graphics

Why New 2orders Leave Home TIi* is a substantially true story and I il tell it straight, as it was tola to me, by an older man who is opinionated, yes, tut nonest and not at all senile. It was Mew York City, in Autumn I9¿9, just after the Crash. Jim, having j» fixed address and no moola, used to spend nights in the subtfay. A lot of poor people did it. And among these people there vas a code of honor *. According to the code, die younger, relatively healthy types fode on the trains at night. They Curled up in corners, with trie noise, the windows that wouldn't close (especially on the £1 /, and the cope at every terminal . The long benches on station platforms were reserved for older peopley so they could stretch out and approxiraate a real snooze. Well, one d\y an army of carpenters invaded the stations. On orders from some sadistic big shot, they put dividers on the long benches, so people couldn't stretch out. I asked Jim what the older people had Jone then, hut he didn't know· By the way, if there's another collapse, next year for instance, where «rill we go ? And presuming vre find some place, are the present-day authorities any more likely to let us sleep* Joe's nerve** not what it once was. It's the unemployment. When he first noticed the unemployment , about six months ago, Joe didn't take much notice. But the thing: persisted, and then it enlarged. Symptoms like dyspepsia, insomnia, systemic grumpiness, and a dull green wishful thinking turned up. Hi« -family suffered too. At the end of last month, eleven. of Joe's letters of application were returned unopened . Joe stopped seeing friends. The unemployment started cruising; up and down his spine in »n. alarmingly casual a-nd sinister fashion. Institutionalization was unavoidable. They watch. Joe now. Every two weeks, if he can prove he'ß still got the unemployment, lie gets a handful o£ maintenance pills . So that's why Joe's nerve's not what it once was . ...