FINDING YOUTH
FINDING YOUTH
A Human Experience
BY
Nelson Andrews
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
BOSTON
Copyright 1921, 1922
by
FRED G. ANDREWS
Santa Barbara
California
The reader of these pages need scarcely be told thatthere is truth in them, and a deeper truth in the lessonthat they teach. For this chronicle, in its essentials,might have been written of many a life other than hiswhose simple story is here set down.
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FINDING YOUTH
I
This story is told because othersneed to know it. They need toknow it now, when all the world is makinga blind struggle to find youth-anew creative spirit.
It is the experience of just a common,everyday man-myself. But thousandsof others have gone through mysame experience. They are not findingthe help, though, that I found. It isbecause I found this help-found somethingthat man has always been seeking-thatI feel impelled to tell my story.
My name is Harvey Allen. I was bornin New York City and had lived thereall my life. When the Big Thing happened,I was sixty years old. My wifeand I had two sons, both married. Wehad six grandchildren.
We had lived in the same Harlemapartment for twenty years-with front[Pg 2]windows looking out on the street, sideair-shafts, and a rear view of clotheslinesand fire-escapes. I never see aclothesline now that I don’t think ofthat day in October.
The neighborhood had changed sinceour coming. The Ghetto had expandedand taken us in. The color-line wasdrawn just a block away, in the nextstreet. But the place was home, and wehad stuck there.
One of our sons, Walter, lived in Yonkers.The younger son, George, livedover in Brooklyn. We didn’t see eitherof them often. They both worked hardto support their families. Evenings andSundays they had their different familyinterests; and their wives had their ownrelatives to visit.
My wife, however, made frequenttrips to their homes. She helped ourdaughters-in-law by doing most of thesewing for the grandchildren. But shealways returned in time to have my dinnerready at night, when I got hometired from my day’s work. She has[Pg 3]never neglected me. Our youthful loveaffair was a good deal romantic, and wehave always been real pals. She is adescendant of one of the old New Yorkfamilies of the best American pioneerblood.
Sometimes of an evening we went to apicture-show. But we had dropped intothe habit of spending most of our eveningsat home. Occasionally some oldfriend would call; or Miss Marsh, whohad a small room in the apartment acrossthe hall, would drop in f