After two weeks of on-the-job training Jim began patrolling the Tenderloin, one of the more dangerous areas in the city. Having been a veteran – he fought with the French 4th Army during the Meuse-Argonne offensive – shop keepers and street people alike felt safer when the Irishman with the kind face and the ready smile was on patrol.

One Saturday afternoon, before he hit the streets, Jim came in to the kitchen wearing his policeman’s uniform. Susan brought soup to the table as Jim sat down beside his son. She noticed the magazine that Josh was reading.

“Interesting article?” she asked.

Josh continued reading as he spoke. “Actually, it’s about the war in Europe.”

“The Germans are at it again,” said Jim. “We thought the last war

would end it.”

Josh looked up from the magazine. “Dad, how come you won’t talk about the Great War?”

“There isn’t much to talk about. People killing each other doesn’t make for good conversation. Better to forget about it.”

“What if we end up in this war?”

“If we do, and if you’re old enough, you’ll do what you believe is right. Until then enjoy your victories on the football field.”

Jim Sanders finished his soup, stood up, took his policemen’s revolver from the drawer near the table, and put it into his holster.

Susan handed Jim his dark blue overcoat. He kissed her on the cheek, then turned to his son. “Josh, you help your mother prepare dinner.”

“Dad, let me go with you. Just for the first hour or two.”

His mother immediately intervened. “Josh, that isn’t a good idea.”

“The neighborhood I patrol isn’t one of the best,” said Jim.

“I know, but I’m curious,” replied Josh. “I might want to be a cop someday.”

“No, you won’t be a policeman,” said his mother. “You can do better; I mean, you can do something a little safer. You want to be a professional football player, remember.”

His father relented. “He’s old enough, and it might do him good to see what goes on in those streets.”

Josh stood up and put on a bold face. “I’ll be okay mom. I’m not afraid.”

“But I am,” replied his mother. “There’s been more crime since the depression…the streets aren’t safe.”

“The boy has to know what the real world is like,” said Jim.

“He has time to know what the world is like. He doesn’t have to walk the streets to find out.”

“I’ll bring him home after my first round on patrol…I promise.”

She looked at them both, and finally gave in. “All right, but no later than nine o’clock.”

That night Jim Sanders patrolled the run-down streets of the Tenderloin district. With Josh at his side he walked slowly, resting one large hand on his gun holster as he swiveled his head from side to side. His large eyes flickered back and forth, ever alert, as they scanned the darkness.

Near mission and seventh, leaning against the door of an old closed-down pawn shop, a figure stood in the shadows, his long dark fingers wrapped around a Styrofoam cup filled with hot coffee. His hands shook as he raised the cup to his dark puffy lips and sipped the coffee. A ragged man in ragged clothes, his tattered brown overcoat hung loosely from his broad shoulders; the heels on his black shoes were worn to the bone. The sunken eyes looked straight ahead, seeing only darkness.

“Chuck?”

The familiar voice encouraged the man to turn his head, as Josh and his father came walking toward him. His large black lips began to part but without a smile. Jim stopped in front of the man and extended his hand. “How are you Chuck?”

Josh watched the two men closely as they shook hands. He recognized the name, but not the man who stood alone, a scarecrow in the night.

“I’m gettin’ by.” The man had a deep, hoarse voice. He spoke slowly, as if his words were formed in slow motion.

Jim Sanders gestured toward his son. “Chuck, this is my boy Josh. I brought him along for a little stroll through the neighborhood. Josh, this is Chuck Nagel; we used to work together on construction jobs. He was a crackerjack welder.”

“Yeah, until the country fell apart. It needs to be welded back together,” said Chuck.

Jim quickly switched subjects. “Is Janie still in town?”

“No, she took the kids and went back East to live with her folks. She couldn’t handle this no more.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Chuck. I wish things could have turned out different. This depression’s been dragging on too long. Jobs will come back, I know they will.”

Jim reached in his coat pocket and handed Chuck a five-dollar bill. “This’ll help a little.” Jim patted him on the back, then he and Josh moved on down the sidewalk. When they reached the end of the block Josh turned to his father.

“Is that man living on the street?”

“I’m afraid so. He sometimes sleeps in a flophouse nearby, when they have room.” Jim Sanders paused, and looked back at the lonely figure in the shadows. “Chuck is a good man. We were good friends. I lost track of him until a few weeks ago, when I saw him out here on the street. You never know what life is going to throw at you, Josh. Wherever you end up, it might not be where you thought.”