One of the places I’d look for Al was Finny’s, which no longer exists of course. The last time I checked, and this was more than a few years ago, it was a head shop. But at the time Finny’s was one of those untouchable joints. Prohibition or not, there was always Finny’s. The cops liked it; I think that helped. I wasn’t much of a drinker before then, and I wasn’t after, but for that period of time, those darkest days with Al, I can admit I sought some relief in a glass of beer. Oh, I was depressed, I guess. I had work, I was one of the lucky ones, but it seemed like no one else did. People were starving on the streets. We were all sad.
On top of that it seemed like my youth was passing me by in service of this man who did not seem to want to be helped. Of course he wanted his freedom. Of course he did! Who among us would want to have to sit at home and wait for someone? But I’d had this dream that eventually I would settle down, I’d get married, I’d have kids, I’d build this life that wasn’t expected of me but that I expected of myself. But instead I was just chasing Al around every night.
Now the other person walking the streets checking on the lost souls, as you know, was Mazie. The early thirties, she was just starting to become the person she was going to be, if that makes any sense. I guess she was a bit of an eccentric too. I mean what kind of woman wanders the streets like that? At least that’s what everyone used to talk about at Finny’s. Sure, there was a hypocrisy there. Why was I allowed to and she wasn’t? Well she was doing it anyway, so it doesn’t matter what any of us thought.
Mazie’s Diary, October 5, 1930
The lads at Finny’s like to tease me about walking the streets. Like I’m a streetwalker, a real one. Oh Mazie’s got a new part-time job, ho ho ho. Last night I twisted one of their ears, and I saw tears in his eyes, though he wouldn’t admit it.
I said: I’m a queen, and don’t you ever forget it.
He said he wouldn’t.
George Flicker was there, too. I’ve always liked him fine, even though he spends half the conversation staring at my bosom. Once in a while I take his face in my hand and lift it up to meet my eyes. I don’t think it’s funny, and neither does he, but we both laugh anyway. I’d get mad at anyone else, but I’ve known him too long. I know he’s not a bad sort. I think he’s a good sort, actually. Except for the wandering eye.
Last night I sat with him after I twisted that man’s ear.
He said: I know why I’m walking the streets but what about you? It’s not safe out there for a lady. I don’t listen to these jokers over here. I know you’re a real lady.
I started talking and I didn’t stop till I was done. I wish I could remember what I said! I was in a frenzy.
George Flicker
She gave me this speech once and I’ll never forget it. It was this especially rough night at Finny’s, the guys were teasing her. These were the days they still teased her. She was still young and pretty enough that they cared to bother. Isn’t that an awful thing to say? Well I’m old now, and I know the truth, so I can say it. So they’re teasing her, saying she’s a streetwalker, getting customers, whatnot. And she socked some guy in the ear I think. She said, “I’m the queen!” And everyone started laughing. So I offered her this safe haven with me at a corner table. But I’d been drinking and I couldn’t leave it alone. I asked her why she did what she did when she could have just stayed home safe.
And she said, “These are dark days, Georgie. The city’s lost its pride. And what does it cost me to buy these fellas a drink or two? Or to give them some soap to clean up with, or to buy them a place to rest their heads for the night? It’s change that I already got in my pocket. What else am I going to do with it? Buy another dress? I got a whole closet full. Go on vacation? Where would I go? I live in the best city in the world. Buy myself a fancy dinner? Give me my sister’s cooking any old time. No, my change goes to these fellas on the streets. I used to give my money away to strangers, I didn’t want to look them in the face, I didn’t want to know where it went. Now I want to know where it’s going. I want to make sure it’s making some kind of difference. I walk these streets because I want to help. Why is that so hard to understand?”
She got pretty emotional. She wiped some tears from her eyes. I handed her my kerchief. Then she said, “Is it so hard to believe I could be a good person?”
Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1930
I’m thirty-three now.
Rosie gave me a walking stick for my birthday.
I said: What’s this for?
She said: I know your back bothers you, and it doesn’t look like you’ll stop walking those streets anytime soon. This’ll help.
I held the stick in my hand. It’s a fine, lacquered dark wood.
She said: I know what you do.
I said: Do you now.
She said: Everyone knows you’re out there helping those bums.
I stood and practiced with it. I stood up straighter immediately.
She said: You’re a good girl, Mazie.
I said: I’m no girl any longer.
She said: Well you’re my girl, and you always will be.
George Flicker
Another time I remember her telling me about Rosie. I strolled into Finny’s and there she was, and I tipped my hat at her, and she patted the seat next to her, and it made me feel special, and a little tight in the pants if I must be honest here. I don’t mean to make you blush, honey. Those early sexual desires inform everything. This is what Freud said. I don’t know much about psychology but I do know what Freud said, doesn’t everyone? And that little boy in me, he liked having Mazie ask him to sit next to her. I asked her what the good word was, and she said, “I got nothing good. The streets are dire and my sister’s a loon as usual.” I said, “What’s the problem, Mazie? Moving day again?” She looked shocked that I knew about it. Maybe a little embarrassed too, I guess. I said, “Not to make a joke out of it.” She said, “I just didn’t know it was common knowledge.” I said, “I work in the business. I’m sorry. Plus I worry about you girls. No man to look out for you.” I thought I’d give it a shot, show a little bravado, see what I could get out of it. “A man to look after us isn’t what we need,” she said. “A man for her to look after is what she needs. Just so she can leave me alone already. I’d marry her off in a second if I could, but she’d never go for it. She’ll love Louis till the day she dies.”
Mazie’s Diary, December 3, 1930
Called an ambulance tonight, and both the attendants were cold to the poor bum. There was a bigger one, an enormous man, who was strong enough to carry the bum in his arms, but he was just flipping him around, dragging him a bit on the ground.
I said: He’s blue in the lips, how about some respect already?
He said: He can’t feel it anyway. Look at him, he’s passed out cold.
I said: Be humane.
I growled it really, and then he listened, took a more tender turn, straightened the bum’s coat for him. I think it was my voice that did it. Lately I’ve noticed it’s as deep as a man’s. All those years under the train tracks, yelling at the folks in my line just to be heard. I know I’m all woman. But I’ll just catch myself here and there, and I’ll forget it’s me talking. It’s good to have this voice on the streets though. It’s good to feel tough. I gotta be at my boldest on the streets.
Mazie’s Diary, January 8, 1931
Walked a young fella with a limp to the flophouse on the corner. Said his name was Winky, and that gave me a laugh. I should write down all these bum names I hear sometime. It’d be quite a list.