Philadelphia: 1861
William Smith, Esq, walked south along Ridge Avenue enjoying the mid July weather. A block after he turned right onto 10th he came to the shoe shop. Young Tom was on the sidewalk shining shoes and selling copies of the Inquirer. Smith stopped to get a shine. He enjoyed talking to the boy.
The father had died from influenza over ten years ago. The family struggled but seemed to be coping. Tom and his older brother were making steady profits from their shoe business. His sisters had jobs as servants in some of the best households in Philadelphia. His mother worked at the Mercantile Bank.
Smith stopped more for the conversation than the shine. Tom was going to sell him a newspaper but, in the process, he would cover important events. The young man had taken the time to study the day’s edition. He had the headlines down and he knew the stories behind them.
“Shoe shine, Mr. Smith?” Tom called.
“Yes, sir,” he replied as he took a seat and placed his feet on the iron pedestals.
Tom handed him a paper. “We’re getting’ whooped,” the boy said. “Mr. Lincoln is going to have to do something about it.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yep. Them rebels chased our boys all the way back to Washington.”
“What is the president going to do about that? Do you think he’ll lead the troops in the next battle?”
The boy stopped shining shoes long enough to shoot an angry glare at Smith. “No, sir. He’s puttin’ a new man in charge.”
Smith chuckled. He was still furious that Lincoln had tried to put Robert E. Lee, a slaver, in charge of a battle to end slavery. “That should be interesting. Who do you think he’ll choose?”
“General McClellan. No question. He whooped the Confederates last week.”
“We’ll see.”
“You won’t have to wait long. We’re gonna take the fight to them pretty quick.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We’re being mustered in,” the boy crowed. “This may be the last time I get to shine your shoes.”
Smith studied his friend. A runt. A blonde, gray-eyed runt. He could not have weighted more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. But he was aching to get into this fight. “Well good luck. If I don’t see you again, I hope you do well.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out three pennies for the shine and the paper. “I don’t know that I would be as eager as you for this fight.”
Tom grinned. “That’s okay for you but if you’re Irish you have to prove you’re an American too.”
The big man smiled. A tight-lipped smile. He nodded and found two more pennies for the boy. “Good luck.”
Smith folded the paper under his arm and continued his journey to the office. A block away, he caught sight of his reflection in a store front window. He paused to admire the elegant figure he saw. He straightened his red bow tie. Not that it needed straightening. He smiled and gave a slight nod to the smooth, black face that smiled back at him.
But he couldn’t get the conversation out of his mind. Yes. He believed Lincoln would find a way. He was a farm boy and a fighter. He had risen to the highest office in the land. He knew how to win. He would beat the rebellion. But he wouldn’t do anything about the plight of southern blacks. Slavery would go on just as it had for the last two hundred years. That would only change if Smith and his friends made it change.
He scowled and shook his head. Dark times were coming. The group would have to take over power and force the whites to end slavery. If that’s what had to be done, that is what they would do.
Give the southern rebellion some time to play out. But the chaos it was creating could provide the perfect opportunity for a takeover.
