait seemed forever before the captain decided Dave wasn’t lying.

Finally, Dave was given permission to board.

Chapter 3

The river was high, causing the angle of the gangway up to the boat deck to be steep. Boarding was difficult for those bearing the heavy trunks and boxes. Dave felt sorry for the porters who were laden down. He watched them struggle to stay close to their gentlemen as they made their way up the worn planks that were wet and slippery. He wondered how many passengers had walked those boards before him. The fancy ladies probably ruined a lot of dresses and petticoats after dragging them over the wet planks. Children probably slipped down and got scrapes and bruises causing them to cry in pain. The men, too proud to hold onto the railing, probably cursed under their breath every time they lost footing and tried to look dignified as they regained their balance.

Dave turned his attention to the rear of the boat when he heard the creaking sounds of the crane off-loading cargo. It would take some time to remove all the crates and even more time to load all the merchandise and supplies destined for the island. New supplies of wood needed to keep the boiler going were loaded last. The sun was still beating down on his bare head. The heat was making Dave a bit lightheaded. Now he wished he had eaten the other biscuit covered with cane syrup his landlady offered earlier that morning.

First-class ticket holders boarded first. Open parasols bumped and nudged the gentlemen’s tall felt hats as the passengers crowded to take their turns up the gangway. Children pulled against their mothers’ grips and loudly complained their freedom had been momentarily taken away. Sweat dripped from the bearers onto the planks as they strained to walk up the incline. Whispers about how badly the porters and servants smelled were repeated, while ladies grabbed their frilly lace handkerchiefs to cover their delicate noses.

Even with all the bumping and crowding, they still took their time boarding as if they were part of some kind of exhibition. When they finally reached the deck, the ladies would stop and turn around as if to declare their personal victory over the slippery planks.

As Dave inched forward in the long boarding line, he couldn’t help feeling jealous of the first class. Their lives were what he dreamed of and wanted more than anything else in the world. He wanted a pretty wife with long, wavy blond hair. She would wear it down and draped over her shoulders, not balled up in some fancy hairstyle. He would run his hand tenderly over the beautiful tresses anytime he wanted. He wanted her to wear soft, lacy pastel bonnets with short brims to show off her lovely face. The bonnet would be held in place by long silk ribbons tied neatly under her chin. He wanted to walk beside her and hear the rustle of her petticoats. He wanted to hear the tap of her leather shoes as she walked beside him. He wanted to feel her hand on his arm as he escorted her and her gentle squeezes when she wanted his undivided attention. He wanted a lady he could love and take care of the rest of his life. She would bear his children and share a life of luxury, but first he had to find the lady, and so far he’d had no luck. Besides, he admitted to himself, he could hardly afford to take care of himself, let alone a wife.

His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he could feel the handle on the cardboard suitcase begin to stretch. His high-topped work shoes were worn. He managed to clean them to a respectable shine the night before and replaced the cardboard he used to cover the holes in the leather soles. He doubted anyone could tell he’d taken an extra-long bath that morning to cut the body odor since now, after all that time standing on the dock and dripping with sweat, he most likely smelled like he did yesterday. His hair was wet around the sides with only a dry crop on top. The tonic he used to meticulously comb his hair had long evaporated from the heat. He couldn’t even smell a hint of the lotion he sparingly used after he shaved. Now all the wonderful smells he wore when he ventured from the boardinghouse were lost in sweat and body odors. When he reached the top of the gangway, he, too, turned as if to let everyone know that he had made the climb without incident just like the gentlemen before him.

The first-class passengers found relief from the heat and insects inside their cabins. Large rattan paddle fans hung from the ceilings of the covered decks, with ropes laced across the beams then dropping to the floor. Stewards stood against the walls, gently tugging the ropes to move the fans back and forth. Privileged passengers enjoyed the comforts of down-filled pillows in rattan chairs arranged in clusters so they could converse while sipping lemonade and tea. On the upper deck, the gentlemen gathered to play cards, smoke their pipes and cigars, and sip their favorite whiskey under the shade of the large canvas canopy.

Dave wasn’t permitted to mingle with the likes of them. He was working class and had to settle for a bench on the main deck. There were more passengers than bench space, but Dave managed to find a spot on one of the many rows stretched out along the railing. Standing on the dock had left him tired and light-headed. Once the boat turned to the south, he would be in the shade of the center structure. He was looking forward to taking in the sights along the river. If he could read, he would pull out a book and enjoy a story between glimpses of the bank, but he couldn’t. If he had a knife, he could whittle on a half-carved statue of his fanciful lady, but he didn’t. If he smoked, he could fill his pipe with rich cherry-cured tobacco and puff away the hours, but he didn’t. So he just resigned himself to watch the scenery as the boat steamed down the Mississippi River to the island.

He slid his suitcase under the bench behind his legs and wiped his hands stained with ink from the decorated handle on his pants. His shirt and pants were soaked with perspiration, and it would do no good to wipe his face with the wet kerchief tied around his neck. He felt a bit sorry for those who boarded last and could find no available seating on the benches. Children ran up and down the narrow aisles, tripping over feet and luggage while yelling at the top of their lungs. Some of the adults crowded in the area near the engine room. They sat in groups on the deck, leaning their weary backs against the bulkhead. As the last loads of wood and ice were brought aboard, the gangway was lifted, and the mooring lines were untied. A dark column of smoke puffed from the smokestack as the captain prepared to steer the boat away from the dock. They were finally underway. The gentle breeze would dry Dave’s clothes before he reached his destination.

The captain patiently waited while the boat gently floated clear of the dock before he gave the order to engage the huge paddle wheel at the stern. The boilers released the steam with loud hisses, and the smoke turned from darkest gray to white. The shrill of the horns blasting from atop the pilothouse pierced Dave’s ears. Children ran to their mothers with their hands held tightly against their ears. Dave hadn’t heard that sound since he left St. Louis aboard the Memphis Belle. He thought it was a lonesome sound, a calling from the deep bowels of the boat for someone to say, I’m here, and I’m waiting for you, so please hurry home. Dave really didn’t have a home anymore, not even in Chicago.

With ten kids to feed and clothe, his dad worked hard as a blacksmith. Dave couldn’t count all the nights his dad came home so tired he barely had the energy to climb the three flights to their little apartment. His hands were usually covered with soot and ash from the furnaces. His face and neck were streaked from sweat. Despite the heavy leather apron, his clothes were speckled with small holes burned by sparking embers. No matter how tired he was, he always had time to talk to each of his children who were still awake when he opened the door. He wanted Dave to learn the trade and hoped that one day he would turn the whole business over to his eldest son. Dave had no desire to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had other plans, so becoming a blacksmith was not in his future.

Dave wanted a better life for himself; as selfish as it sounded, that was his dream. He wanted nothing to do with furnaces or anvils or banging iron against iron. He didn’t believe he was wrong to want clean hands with manicured nails like the gentlemen who worked uptown in big office buildings. He’d saved money he’d earned selling newspapers and purchased a train ticket. When he told his father his plans, a terrible argument was had. His father paced the kitchen floor, yelling his disappointments in his eldest son. He shook his finger in Dave’s face, forbidding him to leave. Abandoning his family would not be tolerated. Dave tried to explain his feelings, but his father wouldn’t listen. Finally, his father gave his ultimatum. Dave left home against his father’s wishes the next morning, knowing he’d never be welcomed again.

Riding the train for the first time was a thrilling experience. He sat with men who discussed business deals while enjoying cold drinks in sparkling, clear glasses. Dave contented himself watching the countryside pass outside his window. When the train stopped at the small-town depots, Dave watched the passengers get off and on. He tried to guess their occupations. It was dark when the train finally pulled into Union Station in St. Louis, Missouri. Dave found a wooden bench away from the main lobby and slept through the night. During the following weeks, he found work selling newspapers and earned enough money to rent a bed in the dormitory where the other newsboys stayed. A meager breakfast and evening meal were included in the rent. He spent the afternoons sweeping floors and washing windows to earn extra money that he saved for his ticket down the Mississippi River on the Memphis Belle on his