[stylist] story of hoodlums

Mon Jan 10 05:13:59 UTC 2011

thanks Robert,
I appreciate your kind words!
yes, Dennis Day could play Sean I think.
jc

At 11:44 AM 1/9/2011, you wrote:
>Jim, a sensitive old black and white piece. I could hear the old reeled,
>movie cameras whirring. (I liked it.)
>
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
>Behalf Of James H. "Jim" Canaday M.A. N6YR
>Sent: Sunday, January 09, 2011 11:19 AM
>To: stylist at nfbnet.org
>Subject: [stylist] story of hoodlums
>
>
>from the prompt of a couple of days ago, 728 words:
>
>
>The night fog lay across San Francisco like congealed pork chop gravy on
>cold mashed potatoes.  Dank little puddles marked the neighborhoods of both
>low and mighty.  It would soon become the year 1900.
>
>This murky night, Sean sped his bicycle through the streets as quickly as
>possible; the great man Joab J. St. Brendan tipped telegram boys very well
>indeed.  "Important telegram for Mr. St.
>Brendan!"  Sean had heard that sometimes Mr. St.
>Brendan's telegrams involved business worth hundreds of thousands of
>dollars.
>
>Sean carried his brightly polished dispatch case behind him.  He was known
>throughout the city as the "on the ball telegram boy," with his sharp
>pressed blue and white uniform pants and shirt.  Being the fastest helped.
>
>Sean smiled and said to himself, "the great Mr.
>Joab J. St. Brendan will tip me extra just for looking neat tonight."
>
>Whenever Sean was on the streets in his uniform, he earned big tips.  Other
>people knew this.  Tonight he rounded a corner just two blocks from Mr.
>Brendan's suite.  As he did, Sean caught sight of them: those damned
>hoodlums.  Those five street toughs, standing under a gaslight smoking and
>talking big, their caps pulled down low.  Had they seen him?  They had
>jumped him for his tips last week.
>
>Sean pedaled around the corner on to Van Ness Street.  He was desperately
>trying to avoid their attention as he watched the hoodlums behind his left
>shoulder.  So he didn't see the menacing muddy puddle before him.  In one
>splash Sean Callahan's pants were despicably coated with mud to the knees.
>
>Sean knew he surely could not stop near those braggadocious hoodlums.  He
>also couldn't delay delivery of the great man's important telegram.  His
>pedaling didn't slow, but Sean bit his lip hard.  His green eyes took on a
>steely glint.  In a minute or two, the hoodlums were left behind.
>
>"Telegram for Mr. St. Brendan," Sean waved to the doorman of the Hoskins
>Plaza as he entered.
>
>"You're all muddy Sean boy!  Stop!"
>
>"Can't stop sir.  Important telegram!"
>
>The doorman let him pass.  He also sent a note to the manager to explain the
>mud.
>
>After being passed by a couple of hotel staff, and then Mr. St. Brendan's
>own business manager, Sean stood before the great man.  Sean had interrupted
>a happy scene of four wealthy businessmen toasting something.
>
>He handed him the telegram in a leather holder,  "sir, I have an important
>telegram for you.  Shall I wait for a reply?"  Sean knew he looked terrible
>in all of that mud, but at least he had done his job.  That fine tip didn't
>seem so likely now.
>
>   "Here you go Sean," Mr. Brendan distractedly handed him a dime (a large
>tip) as he took the leather holder.  The great man scanned the urgent
>telegram and muttered something about a cousin in New York.  "No, you don't
>need to wait for a reply, be on your way boy."
>
>Sean felt a tremendous relief.  He turned and walked toward the door.  Just
>then Mr. Joab J.
>St. Brendan noticed the muddy footprints on that expensive in laid floor,
>and the mud on Sean's formerly splendorous uniform.
>
>"Stop!  You damned hoodlum!"  Joab St. Brendan said reprimanding Sean.  But
>as he heard himself shout this, he heard it shouted in his own face
>twenty-six years before with a stab in his heart.  Back then some Knob Hill
>dandy shouted "Stop!  You damned hoodlum!" looking down his nose at a smudge
>faced street tough named Joey Brandon.  Joey Brandon now in his Hoskins
>Plaza suite remembered and took a deep breath.
>
>"Sean . boy, come back here, it is okay," spoke the great man in a cracking
>voice.
>
>Sean felt fear now, more than he did at the corner of Van Ness by those
>hoodlums.
>
>"Yes sir?"
>
>     "Please forgive my outburst.  Sean, here's another nickel." And Joab St.
>Brendan gently put his hand on Sean's shoulder, "one of my workers will
>fetch you a cup of warm chocolate while your uniform is properly cleaned
>here in my hotel.  Can you wait?"
>
>
>"Uh!  Yes sir.  Thank you sir!  But . why?"  Sean couldn't believe his luck;
>he just didn't understand.
>
>"Because, ahem  . well it's the right thing to do."
>
>And with that, the great man Mr. Joab J. St.
>Brendan turned back to his cronies over their cigars and whiskey.
>
>
>
>_______________________________________________
>Writers Division web site:
>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
>stylist mailing list
>stylist at nfbnet.org
>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
>stylist:
>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/newmanrl%40cox.net
>
>
>
>_______________________________________________
>Writers Division web site:
>http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
>
>stylist mailing list
>stylist at nfbnet.org
>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
>To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for stylist:
>http://www.nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/n6yr%40sunflower.com