ADRIFT

We enter Louisville along Breckinridge Street and cut across to Broadway and pull into the Greyhound station near Fifth Street. I reach into the overhead and drag down the old pressboard suitcase that Mom and Pop had bought Jimmy when he went on his Junior trip at school and that I had used for my two class trips as well. It is already getting dingy where we have stored it in the junk room upstairs. It is a small suitcase but easily contains the few articles of clothing I have brought along. I move out onto the sidewalk and am lost. My vague plan is to try to find a room. Something that can be rented by the week or month. Failing that, I will stay the night at the YMCA and maybe the people at my work will be able to point me to something tomorrow. I wander disconsolately along the sidewalk moving away from the center of town toward the residential area. But here are row houses with businesses on the first floor – pawnbrokers and thrift stores. It seems like a poor part of town. A black panhandler stops me and asks for money. I shake my head and try to move on but he presses me. I tell him I don’t have any money to spare, thinking of the twenty dollars or so I have in my pocket, the proceeds from cashing in the defense bond I got during the war with my dimes buying a stamp every week. I tell him I have to move on. I am looking for a room for the night. He says he knows just what I want and urges me to follow him. We move along the street to where a large corpulent man is standing outside one of the row houses talking to another man. The black man steers me to him and starts to chatter about having brought him business and expecting a reward. The man eyes me coldly. “You looking for a room?” The house does not look at all reputable. “Yes. I’m looking.” “Well, I have nice rooms upstairs. I can let you have one for seven dollars a week. You want to look?” “Since I’m here.” I don’t want to have a confrontation, but I don’t like this part of town. I follow him up a flight of stairs. “Here it is. A fine room.” It is a nice room in appearance, but there is a bad odor about the place. Like beneath the paint is decades of dirt and scum and rot and old mouse droppings and cockroach shells. “It is nice, but I really wanted something closer to my work.” “Where’s that?” “Out at Twelfth and Hill.” “Walk down here to Twelfth and Broadway. Bus takes you right there.” I start to feel threatened, but there is no way I am going to lodge here. “I don’t think so. I’ll look around some more.” He again eyes me coldly. “Why were you walking around with that bum?” “He just latched onto me. Started out asking me for money.” “Well, run him off. He’ll rob you if he gets the chance.” We come back on to the street. The Negro is waiting. “You see, young man. Didn’t I tell you he had good rooms? Reasonable, too.” The big man raises his hand threateningly. Maybe he is mad that he hasn’t rented the room. “Get the hell away. Don’t come around here again.” He steps away tentatively. “Didn’t I bring you trade?” he whines. “Ain’t no way to treat me.” “Get on away. I’m looking for a patrolman.” “Ain’t right. Ain’t right to treat me thisaway.” He shuffles on down the street. The big man regards me considering what else he might say. Finally says, “You better be getting down for the night. Go up to the YMCA at Second Street. They give you a clean bed in the dormitory for a dollar or two. Don’t have to worry about your things getting stolen.” “Okay. I think that’s what I’ll do.” He watches me walk away. Calls after me. “And don’t talk to bums on the street. They are after your money or more.”