Chapter 3

Sammy washed his neck and his hands carefully and studied his chin in the mirror over the bathroom sink, rubbing along it with his fingertips. There was no hot water unless one got it off the stove, but his father had paid for a gasoline pump and big galvanized tank in the attic so there was now indoor plumbing. The trumpet vines and the black snakes had completely taken over the old outhouse.

The young man turned his head from side to side and fingered his chin. He would not need to sharpen a razor, he decided. He found a clean shirt and buttoned on a fresh collar and a small bow tie on an elastic band. His dark suit with its narrow lapels, worn only for family funerals and church going, was just a bit short in the legs, but it would do until he found work, saved some money and could buy new clothes at one of the many department stores in the Capital. Sammy undid the top button of his fly and opened his belt one hole to let his trousers sink down a bit. He wiped the toes of his shoes on the back of his trousers, smoothed down his close-cropped hair with his hands, cleaned his finger nails on each other, kissed his mother's cheek and ran toward the tracks, hoping the ingoing trolley was not early. If he missed it, he would have to wait a half-hour for the next one.

He was at the yellow sign for less than a minute when he heard the crackling of electric sparks and then saw the streetcar moving toward him on the single track that ran between the D. C. and Rockville, the sleepy County seat where most of the local lawyers hung their shingles. The car creaked to a stop with the hiss of air brakes and clatter of opening doors, and the boy stepped up, said good day to the motorman, whose son had been a schoolmate, and handed the conductor a nickel that he dropped smoothly into the chromed change-maker on his belt.

He sat near the front and watched the trees whiz by, lulled by the gentle rocking of the electric trolley as it hurried in its mid-street trench past the white houses in fast-growing Bethesda and rattled on down through wooded land with a few scattered houses and windmills toward Washington. By the time they reached the double tracks near the District Line, Sammy had seen a half-dozen motorcars, all of which gave the streetcar a wide berth.

As the car climbed the hill to Tenleytown, Sammy surrendered another nickel for the in-town fare and started to see the first signs of the city that was moving out from the center toward the suburbs, especially in the Northwest section. Down in Georgetown the streetcar paused while the overhead pole was lowered and the plow attached underneath since all the cars in the city ran on underground, third-rail connections. Here the sidewalks were pretty busy and many stores had already extended their awnings.

About halfway up Pennsylvania Avenue, Sammy pulled the bell cord and disembarked, squared his straw hat and made his way up to the Kann's department store on F Street. He went directly to the business office, filled out a short form as neatly as he could with the worn nib in the pen he was given and was told to wait. He sat on a wooden bench until a woman in a long, dark skirt and big-sleeved blouse came from a glass-paneled door and gestured to him.

Sammy followed her to her small office, sat where she indicated and waited, ill at ease, looking at the drably painted walls while she studied the form he had filled out. He felt a knot in his stomach and wondered about the scrapple he had enjoyed at breakfast. He could still taste it, too much sage maybe.

"Mr. Williams," said the woman looking over her tiny, gold-framed eyeglasses and raising both eyebrows to their fullest.

Sammy nodded.

"You took some business courses in school?"

He nodded and said, "Yes'm. Typewriting, business math, bookkeeping and, and one other I can't remember. Oh, and public speaking."

The woman smiled briefly. "We currently are hiring runners and junior clerks at one dollar a day for ten hours of work, six days a week. Would you be interested in one of those positions?"

Sammy nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am, I think so." In his head he estimated twenty-five dollars a month and inwardly smiled.

"Do you have a telephone?" the woman asked, dipping her pen. "You left that space blank."

Sammy took a deep breath and resisted telling the woman how often he and his father had argued about getting a telephone. "No'm, but my uncle has one at his store." He gave her the number, and she wrote it down. "It's right next door to our house, just about," he exaggerated.

"Thank you for coming in," the woman said, standing and ending the interview.

Sammy stuck out his hand but the woman ignored it.

"We will call or write you within a week," she said as Sammy went back to pick up his hat from the floor. He hurried from the store and walked up F Street to the big Woodward and Lothrop department store. They were not hiring, he was told after a half-hour wait. He visited three other stores that morning and filled out two more applications for employment.

Hungry, he found a very narrow place on a side street that advertised ten-cent hot dogs on a big sign in its window. He slathered on mustard, chopped onions and pickle relish and sat on a bench near the Patent Office for the few minutes it took him to eat, drank from the bubbling iron fountain nearby and then went through the brass trimmed doors of Washington Loan and Trust. A guard wearing a Sam Browne belt eyed him as he entered, his hand on his polished holster. Sammy waited his turn at one of the grilled windows and then asked the young man with slicked back hair if the bank was hiring.

The clerk looked him up and down. "Just in from the country?" he asked.

Sammy fingered his hat and swallowed down his irritation.

"See that fellow over there?" the young man asked, pointing, "ask him, but I doubt it, bub. Next, please."

Sammy crossed the marble floor and waited at a low fence of polished oak. When the balding man in the dark suit and high collar finally looked his way, the young man found he was speechless, his throat clogged.