It was early morning and I was at the blacksmith’s shop. Levi Hart ran the shop and he was busy hammering away at one anvil while I was at a nearby anvil . . . also hammering away. There was, as usual, a hot fire burning in the forge and, on that cold morning, the heat felt good when I stepped over there to reheat an iron plate . . . an iron plate that would eventually be a bracket for the mainmast of the sailing ship The Windjammer which was docked here in Boston for repairs. Levi had sort-of inherited the shop from his father . . . who had gotten it from his father. Levi didn’t love blacksmith work, but, as he himself told me, “You can’t turn your back on a reliable income Jimmy.”
Blacksmithing requires strength, dexterity, and . . . stubbornness.
Sometimes a piece of iron will put up a good fight . . . and you can’t give up on it. You might say that I was an ambidextrous blacksmith. I had noticed that, from swinging the heavy hammer, my right side had gotten considerably stronger than my left . . . and it bothered me a bit. So I started using my left arm to swing the hammer, and, over time, everything evened out just fine.
There were three benefits of working for Levi: One, the pay. Two, I learned a trade that would provide gainful employment for my future. And three, it was warm in the shop and the heat was free. Of course, in July and August the place was like an oven.
On that afternoon . . . as on any given afternoon . . . I was at Paul Matthew’s clothier shop on Chestnut Street. Paul was my closest friend of all the employers I had come to know and I had been stopping by his shop longer than I had any of the others. Paul had patiently taught me how to be a good tailor and it got so that he trusted me with any of the work his customers brought to him.
I liked sewing because you could work and talk at the same time. I have never been much of a talker, but when it is the number two thing I am doing, well then, the pressure is off and I like it fine.
Paul would give me his leftover scrap material . . . from which I would make all my own clothes. It saved me money, but my two pairs of breeches had front-sides that did not quite match in color their back-sides, and my shirts were made from white cotton, but were something of a quilt in style.
This never bothered me, however, and nobody ever said anything to me about it.
After leaving Paul’s shop there was a little free time so I stopped in to see Robbie. And that would be Robert Hagglebee Bookseller. The Hagglebee name was well known in Boston for quality books, and, from time to time, I would stop by to bother Robbie. There was little for me to do there by way of work . . . just put books on the shelves, straighten the books already on the shelves, or sweep the floor . . . but Robbie was nice to me and he loved to talk . . . and I was a good listener. I bought my dictionary from Robbie, and I believe that that was the last time I had spent money.
Dinner hour found me at The Admiral Benbow Inn. I entered through the back door . . . which led right into the kitchen . . . and everybody was already moving at top speed, and soon I was right up there with them. “We’ll be needin’ you to do some waitering tonight Jimmy.” John Williams, the proprietor, told me straight off, and that was fine with me. I checked in with Lorraine, who was peeling shrimp and opening clams, and she said that she was fine . . . for the moment. I went out to Pat at the bar. “You need anything Pattie?” I asked him, and he replied, “I’ll be needin’ a fresh keg here before long. This one won’t last me half the night.” And I told him,
“I’ll have it up for you in a jiffy.” And I did.
It was around nine o’clock when I said my good-byes at the Benbow . . . with some lobster stew in my belly and more than a few coins in my pocket . . . and made my way over to The Boar’s Head Tavern. Now this was a dangerous place. Actually, trouble did not occur there as often as people generally believed, but it occurred there often enough, so that the potential of trouble hung in the air of the place like pipe smoke.
Alcohol was a culprit at The Boar’s Head. All the trouble that ever happened there would have never happened . . . were it not for alcohol. The Admiral Benbow served alcoholic beverages too, but there was a difference: At The Benbow, food was the primary product and alcoholic drinks were secondary. At The Boar’s Head alcohol . . . in its various forms . . . was the main product.
The Boar’s Head was a four person operation . . . not counting myself.
Ruth “governed” the kitchen. Gordon, who was Ruth’s husband, did duty in the kitchen, behind the bar, and out in the dining room. Abraham, who everyone called Abe, ran the bar. And Mary was the barmaid. It took grit to be a barmaid at The Boar’s Head. Some of the customers were a bit . . . forward . . . and a girl had to be able to put them in their place when necessary. Mary did all right. She could dish it out . . . with competency . . . when she had to. But she had a soft side too . . . sort-of like a dog that loved its owners, but was mean to everybody else.
That night The Boar’s Head was crowded . . . and noisy. There were men talking, women laughing, and the sound of pewter mugs clinking against each other. And it was all perfectly normal to me. I was used to it.
Dirty dishes and mugs . . . on the tables and in the kitchen . . . were generally neglected there, and that was where I pitched in to help. While I was clearing a table a loud gent hailed me, “Hey laddie!” said he, “Three more here and be quick about it!” And in a jiffy I was to the bar and back to his table with his order . . . and he gave me a twenty cent piece for my effort. The tips there were good. One time a drunken fellow gave me a ten dollar gold piece . . . perhaps by mistake . . . but I decided that, sometimes, it is wise to not ask.
I got home past midnight and started a fire in the cook stove. I put a pot of water on the range top and, when the water was warm enough, I washed and rinsed my clothes and hung them on a rope that was strung over the stove. I then used a sponge to give myself the same treatment. And then it was off to bed . . . with a little reading before nodding off.