I said: I only wanted to make sure. We choose this, there’s no unchoosing it.
She said: You and I disagree about a lot of things, Mazie, but I think we can both agree we will not send our people out on the streets until the last dime is gone.
Ah, I loved her then. I loved my Rosie.
Lydia Wallach
They kept the theater running for two years at a loss, paying people out of their own savings. Supposedly they had plenty of money, she and her sister. Secret stashes of cash here and there. But still, to support an entire staff like that.
Mazie’s Diary, February 15, 1930
There was no line at the theater today, we sold three tickets in the morning, and that’s it. Same as yesterday, and the week before, and the week before that. I decided to check out the competition. Everyone was standing in line instead at the Bowery Mission.
I wrapped myself up in my warm cloak, and brought an extra pack of smokes with me, thought I’d hand them out if anyone was craving one. I hadn’t seen the lines up close yet, or maybe I’ve seen them and just wasn’t paying attention. I wore gloves and a scarf and a hat and the new wool winter cloak Rosie gave me in December, and I walked briskly, I swung my arms, and still I felt the chill. And I was thinking if I’m cold, how are those fellas doing?
I walked the line, nodding at the gents. So many of them had suitcases with them and if I didn’t know any better I would have thought they were heading on a trip. But instead they were just carrying whatever they had left, what little remained in their lives.
I knew I’d seen some of them around before. Some of them were hustlers, but some of them were just regular old Joes from the neighborhood, working stiffs without any work, just stiff now. I couldn’t name them, I couldn’t place them exactly, and I thought maybe I was even making it up, them being familiar. But then a couple of them tipped their hats at me, and a few of them said my name. How do, Miss Mazie. So I knew I was right. These were my customers, starving on the streets. I offered out cigarettes to the fellas, and some of them took more than one and I didn’t say a thing.
One of them touched my arm and I turned to him, offered him the pack.
He said: It’s me, Mazie. It’s William. From Finny’s. Do you remember me? It’s been a while, I know.
It was Hungry William, who had savaged my breasts a few years ago. The bites and the bruises, how could I forget him?
I said: Oh, William, of course. I’d know you anywhere.
I was girlish and flirtatious. I wanted to make him feel special right then. He took a smoke, told me that he was down on his luck like everyone else.
I said: Even the bankers have fallen.
He said: Especially the bankers. But I was not so much a banker as a bank clerk, I must admit to you. And now I’m nothing.
He started to cry, standing right there in the line. I felt all hot and teary too. I touched his face. I remembered him as so rough and arrogant, I couldn’t stand to see him as anything but that. There’s not much I ask for in this world anymore, but I want my memories to remain intact.
I said: William, don’t be sad. We had such a good time together, think about that.
He said: There’s no more good times left for me.
I pulled my flask from my coat.
I said: Drink this, it’ll warm you up.
He sipped from it but then other lads yelled for it, and it was gone in a flash. Everyone was sipping. I couldn’t deny them a thing. After the flurry of cigarettes and booze there was nothing left for them to do but stand there in the cold, some of them jumping up and down to keep warm, others hunched over, arms wrapped around themselves. I started to feel it, too, the cold to the bone.
I said: Listen, when you’re done here, you come see me at the theater, I’ll let you in for free. All of you lads, you come in, warm up, see a show, it’ll take your mind off your problems. In no time you’ll feel better. It’s on me, you hear?
They all let out a cheer. I know it’s just temporary, a temporary gift for them. I can’t have them in there every day. I’ll never get another decent customer in if I do. But for one day, I can let these fellas warm themselves under my roof.
Later on Rudy told me half of them slept through the entire movie.
Mazie’s Diary, February 16, 1930
I don’t know if we’ve ever had a fight before, Rudy and me, but letting the bums on the outside in, he isn’t having it. Early this morning, before I opened up the cage, he asked me inside. We sat in the balcony. I hadn’t been in the theater for nearly ten years. I’d forgotten what it looked like. Some theater owner I am. The screen was dark, and the lights were dim, and I was thinking that was for the best, that I wouldn’t want to look too close at anything. The air felt thick and dusty, like maybe I could hold it in my hand. But I could be wrong about everything. It smelled fine in there, not moldy, not boozy. And the chairs were still plush beneath me. Nice seats, high-class seats. Those seats were good enough for me and anyone else who walked through that door. Which was the point I was about to make.
Rudy said: We’re not a shelter or a flophouse, Mazie.
I said: I know we’re not. But they were the same as you and me six months ago. They had jobs and homes and money in their pockets. We’re no better than them. This city is just stricken.
Rudy said: People think we’re letting the bums run the place they’ll never come back again, even when they do have money.
I said: You know what the movies mean to you. Now think what it will mean to these fellas, too broke to have any kind of treat for themselves.
He said: You want to talk about what the movies mean to people? I don’t want to be rude but a lot of them, they’re not clean. It’s not their fault, but would you want to sit next to someone who doesn’t smell so great? You’ve saved up your pennies, some fella’s taking a girl he wants to impress, or this is your birthday present from your husband, say, and it’s a big night out on the town and, Mazie, you’re sitting in a theater filled with guys who haven’t washed in a week or two because they’re sleeping on the streets. I mean, who’s coming back for that? What’s going to happen to our business?
I heard him. I heard everything he said. It’s his business too, he’s put his whole self into it for so long. Front of the house is me, back of the house is Rudy. I know it. It’s the deal we made. But I’m breaking the rules.
I said: I’ll remind you it’s my business, Rudy.
He said: Mazie, please.
I said: It won’t be forever. And it won’t be all of them. Only the ones that can behave themselves.
He said: And how will you know?
I said: I’ve been looking at these lines of people for ten years. I know.
Mazie’s Diary, April 7, 1930
William’s been showing up every day to the Venice. Filching smokes off me, sometimes I’ll hand him change, and once I brought him a tiny bar of soap from home, didn’t say nothing, just slid it over to him. He nods, I nod. Rudy told me he snoozes quietly in the balcony for a show or two. I never even see him leave.
Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s drunk or just sad. It’s not a mystery I want to solve. I’ve no judgment either way, only I just want to know how to help him, if I can even help him. I know some of these lads you just have to give up on. But how can I give up on the one who sucked at my tit?
Mazie’s Diary, April 15, 1930
Haven’t seen William in a week. Asked around, nothing. Now he’s not even showing up in the mornings. I think I’ll walk the street tonight, see if I can find him. I don’t want him to get lost in the shuffle.
Mazie’s Diary, April 16, 1930