CHAPTER 16

PHILADELPHIA

Louis worked all the last week of September for the Swan Boat man in the Boston Public Garden. He was a great success and was becoming famous. On Saturday, the Boatman paid him a hundred dollars in cash, which Louis placed carefully in his moneybag. The Boatman, after paying the first night’s bill at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, decided to let Louis sleep on the lake instead of in the hotel, and this suited Louis better. He slept with the ducks and geese on the lake, floating gracefully on the surface of the water, his head tucked under his wing.

Louis took good care of his trumpet. He kept it polished, and once a week he cleaned the spit out of it. He learned new songs whenever he could, by listening to people’s radios and by attending concerts. He was very good at remembering music he had heard. He was really a natural-born musician—or, in his case, a natural-hatched musician.

One song he liked was “Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me.” Whenever he played it, he thought of Serena, and always, when he finished it, the passengers on the Swan Boat clapped loudly and cheered. Louis liked applause. It made him feel lighthearted and gay.

Sometimes, at the end of the afternoon, Louis played “Now the Day Is Over.” He made it sound sweet and sad. One afternoon, when he was leading the last trip of the day, he played the “Cradle Song” by Brahms. The passengers sang the words:

A boy in the front seat of the boat pulled an air rifle from under his jacket and began shooting BB shots at Louis’s trumpet. Whenever a shot hit the horn, it made a pinging sound. So the “Cradle Song” sounded something like this:

                      Lul-la-by (ping)

                      and good-night (ping)

                      With ros-es be-dight (ping)

The children on the boat roared with laughter when they heard this, but the grown-up passengers were angry. One of them seized the boy’s rifle. Another went home that night and wrote a letter to The Boston Globe urging a stronger gun-control law.

On some afternoons, at the end of the day, people gathered on the shores of the lake to listen while Louis played taps. It was a peaceful scene, a memorable hour. The Swan Boat had never enjoyed such popularity or made such a lot of money for the owner. But Louis knew that the boats would not run all winter. In a few days, the boats would be hauled out for the season, to wait quietly for the arrival of spring.

One day, when Louis was waiting for the boat to take its passengers aboard, a Western Union messenger boy appeared on a bicycle.

“I have a telegram for the swan,” he said.

The Boatman seemed surprised, but he took the telegram and handed it to Louis, who opened it promptly. It was from a man in Philadelphia. The message said:

CAN OFFER YOU FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS A WEEK FOR NIGHTCLUB SPOT. TEN WEEK ENGAGEMENT. PLEASE REPLY.

(Signed) ABE (“LUCKY”) LUCAS

HOTEL NEMO

Louis did some quick figuring. Five hundred dollars a week for ten weeks—that was five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars would easily pay his father’s debt to the music store.

He took his slate and wrote:

OFFER ACCEPTED. ARRIVE TOMORROW. MEET ME AT BIRD LAKE IN THE ZOO. SPLASHDOWN WILL BE AT FOUR FIFTY-TWO P.M. HOPE THIS WILL BE A CONVENIENT TIME FOR YOU.

Louis showed the message to the Western Union boy, who copied it on a telegraph blank.

“Send it collect!” wrote Louis.

The messenger nodded and rode away. Louis stepped back into the water, the boat’s lines were cast off, and Louis led the way. He knew it was his last appearance with the Swan Boat, and he felt a little sad. It was a warm, quiet Sunday afternoon, the last Sunday in September. Louis played all his favorite tunes: “Lazy River,” “Beautiful Dreamer,” “Oh, Ever in the Greening Spring,” “Now the Day Is Over,” and then, as the boat neared the dock, he raised his trumpet and blew taps.

The last note echoed from the walls of the Ritz and lingered over the Public Garden. It was a sad farewell. For the people of Boston, it meant the end of summer. For the Boatman, it meant the end of the best week of business he had ever had. For Louis, it meant the end of another chapter in his adventurous life, out in the big world, trying to earn enough money to get his father and himself out of trouble. Louis slept peacefully that night, being very careful that his moneybag was safe. Next day he flew to Philadelphia to keep his appointment with Mr. Lucas, the man who had sent the telegram.

Louis had no trouble finding Philadelphia. Almost anybody can find Philadelphia who tries. Louis simply rose into the air with all his things around his neck, and when he was about a thousand feet high, he followed the railroad tracks to Providence, New London, New Haven, Bridgeport, Stamford, Cos Cob, Greenwich, Port Chester, Rye, Mamaroneck, New Rochelle, Pelham, Mount Vernon, and the Bronx. When he saw the Empire State Building, he veered off to the right, crossed the Hudson River, and followed the railroad tracks to Newark and Trenton and points south. At half past four, he reached the Schuylkill River. Just beyond, he spied the Philadelphia Zoo. Bird Lake looked very attractive from the air. It was crowded with waterfowl of all kinds—ducks and geese mostly. Louis thought he also saw two or three swans.

He circled, picked an open spot, and exactly at four fifty-two he splashed down. His trumpet banged against his slate, his slate knocked against his medal, his medal rapped against his chalk pencil, and his chalk pencil on its string wound itself around his moneybag. All in all, the splashdown caused quite a commotion. The ducks and geese were not expecting anything like this to happen—a big white Trumpeter Swan dropping down out of the sky, loaded with personal possessions.

Louis paid no attention to the other birds. He had a date to keep. He saw a man leaning on the wide railing in front of the Bird House. The man was dressed in a purple suit and wore a Tyrolean hat. His face looked shrewd and wise, as though he knew a great many things, many of them not worth knowing.

“That must be Abe ‘Lucky’ Lucas,” thought Louis.

He swam quickly over.

“Ko-hoh!” he said, through his trumpet.

“My pleasure,” replied Mr. Lucas. “You are right on time. The splashdown was sensational. Welcome to the Philadelphia Zoo, which crawls with rare mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and fishes, including sharks, rays, and other fishlike vertebrates. Watch out for wild animals—this place is replete with them: snakes, zebras, monkeys, elephants, lions, tigers, wolves, foxes, bears, hippos, rhinos, woodchucks, skunks, hawks, and owls. I seldom come here; my work confines me to the throbbing heart of the city, among the money changers. I am under great pressure from my work. How was your trip from Boston?”

“Smooth,” wrote Louis on his slate. “I made good time. What about my job?”

“A happy question,” replied Mr. Lucas. “The job will start on October fifteenth. The contract has been finalized. Your place of employment is a nightclub of great renown, across the river—a place of high fashion and low prices, a jumpy joint. You will be called upon to make appearances each evening except Sunday, and play your trumpet for the happy customers. Once in a while you can join a jazz group: ‘Louis the Swan on trumpet.’ The pay is very good. My spirits are lifted by thinking about the pay. Wealth and happiness are around the corner for Louis the Swan and Lucky Lucas, the great of heart. My agent’s fee is ten percent, a mere bagatelle.”

“How do I get to the nightclub?” asked Louis, who only understood about half of what Mr. Lucas was saying.

“In a taxicab,” replied Mr. Lucas. “Be at the North Entrance of the Zoo, Girard Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street, at nine o’clock on the evening of October fifteenth, a night that will live in memory. A cab will await your pleasure and will transport you to the club. The driver is a friend of mine. He, too, is under pressure from his work.”

“Who’s going to pay for the cab?” asked Louis on his slate.

“I am,” replied Mr. Lucas. “Lucky Lucas, the generous of heart, pays for the cab for Louis the Swan. And by the way, I see that you are wearing a moneybag and that it is plump with moola. I suggest, from the kindness of my great heart, that you turn this moneybag over to me for safekeeping during your stay in Philadelphia, a place of many thieves and pickpockets.”

“No, thank you,” wrote Louis. “Will keep moneybag myself.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Lucas. “And now there is one other small matter I must bring to your attention. Most of the birds that swim on this luxury lagoon have undergone surgery. Candor compels me to tell you that the tip of one wing is usually removed by the management—a painless operation, popular with zoos the world over. ‘Pinioned’ is the word for it, I believe. It detains the water bird and prevents him from leaving the narrow confines of this public park and rising into the air, because when one wing is shorter than the other, the balance of the bird is upset. His attempt to take off would be crowned with failure. In short, he can’t fly. Sensing in advance the revulsion you would feel toward having the tip of one of your powerful wings removed, I approached the Man in Charge of Birds and laid before him a proposition. He has agreed not to clip your wing. It is arranged. He is a man of honor. Your freedom of movement is assured. You will not be pinioned. But in return for this so great favor on the part of the management of the Philadelphia Zoo, you are to give a free concert here at the lake every Sunday afternoon for the people of Philadelphia, the peasantry, who come here to refresh themselves. Is it a deal?”

“Yes,” wrote Louis. “Will give Sunday concert.”

“Good!” said Mr. Lucas. “Farewell for the nonce! Be at the North Entrance at nine! October fifteen. A cab will await you. Play well, Sweet Swan! You will be the finest thing that has happened to Philadelphia since the Constitutional Convention of 1787.”

Louis didn’t understand this, but he nodded good-bye to Mr. Lucas and swam off toward the island in the center of the lake. There he stepped ashore, straightened his things, preened his feathers, and rested. He was not sure he was going to like his new job. He was not sure he liked Mr. Lucas. But he needed money badly, and when you need money, you are willing to put up with difficulties and uncertainties. One good thing about the whole business was the Zoo itself. It seemed like an extremely nice place in spite of what he had heard about having your wing clipped. Louis had no intention of having a wing clipped.

“I’ll sock anybody who tries that on me!” he said to himself.

He was pleased to see so many other water birds. There were many kinds of ducks and geese. In the distance, he saw three Trumpeter Swans. They were old residents of the Lake. Their names were Curiosity, Felicity, and Apathy. Louis decided he would wait a day or two before making their acquaintance.

Bird Lake has a fence around it. When the night came for him to start work, Louis polished his trumpet, put on all his things, flew over the fence, and landed at the North Entrance. He was there promptly at nine. The taxicab was there, waiting, just as Mr. Lucas had promised. Louis got in and was driven away to his new job.