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The Enigma That is Spot Conlon



When I first met you, you were walking down Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard. Me in my ragged plaid and you looking like the king you were in anything you wore. When I first met you, you scared the shit outta me. Cold domineering eyes that would cut you right to the goddamn core. Eyes that could read your thoughts and movements. You were always one step ahead of me, always ready for what was happening next, never let anything penetrate your rock hard shell. You would die before letting some guess what you were feeling.
Yeah you laughed some of the time, but not often. Our life wasn't an easy one. Not quite knowing where you were gonna sleep that night, or if you were gonna to eat.
We had to make choices that no kid should have to make, eat or sleep indoors. Or even worse, stay loyal to a buddy or save your own neck.
More than not it was the second of those two instances that we had to choose and we had both seen many a fellow street rat hit the dirt hard, blood gushing out some part of their body.
You helped me adjust, helped me get over my petty indifferences. You helped me become a feeling less rock like you were. After a year spent with you I no longer winced at the sound of a woman's crying in the night, I no longer rushed to help when I heard some one getting beaten up or raped in an alleyway. If it wasn't your neck on the line, it wasn't your problem. That's what you would always say, at first I hated you for it, but then I realized it was the only way to survive in this hell of a city. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, survival of the fittest. And you were the goddamn fittest in the whole fucking city.
Spot Conlon, king of the pack, alpha wolf, as Davey liked to call you behind your back. I never quite figured out what he meant. But you were king. Big guys twice your size would shudder at your name, little snots on the street worshiped you. Even Jack Sullivan wouldn't give you lip and we all know how insane that kid is when it comes to authority.
You told me most things. And most things I didn't want to hear. How you killed more than your share of men back in Chicago. How you no longer felt for fellow humans. You said you saw the misery in the streets and just kept on walkin.
"I have to much shit to deal with me self old boy." You'd say, trying to convince me. But I never got as cold as you, I still had to help out the little kid gettin robbed blind by the middle age guy, still had to help out the young girl getting dragged into an alley by a man twice her age.
Hearing your stories only made me hate the enigma that was Spot Conlon, but the more I hated you, the more I loved you. Every thought was devoted to you, every dream, every breath. When ever I was happy I would always ruin it for myself by thinking, "Gawd I wish Spot was heah." And my happiness would be gone. Like a puff of smoke on the wind. Like the money in Kid Blinks pocket.
I remember you coming close to admitting you loved me as well, but for once you were too scared.
"It's wrong!" you said, an emotionless mask on your face, "They'd crucify me! Kick me outta Brooklyn!"
Those words broke my heart but of course I only laughed, "Ya dumb ass Spot! I was foolin' ya! Jesus I got you bad!" You laughed like you got it but I caught you sneekin' confused glances at me when ever I was in Brooklyn.
Tell me Spot, did I break your heart to?
I remember the last week; Harlem was gettin outta control and was draggin' the Bronx kickin' and screamin' along wid it. You could tell those boys didn't want to fight, their weary hearts showed clearly through their grimy faces. Kid Diamond, he was the guy that done it. Got 'um all riled up, itchin' for a fight.
"Spot Conlon has had control of New York for too long!" he would say in his scabbah educated accent, "He don't deserve it! Why should we newsies do the beck and call of a low down crime lord! Newsies ain't criminals but when people hear the name Spot Conlon they think gang leader! Who wants to be brought to mind by the word criminal?!"
Half the fellas didn't even know what the hell he was talking about but Kid Diamond also mentioned wider territories and warmer beds for those who joined him so of course they did. He was a sweet talker he was, also knew what to say in the right moment. There were even rumors that he could outwit the mighty Spot Conlon, word for word. Though even the greatest exaggerators wouldn't dare to say he could beat you in a fight.
Manhattan came to Brooklyn's aid of course. Sullivan knew I would slit his throat if he didn't. Three hundred valiant Manhattan boys came over the bridge, not all at once of course, but by the time the last one was in, Brooklyn was fortified and strong. Even more unbeatable than it had been from the start.
Many rose against Spot Conlon and his cutthroat gang of Brooklynders, all of them fell. Or so you thought.
"'Ey Brooklyn!" Sullivan would shout as he pranced through your lodging house door. Calling you by the one nickname you answered to. The nick name you earned when in battle, a war cry of "Brooklyn!" was raised. You turned your head, "You called?" what a smug smile on that dirty mug.
The last night I remember well, dark, hazy and hot. We waited with bated breath and sweaty faces. You sat in the window sill, twirling your cane in your hands, as calm and collected as if Harlem was stoppin' by to borrow a couple eggs, not make all out war.
We heard them first, scuffling along, whispered commands. You didn't even twitch; you just shoved the cane in your belt, pulled out your slingshot and let one loose. We all heard it connect with some poor kids head with a dull crunch. I remember seein' Mush wince. He was right, sounded like you had hit a temple.
You jumped off the sill and grinned at us, "Diamonds down." Was all you said before you walked, no swaggered, out the door. We stood there with our jaws hangin' open but we knew you wasn't lying. You had the eyes of a cat and the aim of...well Spot Conlon.
Still flabbergasted we followed you out and down into the street where the Harlem boys were waiting.
You were standing in front of the first of 'um and I knew what they looked so goddamn scared of. Those eyes, the eyes that ruled a city, a steely gray like the sky right before a thunder storm. And those eyes held just as much anger as that thunder cloud, full and ready to burst at any moment.
"Youse leaders dead, or at least out for the moment." We snickered, "Now why don't youse all just scamper on home like good little boys."
One that I didn't recognize stepped forward, "We ain't goin no where Conlon. Diamond was right, we ain't no criminals and we don't like bein associated wid one."
At this point Sullivan thought that this would be too much fun to be left out of so he stepped forward, his clear blue eyes flashing with pent up laughter.
"Now that's a big word Scotty, wanna define it for us?" we all had laughed again but you would've had to been numb or just plain stupid to ignore the tension that was building up between the two armies.
The one Sullivan had called Scotty sneered at him and spat at your feet. We looked at each other and raised our eyebrows. That was daring...and stupid.
You grinned at the kid who looked at you bravely, "Well dat was dumb kid, youse just gave me a reason to beat the living shit outta you."
With those words the battle was on. You did kick the living shit out of Scotty and out of many others but to our dismay they kept on comin'. When ya knocked one down, one was there to take the fallen man's place. It was like all of Harlem, Bronx and Jersey had come to see the mighty Spot Conlon fall. And fall you did.
I don't know how long the battle had been going on, or where you were but I heard a shout go out from behind me.
"Brooklyn's down!" it was Jack, "Manhattan! Pull out! We don't want no part in this!"
I could have killed him then.
I was the only Manhattan boy that stayed; I couldn't leave your side.
I fought my way over to where Sullivan had been and found you still fighting. With one hand you had managed to drag yourself up and you were clutching your side while in the other hand you had out a switchblade and you were doing more damage than I had the whole time.
I hadn't realized that people had resorted to knifes, but I could see the blood seeping through your fingers and I saw it trickling out of the corner of your mouth.
I cried out your name when you fell, everything slowed down but I sped up. Pulling out my own blade and slashing my way through the throng. A circle of Brooklyn boys surrounded you, keeping any from breaking through and disturbing you.
Looking up at me, I had seen your eyes glaze over. I knelt at your side and cradled your head in my arms. You had smiled up at me but the effort of moving caused you to cough weakly and blood bubbled up in between your lips and I winced. I had seen worse, but not on a person I was so close to.
"Well Race old boy," you had choked out, "Looks like I should've cared huh? Now it's me own neck on the line."
I had shaken with pent up tears and answered.
"Survival of the fittest, Brooklyn," I remember saying, "You was right."
You had coughed more and then smiled weakly, "Care Race old boy, Care. Cuz no matter who you are, to somebody else, YOU are somebody else. It will always be your neck on the line."
Your body had shuddered one last time and the grip on my hand eased off.
You broke my heart Spot.
Did I break yours?
When I first met you...

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