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24 the minnesota review Michael O'Connor In Carnegie, Pennsylvania, on the Weekend He would open his heart like the coke oven doors and the pride would flow hot through his pockets and come out in coin. Drinks for his fellow workers. Every Friday at the main Hotel, a twenty dollar bill laid at either end of the bar. 'Drink up boys, I don't like no change saggin' my pockets." And they drank to cut the coal dust. They drank to love, to Irish women with curly red hair and steel-blue eyes, to hard work and plenty of it to go around, to hard fists and honest hearts, to the best crew boss at Superior Steel, to "Sox" O'Connor. In Carnegie, Pennsylvania the house on Red Row, his wife would scrub the kitchen floor the front porch, the steps, and wait. Fridays the neighbors would point and call to her up the street, "He's on his way, drunk again." And he would come. Up the streets of Carnegie past the mill, past the bars, pockets hanging out from pants like deflated stories, empty souls. The oldest son Fred would steal what was left of the paycheck, give it to his mother without looking into her eyes. Sunday was mass at Saint Phillips Roman Catholic Church. Before services, Sox at the confessional pouring out his sorrow like good Irish whiskey down the parched throat of Fr. McCashin. Walking home, Sox would hold his wife's hand not caring that he might be too old for this open affection. Later, bean soup at the dining room table, promises that some day soon, there would be enough money to fix and mend, to stop the cold through the dining room wall slats, maybe enough left over. O'Connor 25 In the afternoon sun, he would shade his eyes with a broad palm, look across to the mill. On the front steps, Sox would sip Iron City from bottles, turn slowly each thought over in his mind like a new coin, still shiny with promise. Monday is a new day. The Union Elnor made coffee in the big iron pot. Coffee grounds poured into a metal strainer laid in the water. Dandelion salad with bacon dressing tossed in the big wooden bowl. Pampuski on the sill to cool. The children ran lazily over the hillside playing Lay-Low and Sheepy. The evening sun filed a dull glow on the roof tops of Carnegie. In the kitchen, Socks and six other men. Bill McNaulti shifted in his chair, shifted the gun in his hip pocket. 'Too much washing of the back can weaken it.' The Coal and Iron Police were on duty in the yards. 'Yellow Dogs on the prowl tonight.' Blacks were being imported from Europe. They wanted freedom. The mills wanted to break strikes. There was a new word being bandied about, over lunch, in the lav, down to the creek. Union. We need a union. Stay together and don't let them break us. 'They'll be some breaking of heads tonight in the yard.' In York Run Patch, the Yellow Dogs had come in the night. Like fever, they spread through the patch. Refused the company, company sends its dogs. Company wagons would load up a people's belongings. Take them into the countryside, and dump them like garbage. No work, no house. There were always the blacks. No one needs the Irish. Socks took his last twenty dollars from the ginger jar. 26 the minnesota review McNaulti shifted again. The men talked into the wee hours. Elnor sat quiet, stared out the window waiting, for the sound of wagon wheels. The Patch The houses in the patch were all painted bright red. The company paid for the paint. The company took care of its own. Over the edge of the rise of hills that was Carnegie, the beehives of coke ovens. A dull yellow aura leaked slowly from their tops, jaundiced the sulphured hills, the houses where people lay at night on lean, hot mattresses. Feel the heat. The orange glow of hot ingots licks the sky like dying dry tongues. Socks O'Connor walks slowly...

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