Evening Star Newspaper, September 20, 1936, Page 89

September 20, 1936 - candy store. They decided to allow him to stick around. It wasn't long before he had a cigaret dangling from his lips, had left school (he was 14 years old) and had become an expert in ‘‘dumping.” Dumping is a form of robbery in which a boy jumps on a loaded truck which ° has halted at a traffic light, and hands down the packages to his friends wait- ing alongside. Johnny was also a great help in “lushing.”” That is,. emptying the pockets of drunken men. He boasted that he could ‘“‘roll” a drunk faster than anybody else. Before long he was picked up and sent to reform school. We watched Johnny’s progress eagerly. We were anxious to do the same. To our minds he was going up the golden ladder to success. That winter a block of old tene- ments was torn down on Allen Street. A park was to be substituted. The city administration had been made aware of conditions by three big fires. For more than a year the excava- tions continued. It was a playground for us. Together with other boys from the neighborhood, we prowled in the ruins of old firetraps and carried off what was worth stealing. We had a fight one day: A gang of big boys came around and chased us. Hot-headed Henry threw a brick, and its sharp corner tore open a’ fellow's cheek. Henry was caught by a police- +man and given a whipping. He kicked the policeman — and was taken away. Joel and I were pals. His father had a grocery store, and he was the richest kid on the block. But he was as wild as anybody 1 ever knew. He caused a lot of trouble, and the local policeman often told his father. There was a burly German shop- keeper who always chased us when we bounced rubber balls against his win- ' | dows. We determined to get even. Joel | and I got a crate full of eggs from the cellar of the grocery. We dragged it around the corner, and dared the angry shopkeeper to come out. He 1§ came — and then we spattered him with eggs. After that we were in trouble. We didn’t dare play near Orchard Street, 80 we went further east. One day when we were shooting dice near Avenue C, something happened that, 1 think, was to change our whole lives. A tall man, dressed in a burly brown vercoat and looking like a detective, e up and stood watching us. We started to pick up the money d drift away. “Don’t go, boys,” he said. “I'l ade your dime.” What kind of detective was this? ‘“My name is Harry Slonaker, and 'm looking for a gang of boys to start club. It’s not going to have any directors, or social workers. e will be only boys, and the boys ill run it like a republic, with a yor and a city council, and a surer, a city clerk and a judge. ‘e can have a lot of fun, and we'll running this complete city all by urselves.’ We came back the' next day and alked it over. We came back the fol- -~ N ey “ TR ® « UV 2 .o -] Johnny Went to Prison— THIS WEEK Continved from poge two lowing day, and then it was agreed. We were to start the Boys’ Brother- hood Republic. The first eight citizens moved into the first City Hall — a little store that had been occupied by a shoe- maker. All the furniture consisted of three benches that the citizens had picked up somewhere. We never did tell Harry where we got them. We put some old pictures of the Colosseum and other Roman ruins on the walls, and three detective maga- zines on a bench. It was the beginning of our library. Over the door we hung a sign: ““Where Boys Rule.” It was the motto of the Boys’ Brotherhood Republic. Our first taxes, levied by the treas- urer, were twenty-five cents a month. Joel and I, for the first time in our lives, ran errands to earn money. We were told that we had certain responsibilities; we would be trusted with certain duties. We were amazed. Nobody had ever trusted us before. Instead of the crap games to which we had been accustomed, we came down to clean the City Hall and per- form other duties as members of com- mittees. We knew, for instance, that if we didn’t clean up the City Hall no- Drewing by Ray Allen **WHADDYA MEAN, AN ELEPHANT NEVER FORGETS?" body else would. There were no men or women around to do it for us. We had to work for everything we got — and work we did. We elected our first Mayor — Chubby Klee, one of the original crap shooters. For holding a successful election, Harry gave the citizens purple and white sweater emblems. We wore them proudly, but often had to sock other boys who laughed at the ‘‘boys’ club in one room.” We had freedom of speech and of action; we were allowed to do any- thing that did not conflict with the freedom of other citizens. When we overstepped that mark, we were arrested by a member of the police committee, served with a summons, allowed to subpoena witnesses in our behalf, and given a court trial with a selected jury and an elected judge and prosecuting attorney. If we were found guilty, we were either exiled from the City Hall and barred from all its activities for a certain period, or assigned to help the House Committee sweep floors or wash windows. The guilty citizens always pleaded to be allowed to help the House Com- mittee, because they hated to stay away from the Republic. ‘We made our own laws and planned our own activities. If I wanted to bring a fish into the City Hall and start a nature club, it was all right with the Council, which consisted of ten elected boys. At first we kept the fish in a bathtub, but later, after a heated meeting, the Council appro- priated three dollars for a big fishbowl. We had exciting times at the elec- tion campaigns, the council meetings and the court trials. We were citizens of a republic, not just members of a club. We told our friends in school about it. They would come around, skeptical; and when they saw the citizens con- ducting.a complete city administra- tion, they would join. Shortly after we were established, a friend of the tiny Republic sent us a printing press and a case of type. I had never printed before, but this equipment fascinated me. We started a printing club and a weekly news- paper. We had no instructors, but some of the boys who studied printing in trade schools would teach the beginners. 1 was elected’ editor of “The B. B. R. Reporter” and began to take an interest in newspapers. I got a job with a local printer who had been a newspaperman for many years. Between cleaning ink plates, he taught me the art of printing — somewhat sketchily — and other newspaper lore. Meanwhile, the Boys’ Republic was growing. We had no membership drives, but the citizens told their skeptical friends about this club where boys ruled, where we were “citizens of a republic, and not just members of a club.” In 1934, when I needed a job very badly, I got one with a local weekly. I was given a chance to cover local stories and rewrite copy from the daily papers. I worked in a printing- plant in Long Island and finished high school. Late in 1935 I got a job as editor of a weekly trade paper. There 1 had a chance to use all the things I learned in the Boys' Re- public. Today the Boys’ Republic has more than 400 citizens. We have a big six- story building that was renovated by the boys themselves when we took it over two years ago. We have a W LB LA RIDES. e 2/ COST (LESS gymnasium, meeting rooms, pool and ping-pong tables, athletic teams, a library and various workshops. We have a bank which accepts deposits from one cent up and pays interest, an excellently mimeographed weekly newspaper, courts, a flourishing Board of Education — and a complete city administration conducted entirely by boys from 14 to 19 years of age. There are still no men or women directors in the Boys’ Republic. However, today, nobody laughs at our motto, ‘““Where Boys Rule.” By corducting our City Hall and a camp, we have proved it to be a fact. We have proved that if given an oppor- tunity, boys are capable of thinking for themselves. We get the boy who is on his way to prison; and if he has already been there, it makes no difference. I haven’t shot craps for many months. 1 haven’t seen Johnny for a long time. I don’t steal and I don’t smoke. . But I don't feel the least bit “re- | formed.” I learned, since I became a citizen of the Boys' Republic, that a good Mogozine Section 13 /}){/l/ “ID“IS' lyice s e PUSH BUTTON TUNING ol«s ELECTRIK SAVER EVERYWHERE, radio this amasingly beautift h‘r" better, more p‘o‘.'or ul, super selective 16-tube b-i :d' udioi. ?utporlorim- nl(’)o' sets on point-for-point compar: efore you decide, write for F vy 1937 ADVANCED FEATU Scores of marvelous features citizen is not a sissy, and that there is |e - more fun in being part of a “city gov- ernment”’ than in belonging to a pool- room gang. I learned that there is more excite- ment at a council meeting than there is at a crap game. And I know that the experience I am receiving as a citizen of the Boys’ Republic will let me take my place in the world without handicaps. Johnny went to prison last week; he’ll come out again in a couple of years a full fledged outcast. His life | has ended before it began. But there are hundreds of boys who started out as he did who will never go to prison. I am one of them. We are citizens of the Boys’ Brotherhood Republic. ARE ALL THE CROSS LINES PARALLEL? Willards cost less to own Because they last longer . . crank faster . . don’t let you down ® “The cost of operating my car comes out of my com- missions, so I keep pretty close track of my expenses. “I've tried a dozen different makes of bacteries— and none of them gave me the extra miles and montbs of good, dependable service that I'm getting out of this Willard. always starts me — regardless of weather—and 1 haven’t had 1o spend a cent for recharging. Maybe all this is just luck —but I don't think so. 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