I Have a Name
by Coneflower Adams

***

For the longest time, I've always gone by a different name. My birth name is Francis Jackson Sullivan. But I have always gone by my nickname, Jack. I despised my birth name. Hearing my father yell "Francis" made me cringe…it still does just thinking about the tone of his voice in my ear. I hated him.

Because of those facts, I went by Jack. It had been my grandfather's name, Jackson Kelly. He was my mother's dad. Just the way the name sounded made me proud. Now that was a man I wanted to be like, not my father. I never got a chance to meet him though. The only thing I received from Jackson was his name and attitude…well, mostly.

I'd been told my attitude was like my father's. That was an insult, more than an insult - a sin in my book. I didn't want to be like him. Never! But it happened anyway. Not because of myself, because of society played me like that. His bad reputation reflected on me.

You see, Jackson Kelly was a rancher in the untamed land of New Mexico. My father - Shawn Sullivan - was hired to be a ranch hand. Jackson knew from the start that Shawn would cause problems. He had frequently been trouble to everyone. But my mother, Lain, convinced Jackson to let Shawn work at the ranch. A few months later, Shawn took Lain off showering her with what he called 'love'. His 'love' was more like a vice that was being controlled by the devil. They made it all the way to New York City, and that's where they married and settled.

I was born nine months later to a mother of only seventeen years of age and a father who had a habit for coming home drunk. I loved my Mama deeply. She tried to raise me best she could without him getting in the way. That's how I knew she loved me back. She'd teach me since they never sent me to school and told me stories of the west with the wild things that happened on the ranch. My grandfather was my hero.

But all the happiness I felt with my Mama would get disturbed when he came home. Every time, I'd be sent out to play. If only I knew what was happening while I was out of sight…if only I was older…I could of helped…

"Jack, please go outside and play" were the last words I heard from her lips. I wouldn't protest, because it was a usual occurrence. I'd come back an hour later - Shawn sleeping on the bed and my Mama nursing a bruised eye.

When I came home one warm June night, there was something different in that small apartment. I checked all over, but she wasn't there.

"Where's Mama?"

"She's gone, Francis. Left us high and dry" he replied coolly, making me sick.

Even at seven, I knew better. I stared blankly into his glassy dark eyes. She was gone…but she didn't leave on her own free will. That's what made me come to hate him.

So, I was left alone with him.

Since I didn't have my Mama to protect me from being sent to a factory to work, I started to wander the streets more often. I tried to think of it as an adventure like the stories my Mama use to tell me. I pretended to be Wild Bill Cody or Wyatt Earp. But my favorite was Jackson Kelly. My black cowboy hat that my Mama gave me never left my person.

A few months before Mama disappeared, I made friends with a boy named Ben Conlon. He was only two months younger then me. He was smaller though and real skinny. He had a tight attitude too which could shoot out a hot temper sometimes. We got along fine though, and became best pals - watching each other's backs. I'd spend most of my nights at his apartment where I got to know his dad - Jared Conlon - pretty well.

Ben was basically in the same boat as I was. We had both lost our mothers, and our fathers were pretty much useless to us.

Although……Jared wasn't like Shawn. Shawn was a drunkard who liked to have control over everything. Jared was different. He liked poetry and art and the 'beautiful' things in life, I barely ever understood. There was one problem, Jared was deeply depressed. Ben told me Jared became that way after Heather died.

Heather Conlon: wife and mother. She was a beautiful woman. I even saw that as a young boy. Jared must of loved her with all his heart. Too bad he didn't look at Ben the same way.

Nights at the Conlon house, or apartment, were interesting. I'd come home with Ben around eight o'clock after wandering all day. There's be brown rice and stake bread waiting for us on the table where Jared waited too. He was a carriage driver and usually got home before us, so, he'd have dinner ready. Meals were quiet except sometimes Jared try to start a conversation.

"How was your day, boy?"

Ben peered up - cringing visibly - from his bowl of rice. "Uneventful."

I stifled a laugh. That particular day, we had been caught trying to sneak on rides for free at Coney Island. Somehow, we got away from the bulls.

Jared turned to me next seeing that Ben wouldn't answer him correctly. "Jack, have anything to say?" He never used a harsh tone around us or turned me away from their home. I liked Jared most of the time.

"We just walked around Coney Island. That's all, sir." He nodded, satisfied with the answer. Ben would hardly speak to his dad.

The interesting part would come after dinner. Jared would walk around - frantically - spouting off poetry. I wasn't much on understanding that nonsense. I really didn't pay much attention, but Ben knew every word. He sat there sadly in his chair at the table mouthing almost audibly what Jared was saying.

"The royal feast was done; the King sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool, kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"

"…and earthly power doth then show likest God's when mercy seasons justice."

"Oh, a trouble's ton or a trouble's an ounce. Or trouble is what you make it. The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight and why?" ……sometimes I found myself remembering some things Jared said. Not much, but one poem stuck in my head.

After the spill of culture, Ben and I would curl up under a single blanket in the bedroom on the molding mattress. Sobbing could be heard in the main room almost every night. Over a framed photograph of a blonde woman, weeped a grown man. Sometimes in the middle of the night, Ben would wake up and go to the main room to check on his dad. He'd gently slip the photograph from Jared's grasp to sit it right back on the mantle where it was keep.

I woke up sometimes to watch the whole thing. One time, Ben didn't return the photograph to it's place. He brought it back in the bedroom with him and just stared at it through blank eyes.

"Ever wonder what happened to your mom, Jacky-boy?"

I sat up on the bed, trying to figure out where this was going. Ben never had brought up the subject before. "I know what happen to my mother."

Ben shook his head like he disapproved my response. "No, you don't."

The moon shone through the dusty window glass. I could see his face tense up. "What about you? You don't know what happen to your mother."

"Yes, I do. She's died."

"So is mine!"

"Did you see a body?!" He lashed out at me.

I jumped back, slightly. "No, I didn't."

"Then you don't know." Ben's head hung low. "I saw her body, so, I know."

I wanted to ask how, what, when, where…but Ben laid back onto the bed clutching the picture frame of his mother. We didn't speak about that night again. Something had triggered it. I wasn't about to find out. If I would have, I would of probably lost my bed, meal, and best friend - I wasn't going to risk that.

Me staying at Ben's house went on for years. Shawn was always gone or drunk, so, he hardly knew I was or wasn't there. Some times I'd go home to my own apartment. It wasn't a place I enjoyed visiting. The most time I spent there, the more I thought of *her* and what he could of done to her.

Life was all right for four whole years till I was twelve. That's when everyone I had left me…

You know how they say when it rains, it pours? Or everything can change in a heartbeat? Those statements hardly made sense to me until they actually happen to me.

I was headed over to the Brooklyn docks to meet Ben, as usual, when I'd go to pay a visit to my apartment. "Heya Benny!" I called out at the thin frame slumped over the side of the wooden pier.

When he didn't greet me back or even turn to look at me, I could tell something was wrong. I slid down beside him. "Ben, what's wrong?"

He took a deep breath, trying to hide a sob. His face was tear stained. I'd never seen tears fall from Ben Conlon's eyes before, not even when he broke his arm falling off a fence. I knew it was about his dad.

"Jared is dead." The pain was so clear in his voice, it was an eerie sound.

I couldn't think of anything to say. Jared had become more than just my friend's father to me. He was someone who actually took care of me. I got out a stutter of…"How?"

Ben stifled another sob. "Knife to the throat." All the rage was welling up in his silvery eyes. " I found him this morning after you left. He mutilated himself!"

My eyes were almost welling up. "Ben, I…I'm sorry."

He turned and stared directly at me for the first time in those few moments. "He's dead, Jack! HE'S DEAD! I knew the voices would be too much for him sooner or later. They just keep getting stronger, he told me. I don't understand why though…WHY! He's never coming back this time…"

We said nothing for a almost an hour, just sat there on the docks. I listened as the sobbing grew lower and the tears dried up. "What are ya gonna do now?"

"I don't know." Ben stood up and with a pat on my shoulder, disappeared off the dock. That was the end of the pieces of our childhood. I should have asked "What are -we- gonna do now", but it didn't occur to me at the time that we'd ever go our separate ways.

Two days later, I went home. Shawn was there though. I had a fight with him. More than just a fight, more like a battle - a war. The truth came out that foggy night on Fairhope St. I climbed through the window next to the fire escape, coming home from looking for Ben. He was waiting for me.

"Where were you?" he snapped, clutching my shirt collar.

"Out" I relied, being very interested with the floor.

Shawn jerked my collar, making me gag from the pressure on my neck. "That's not good, answer me!"

The whole world felt like it stopped at that moment. I glared at the man in front of me with cold eyes. With all my strength, I pulled from his grasp.

"Stay away from me!" I screamed, stepping backwards.

Shawn's expression was desolate. The battle had begun and I was the one to start it. "What did you say?"

Was this a mistake? - I thought. But, my mother's face appeared in my mind. No, it wasn't a mistake…it was a turning point.

"Stay. Away. From. Me."

"You shut your mouth" he said lowly, his voice dangerous.

"No. I'm tired of your fuss. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of keeping it secret. I KNOW you killed MAMA!"

All Shawn could do was glare at me. His secret had been revealed. "Take that back."

"You killed her" I lowered my voice now. "I could tell it was coming. She went against all you wanted her to be. I'm doing the same, so, are ya gonna kill me too? HUH? Are ya, Shawn?!"

I didn't realize how fired up I had gotten until my fist went through the wall. The action scared me so much I almost apologized.

Shawn, on the other hand, was ready to kill now. He lunged at me, but I was too quick and ducked. I grabbed my bag that I had been carrying around and crawled out the window down to the street.

That night, Shawn went to the local pub. He killed the bartender when he wouldn't give him another round. He was arrested that very night. His arraignment was the next day. I'd been searching all over Brooklyn for Ben. His apartment had been taken away by the landlord. I was worried about my friend. We had been inseparable for years. Now when we needed each other the most, we were alone.

I sneaked into the court house, grabbing a back row for Shawn's arraignment. His trial would be in two weeks. I didn't want to go. As long as he was put in jail where he belonged, I'd be happy. Even if I died the next day, I'd be happy. But even from the back of the room, he spotted me.

"Francis! I know that's you back there! You'll never amount to anything! You'll end up just like me - in handcuffs and behind bars!" He let out an evil crackle before being pulled away by guards.

Those words burned. That was the moment I promised myself I would make something of myself and not become HIM.

I sat on the docks the rest of the day, thinking. Where would I go from here? I'd lost Ben, Jared, my Mama, and my father. I mused on the last one: should I be happy or remorseful? I shook my head. Naw, he wouldn't think a second thought about killing you too.

At least, I thought I had lost Ben. It'd been about a week since he disappeared. Where was he? My question was about to be answered.

"Well, if it isn't Jack Kelly, the hero of the wild wild west" I heard a solid voice mock behind me. I turned my neck to see a tall boy standing over me. I knew who it was, and I didn't want to deal with this guy's annoyance at the moment.

Legend Rich, leader of the Brooklyn newsboys. He was a bully with a number of gang members to back him up. "What do you want, Legend?"

"Just coming to test out my newest member on you." I'll never forget the way it felt when I saw Ben step forward from the gang. Hurt, betrayal, anger…more than I had, had when Shawn was taunting me.

I stared at him, stunned. "Ben. What are you doing?!"

He stared back with clear, empty eyes. "It's not Ben anymore, I'm Spot Conlon now. Ben is dead. He died along with Jared and Heather."

I couldn't believe what was happening. I didn't even recognize my own friend. "Ben, ya talkin' crazy!"

"I said Ben is dead." He stepped forward towards me, eyes now blazing a fire of red. "Jared was weak and I'm not gonna end up like him."

"But, Ben, ya so much better then these guys!" Anything I was saying wasn't seeping though. He threw a deathly glare at me now.

Legend and his gang of newsboys snickered. "Want us to beat him to a pulp, Spot?"

Ben shook his head. "Naw, ain't worth the time." With that, he turned away with his new 'friends'.

That was the officially lowest point in my life. The next points that would come would be even horrendous, but I didn't know that back then. All I knew was I was a twelve year old boy alone in the world.

I trekked back to my apartment where I'd spend my last night there. The place I had called my home all my life. My fondest and worst memories were there. I gathered up the last of my Mama's belongings, stuffing them into my bag. But something caught my eye. It was a picture I'd never seen before. My grandfather was there standing next to a woman I didn't recognize. On the back, was a name: Maura "Medda" Cooper. The name "Medda" looked familiar. From the amount I could read, that name sort of stuck out at me. I sat on the wooden floor picking my brain dry of where that name had appeared.

Finally, the answer came - Irving Hall. Miss Medda Larkson, I had read on the sign along with a picture of her too. Irving Hall was in Manhattan, a place I went too sometimes. Was this the same lady? It sure looked like the same lady. My hopes were up for once that whole week. If she knew Jackson, then maybe she could help me get to Santa Fe!

I packed the rest of the belongings before taking one last glance around the apartment. I climbed out the window and was gone to Manhattan. It was around midnight when I left. Most of the night was walking to the next borough. By morning, I had fallen asleep in an alleyway somewhere in Manhattan. I asked an old man where Irving Hall was. He pointed me in the right direction.

There on the front of the building was a red headed lady with the same features as the lady in the picture. I peered around checking if the coast was clear before sneaking in the doors. Even for mid-morning, there was performing going on. I climbed up to the balcony to get a better view, but there wasn't anyone up there at the moment.

"Presenting Miss Medda Larkson!" the announcer said. Lazy music started to play as the red headed lady sauntered out on stage in a blue satin dress. Men were whistling and she was singing in a seductive style. I sat there, hanging over the rail of the balcony. To men she was a treat, to me she was an angel.

It took a week of sitting in that balcony, to finally gain the courage to approach Medda. I slipped backstage one night when the performance was done. Medda was heading toward her dressing room. I was following her through the dark corridor when she turned around suddenly. I froze, having no where to go since it was just a narrow hallway with doors here and there.

"Who's there?" the lady called, craning her neck.

Either she'd hate me or like me, I was afraid to find out. But I stepped up to her anyway. "Just me, ma'am."

Medda smiled brightly at my sight. Even in the dim light, her face was still lit up. "Aren't you the cutest thing. What are you doing back here, boy?" she asked, bending down meagerly to be face to face with me.

I was almost to her height, but not quite there yet. "I…I need to talk to you, ma'am."

"Well, come on in my dressing room." She lead me to the last door in the hallway. The room was very colorful with purple furniture that had fringe on the bottom. She flipped on a lamp on her vanity and sat down in a chair next to it. She pulled another chair like hers up to her. "You can sit." She smiled again. "Now, what's your name?"

I looked down. "Francis Sullivan." I figured maybe I should get to the point of why I came there. "Are you Maura Cooper?"

Medda's face dropped with a sad, almost stunned expression. "Yes, I am. How do you know this?"

"Here." I pulled out the picture, and handed it to her.

It only took a moment for her smile to return. "This is me and Jackson Kelly. Where did you get this?"

"Jackson Kelly is my grandfather. I was sort of named after him, so, I go by his name. I'm Jack Kelly."

I didn't realized because it happen so quick, but the lady embraced me suddenly. I felt a hot tear fall on my shoulder, seeping through my shirt.

"All these years." She pulled away, holding my shoulders. "You look like him too."

"I'm getting that you knew my grandfather?"

She nodded. "I did. We were friends back in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He taught me how to ride horses. I miss him so much."

A glimmer of hope came over me. "Do you know how I can get in touch with him? I need to find him." Medda's face dropped once again. "I'm sorry, but Jackson died two year ago from his heart stopping. I was sent word by another rancher I knew. Why is it that you didn't know this?"

"My Mama didn't keep in touch with my family in Santa Fe. She runaway with my father to New York. I don't know my family." I admitted it to her was more sad then thinking about it. Out of all these years, I knew I didn't know my family. But saying it out loud was enough to make me start crying.

Medda wrapped her arms around me again. We stayed in her dressing room the rest of the night while I told her my life story and she told me about my grandfather. The way she stroked my hair reminded me of my Mama. By morning, I had fallen asleep in her arms on the couch in the corner. Medda was kind enough to feed me breakfast.

"Where are you going now?" she asked as we walked out the small café.

"I'll be around here" I replied.

"Come by Irving Hall all you like. Don't be a stranger, please."

"I won't." She kissed me on the cheek then left in the direction of the theater.

I stood there on the sidewalk not knowing where to go from there. I'd of asked Medda if she could give me shelter, but I didn't want to trouble her. I promised I'd visit her though.

Being a vagabond in Manhattan lasted for about a month. I found different places to stay, and went everyday to watch Medda's shows from the balcony. We'd have dinner together when her performance was over. But, like all good things, they had to end.

Medda had to go see a sick friend in Boston, leaving her bartender - George - in charge of Irving Hall. I found out very quickly that George didn't like me. He didn't give me a meal or even let me into the theater. A week went by with me not eating. That's when I decided to steal an apple from a vender. I don't know if that was the best or worst thing I could of done.

I landed myself in the place called the House of Refuge. Jail for kids. I bet if my father would of known about that, he would of laughed in my face. I was bitter towards myself. He said I'd end up like him. That thought keep rolling in my mind as I waited for the Warden to come inspect me.

From the second he walked in the door, I knew I hated him. His clear blue eyes peered at me in an evil effect. He was silent, just smiling at me wickedly. "Francis Sullivan…" he began. "Your father was right about you. I could feel this coming on too."

"You know Shawn?" I asked, in surprise.

"Why, yes I do. I was at his trial. He'd gotten in hot water several times while I was on the police force before I became a Warden of this humble refuge. I saw you at the trial too."

How ironic - I thought.

"Here at the Refuge, you will be made into a useful young man of society instead of a street thief."

That was the first time I had really stole anything! Except a few times when me and Ben needed a meal, but Ben was the one who stole while I made a distraction. That's why I got caught, because I was horrible at it!

"Get in there, street trash!" I was violently thrown into a room with bars on the door.

I lifted my head, shouting, "Son of a…" I stopped myself. Shawn would use language that shouldn't of been. I wasn't going to let them have the satisfaction of me playing into their hands.

The door slammed in my face. I groaned, getting up and brushing the dust off my clothes. I realized I was the center of attention when my eyes caught sight of everyone else in the narrow room. There had to be about a dozen boys from ages six to eighteen. I was in the middle of that scale only being twelve. They stared at me like I was tainted.

I snorted, walking over to a bunk by the window that appeared empty. No one said anything to me. I had, had enough of everything at the time. I didn't care if they hated me like Ben and Shawn and George and that Warden. I laid down on the hard top bunk ready to sleep.

Of course, something was there to disturb me. "So what you in here for?" I heard a thick New York accent ask me. I turned over, but couldn't see anything. I scrunched my face then looked down. There stood a very short - and I mean short - Italian looking kid.

"Like I'm gonna tell you" I replied, turning back the other way.

The boy shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll probably be ya only friend in this joint. By the way, me names Anthony Higgins."

"Higgins?" I sat up, questioningly. "But your Italian."

"Yeah, so. My mother was Irish, my father Italian. He rubbed off on me most except I wasn't gonna go around using his last name. Who wants to go around saying his name is Anthony Poggibonsi?"

I nodded with understanding. "Yeah, I know what ya mean. I go by my Mama's last name too, but just not to the police."

"Same here. Although, no one can ever remember my last name anyway."

"Don't spread it around, but my names Jack Kelly. Warden knows me as Francis Sullivan though."

Anthony spit in his hand then held it out to shake. I did the same. I wasn't looking for one, but Anthony became a friend in the Refuge. No one really liked him either, so, we'd team up for all the chores. He would tell me stories of how he was a newsboy in Manhattan. The only newsboys I had known were in Brooklyn and they were more like a violent gang then newsboys. I promised Anthony if I ever got out of the Refuge, I'd go to the Lodging House so we could stick together.

One day about four months after I was arrested, an announcement was made that Teddy Roosevelt - some big shot around New York - was coming for a visit. Anthony and I made a bet since he loved to gamble. I had said I was going to get a ride out of the Refuge on the big shot's carriage. My little brag spread like wild fire throughout the Refuge.

Monday morning, Anthony and I were washing clothes in the laundry room which was right outside of the court yard. The whole situation was perfect! Roosevelt strolled in while I strolled out. A few minutes later, I was riding out the gates of the Refuge on the back of Roosevelt's carriage waving to Anthony and the other boys in the laundry room.

I could hear Anthony yelling as the gate closed. "I can't believe he did it! Dang it, I'm out five bucks!"

I jumped off the carriage and shot off like a bullet before the guard at the gate could spot me. Oh, it was good to be free. Now I needed to go to the Manhattan Lodging House Anthony told me to go to.

The Lodging House was a run down building. I was sort of wondering if it would be as good as Anthony said, but looks can be deceiving. The inside was actually nice. A friendly old man was sitting behind a desk. Mr. Kloppman would be one of the few adults I ever trusted in my whole young life. I made friends fast. I told them we had to save Anthony from the Refuge. The rescue went off with a hitch.

I finally had a home. My relationship with Ben, other wise known as Spot, was never the same. He became the leader of the Brooklyn newsboys raising a new form of leadership than Legend did. Ben was tough, but the bitterness wasn't as visible. I still went to watch Medda's performances and brought my new friends along. That's when she became friend to all the newsboys in NYC.

And as for me, I became leader of Manhattan newsboys. They didn't have a leader, and somehow, I became a legend myself. But with fame brought trouble my way. Warden Snyder of the Refuge has been on my tail ever since I fudged out of jail. But, I got around that.

With all that has happen so far, I realize my life has just began. I miss the people in my past, but I like the ones who are here with me now. I think I actually have a purpose in life.