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There’s one visit to her father that stands out vividly in Katherine’s mind. She had just slipped off from her nanny and was running among the desks. And then there was a skirt. But not her nanny’s and Katherine was curious.
“Hello little one,” the woman said. She knelt to Kath’s level. “How did you get in here?”
“My nanny brought me in to see my father!” Kath says. “How did you get in here?”
“I was hired here,” the woman says.
“Oh, what do you do? There’s no children to nanny and you’re not dressed like a cook or maid.”
The woman’s face turned down a bit and Katherine still remembers the feeling that she had just hurt the woman’s feelings. “I suppose I’m a bit like a nanny, but I look after the adults here.”
“Oh, I thought adults didn’t need nannies,” Katherine said.
“These adults do, I make sure they turn their work in on time and that it looks good when it goes to print, and I tell them what stories to write,” the woman said
“I want to do that when I grow up!” Katherine said, the certainty of her career settling on her shoulders.
“You’ll need an education,” the woman cautioned.
“I’ll get one,” Katherine said.
“That didn’t much discourage her!” one of the men calls out.
“Don’t worry, that’s just plan a to discourage her, I’m sure,” another says.
The woman turns her attention back to Katherine with a gleam in her eyes. “Want to see how to nanny some adults?”
Today she knows that woman to be Eliza Connor, who worked for her father for only a year before joining the American Press Association and that nannying role to be an editor’s position.
Her path in journalism has never been easy, she’s almost guaranteed it for herself by not letting it known that she’s a Pulitzer. There were times Katherine wanted to give up on the whole dream, times the male-dominated world nearly succeeded in pushing her out. But when things got hard Katherine remembered Eliza Connor, raised her chin and pushed back with a composure the newsies wouldn’t recognise on her.
Before I got to fighting (or when fighting got to me)
I looked to find examples on the field of chivalry
And I saw mighty arms much stronger than my arms could ever be
So I thought perhaps the field was not for me
But still I stayed and watched the fighting 'til one figure stood apart
In armour newly fashioned and a helm more pot than art
But each blow was thrown with honour and a lightness of the heart
So I took that step which soon became a start
Sarah remembers clinging to her mother’s skirt in the market. She remembers first being scared of the market and then being excited by it. She remembers her mother bartering prices down to get her family the best deal, the most food on the smallest amount of coin. One day she wandered off just a bit. There was a woman speaking on the street corner. She was very lovely in Sarah’s opinion, smartly dressed, and hair in a neat bun, though a few strands fell loose and framed her face well.
She spoke with authority and confidence about the things women could do, should be able to do. She smiled and gestured, attracting a small crowd who seemed to agree with her. She spoke of voting, of having a say, of having the same protections a man had and of earning equal money to a man for equal work. And when a man tried to argue with him, she stood her ground well, respectful, certainly, but refusing to back down from her position.
Sarah felt a presence beside her and looked up at her mother.
“Equal rights?” Esther asks, running a hand over Sarah’s hair and placing it on her shoulder. “Maybe in your lifetime.”
She was ladylike and lively, not the type you would expect
With a braver heart than many he and a slot-shot to respect
I guess she'd once decided this was where she'd like to be
And I thought if she could do it, why not me
Newsies aren’t made from easy childhoods as Smalls well knows. And borough leaders aren’t made of softness. They were all rough and tumble boys who could spin a yarn just as readily as throw a punch to get you to agree to their terms. She knew she’d never be a leader, but she could watch and dream and maybe Bronx would let her handle the littles or maybe she’d head up one of the bunks, making sure every newsie is up in the morning.
She did what she could to get to that position: learned the names of everyone in her bunk; volunteered to co-sell with littles; and snuck little treats to the others for Christmas. But she was scrappy too. She learned to fight with her fists and her words, to use her smaller stature to her advantage and she wouldn’t let anyone get away with hurting the...no, her littles and her bunkmates.
At dinner one night, a hand lands on her shoulder. “Smalls,” the voice of the 17-year-old Rooster says, “Walk with me.”
Smalls jumps and follows the current Bronx leader all the way to the roof of the lodging house. She worried she did something wrong; she’s worried she did something right. Her bunk leader was ageing out in the next few months. Rooster looks out over the view of the Bronx provided by their location.
“I’m gonna miss this view,” he says after a moment. “But you, you’ll get to see it whenever you want.”
“What?” Smalls asks. The roof was the domain of the borough leader. You only saw it if you dealt directly with him.
“The other leaders and I have been talking. You’re good with the kids, good with your bunk, and good with defending our borough,” Rooster says.
Smalls breath catches in her throat.
“I want you to take my place,” Rooster says.
The breath leaves Smalls in a single rush. Another quick breath in. “What?” she asks.
“I want you to be the next leader of the Bronx,” Rooster says again. “There’s few others I would trust to succeed me well. Tomorrow your afternoon editions will be handled by Mercury and his little…” Rooster hesitated a moment.
“Sniper,” Smalls provides.
“See, better than me with the littles’ names already,” Rooster says. “And we’ll start getting you ready for the position.”
Who was she to say no?
So now as I gather armour, bits and pieces here and there,
I think about examples: how you act, and what you dare
'Cause you never know who's watching or how far that story goes
And where'er that Lady is I hope she knows
“Hey! Bronx!” A voice calls from behind her. Smalls whips around to see the well-dressed girl reporter Specs had pointed out to the borough leaders as Katherine Plumber during the disaster rally.
“Reporter,” Smalls says with a nod. She turns back to maintaining a line between the protesting kids and the bulls with some of the older kids present. “Didn’t think I’d see you getting out of no fancy carriages.”
“Jack had Medda take me to see the governor and get his backing for the strike,” Katherine says. “He’s still in with my father, they kicked us out.” She’s pacing as best she can in the crowd.
“It’ll be alright, he won’t betray us this time,” Sarah’s confident voice says as she shoves her way over to the two. She glances down at her little brother who had just grabbed her arm while turning to look at something with the same dirty hand he’d been cleaning press pieces with. “Les, I love you but don’t touch me until you’ve cleaned your hands.”
“Sorry, Sarah,” Les says, “I’m gonna go stand with Boots.”
“Alright, stick together,” she shoos he brother off and turns back to the girls. “Any regrets?”
“I regret nothing,” Katherine says, grinning at the two girls beside her.
'Cause she was not the biggest fighter nor one to raise a fuss
But I remember being proud that she was one of us
And we might never stand together in the shield-wall side by side
But because of her I lift my sword with pride