Dave Ranney / Or, Thirty Years on the Bowery; An Autobiography

s accused of taking it, but I was getting hardened; I had lost my job through

liked me, and when the theft was discovered I went and put up with him, staying there until I made money enough to l

cality." If we had received our just dues the lowest term would have been five years each. I thought my time in prison would never come to an end, but it did at last, and I was free. But where was I to go? My mot

, at eight dollars a week. I was quite steady for a while, and mother still ha

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should be worth something now. I'll never forget the day of the wedding. The saying is, "Happy is the bride the sun shines on," but there was no sunshine that day. It rained, it si

ho drinks-by marrying him, for in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred you won't succeed. In my case I was young and did not care how the wind blew. I stayed out nights and neglected my ho

t a couple hundred dollars together, and started after her. I found out that she had gone to Oswego, and I sent her a telegram and was met at the station by her brother. It did not take me long to get next to him. In a very short time

ing I wouldn't get it. I went hustling lumber and worked two days, leaving because it took the skin off my hands. Finally I could not pay the rent, was dispossessed, and then went to live i

d Mary a hard life. At last I came home one night and she and the kid were gone. The baby was then two months old, and I never saw him again until he was a boy of nine. I was not sorry at their going. I wasn't any good

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quite a time there. I worked in Dumphy's tannery, got a few weeks' pay and a few other articles, and jumped o

n front of one of the hotels, and seeing the patrol wagon passing, I made the remark, "Some poor bum is going to get a ride," when it pulled up in front of us and we were told to get in. I tried to argue the point with the captain,

he did not take time to bid me good-by. I asked the captain if he was through with me, and he did not know what to

without a jolly, so I said, "Captain, if you'll come up to the corner I'll treat," patting my pocket in which I had a few pennies. H

e earned money enough he took the train for "little old New York." I've met him on the Bowery since

ng away quite a time, got work in a carpet

u would stop your drinking. I've prayed for you, and will pray until I die. Oh, Dave! I'd die so happy if my only son would stop and be a

ld but her. Still, one of the meanest acts I ever did was to my m

ow I wish you were going to meet me on the other side. Now, Dave, won't you promise me you will?" I said, "Yes, mother, sure I will." And she made me promise then and there th

unk. That was one of the meanest things I ever did. But I am sure that sometimes my dear mother looks over the portals of hea

I wouldn't have a nickel I could jingle against a tombstone. I boated on the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, then up on the Lakes. I was always wa

White, and was fined $8.40, and discharged. I wasn't free half an hour before I was arrested again, brought before Judge White, and again fined $8.40. After being free for about fifteen minutes, I was again brought before Judge White, who look

I had got my just dues, would have put me in prison for ten years, but I g

hink, think, and hope. Many's the time I said, "Oh, if I only get out

arium for drunkards. They don't drink while on a visit there. Then why not stop it while one has a free foot? I thought o

or they certainly put you through some pretty tough things. Many's the time I got on my knees and told God all about it. If a man is crossing the street, sees a car coming, and is sure it will hit him, the first thing he says is, "Oh, God, sav

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