The Kings of Hooverville

Excerpt from The Kings of Hooverville

Harland slipped into the phone booth at the diner. He closed the door, picked up the receiver, asked the operator to connect him to his brother’s exchange number, waited for her to plug it in at her switchboard, then waited for the ring to bring Michael to the other phone. It rang three times before his brother answered.

            “Hello?” Michael said curiously.

            Closing his eyes, Harland said, “It’s me.”

            “Good God on high.” Michael huffed. “I never thought I’d hear from you, little brother.”

            “I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

            “Well, you paid for the phone,” Michael said. “I don’t receive that many calls. When I heard the thing ring, I had a feeling it might be you.”

            Harland drew a breath.

            Michael said, “What is it, Harland? Is everything all right?”

            Harland held his head high. “I need to ask you a favor.”

            “The rich brother needs to ask me a favor?”

            “I’m . . . ” Harland shook his head, “I’m not rich anymore, Michael. I’ve lost everything. The business folded in on itself.”

            Sighing, Michael said, “I’ve been reading the papers. I heard about what happened. I thought maybe you were able to steer clear of it.”

            Harland shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

            “Well, how can I help? I’m not sure what I can provide if it's the money you want. Things are hand-to-mouth at the moment.”

            The moment to humble himself to his brother had arrived for Harland. And it did not come easy.  “My family,” he said, “they need a place to stay for a while as I sort out my affairs here in New York. I was calling to see if I could send Freddie and the children your way until I get back on my feet.”

            Michael said, “Of course. My door is always open to you and your family. How long would they be staying for?”

            “I’m not sure, Michael,” Harland said. “That’s the only issue. It may take a while.”

            “They can stay as long as they like.”

            “I appreciate that. Really. I just need to figure out how to get them out to the farm.”

            Michael said, “I can wire you enough funds for train tickets. Would that help?”

            Tears welled in Harland’s eyes. “Yes,” he said with a strained breath. “That would help tremendously.”

            Michael laughed. “Your family can finally meet mine…if she ever comes back from Texas.”

            Harland squinted. “What do you mean?”

            “I have a wife now, Harland. I mentioned that in the Christmas letter I sent you. Did you not read it?”

            Shaking his head, Harland said, “I’ve been a bit preoccupied. I didn’t know.”

            “That’s okay,” Michael said. “I figured as much. Listen, I’ll wire you the money tonight. I’m sure you can see to it that your family gets on the train. I’ll get everything prepared in the meantime.”

            “Thank you,” Harland said, recalling that he had never said the words sincerely to anyone in recent memory. “It means the world.”

After Harland finished coordinating with his brother, he bid his goodbyes and put one of his last dimes in the pay phone slot at the operator's request. When the operator was satisfied after hearing the coin hit the bell inside the pay box, he hung up and stepped out of the booth. He asked a patron in the restaurant for a cigarette, and after lighting it, he stepped outside into the cold of New York and stood on the corner. He needed to get his family prepared for their journey, but he wanted five minutes to himself to reflect. He watched the streets and saw that there were more vagrants than usual. Everyone that passed by him looked dismayed,  without hope. After a moment, a man in a three-piece suit walked by Harland.

“Here, buddy,” the man said as he offered Harland a quarter. “You look like you could use it.”

Harland took the quarter. He stared at it and realized that his somewhat tussled appearance and overall weariness made him blend in with the other vagrants on the street. His absent gaze shifted to the gutter, and he realized he could now count himself among their ranks.