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Christie
“The Beachcomber” Mitchell told me this story almost fifty years ago. It happened
one Christmas Eve about 1956, just after the War.
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Christie
"The Beachcomber" Mitchell
Photo courtesy G. P. Mitchell |
There was a fellow
from a good Catholic family who had two talents. One was shoplifting and the other
was picking pockets. The downtown merchants referred to him as Gonif, a Yiddish
word that means “thief.” The night people called him as Ducky Wucky. Now I can’t
exactly lay my hands on one distinguishing feature that made him resemble a duck,
but there was no doubt. The guy looked like a duck.
A lot of people made
their living off the streets back then. People like dirty little unshaven Pee
Wee, who sold yesterday’s newspapers, and Crazy Frank, who made believe he was
photographing you and your car for some secret police agency when you passed him
by, and Dirty Gertie, the Galveston Tribune vendor who sat on a canvas stool in
front of the Peacock Café, and Yaga Man, the black fellow with the big toothy
grin who would yell “yaga” if you didn’t flip him a dime when you passed him by.
All were harmless.
It was cold and damp and it had been all that pre-Christmas
week. Ducky knew he’d be at midnight Mass with his family on Christmas Eve. It
would make God, his mom and Fr. Dan happy, and it would be profitable because
he’d bump into old friends on the way to the communion rail, and by the time he’d
get back to the pew, he’d be a few watches and wallets richer. But what about
Pee Wee, Crazy Frank, Dirty Gertie, Yaga Man and the others?
Miss
Jesse was one of the island’s best madams, and she had a big brick house out west
on Avenue O ½. Every year she’d hang strands of Christmas lights all over it,
and she’d up put a huge Christmas tree in the front yard. Cops, cab drivers, bellboys,
waiters and waitresses who had helped Miss Jesse’s business during the past year,
would drive by on Christmas Eve night, look under the big tree, and find the present
from Roulet’s Liquor that Santa Claus had left especially for them.
So
that year, during the days just before Christmas, Ducky went through the downtown
dime stores, Levy’s, Nathan’s and the ABC Racket Store in his big overcoat with
the concealed pockets. He picked up rings, watches and wallets as he bumped into
the Christmas shoppers, and he stuffed the big pockets full with this and that
from the stores’ counters. He took it to his room and wrapped each in Christmas
paper and then put name tags on them. Christmas Eve afternoon, he took a cab out
to Miss Jesse’s and put the packages under the big tree in her yard, and then
he went to the Metropole Club.
He knew Arthur Clardy would be there for
his after work toddy. Clardy ran a forwarding company, and one of the things his
company did was move bailed cotton from the sheds to the wharves on trains of
flat wagons pulled by farm tractors. Ducky profusely shook Clardy’s hand wishing
him and his family a Merry Christmas. All the while Ducky was picking Clardy’s
car and office keys from his pocket.
Ducky had a 7-Crown and Coke, kibitzed
with Sherwood Brown, Dorothy Graham and George Bushong, and then he nonchalantly
left. The door of the club had barely closed before Ducky was swiping Clardy’s
car and was on his way to the sheds where the tractors and cotton trailers were
stored. When he got there he had good fortune. On a table in the shed was a Santa
Claus suit that had been used in the downtown Christmas parade.
Ducky
grinned as he put on the suit, cap and beard. Then he fired up one of the tractors
and hooked it up to a couple of the flatbed trailers. He drove the rig downtown
where he picked up Crazy Frank, Pee Wee, Yaga Man, Dirty Gertie and the others.
As they rode down the Seawall on the flatbed trailers toward Miss Jesse’s, Santa
led them in carols.
He parked in front. Everybody got off and Santa led
them to the tree, saying “Ho, ho, ho,” over and over again, as authentically as
he could, the ever present Old Gold drooping from the left side of his lips.
As
Santa passed out the presents from under the tree in Miss Jesse’s yard, the cops,
taxi drivers, bellmen, waiters and waitresses started stopping by to get theirs,
too. Not one of them saw anything strange about Ducky Wucky being dressed as Santa
and his elves being Pee Wee, Crazy Frank, Dirty Gertie and the others. After all,
this was the Christmas season in Galveston.
Bill Cherry's Galveston
Memories December
15, 2010 column
Copyright William S. Cherry. All rights reserved |
Galveston
Galveston
Hotels
Bill Cherry,
a Dallas Realtor and free lance writer was a longtime columnist for "The Galveston
County Daily News." His book, Bill Cherry's Galveston Memories, has sold
thousands, and is still available at Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com and other
bookstores. | |
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| Bill
Cherry's Galveston Memories |
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