Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 June 1875 — “Wicked Jack” No Longer. [ARTICLE]

“Wicked Jack” No Longer.

Toe have met him, doubtless. He is that newsboy witk the bad eye and the general wicked look—the boy who isn’t aft-aid to “ chin” the most dignified map who ever walked the streets of Detroit. 1 ’ Wicked Jack! Why, bless you, he has carried Free Presses and Bold papers here in Detroit ever since he was old enough to find his way to the office! It is safe to say that he has had his ears cuffed 200 times per year for ten years past for “ sassing” the public, and that he has “licked” «iore bootblacks, apple-ped-dlers and newsboys than can be piled into the corridors of the City Hall. All the philosophers who have been attached to the Free Frees since that boy came upon the stage of active life have had a struggle with him. They have coaxed, entreated, argued, bribed and even sought to frighten him, but Jack was iron-clad, lie knew that there was need of missionary work, but it was so much easier to be wicked than it was ta be good that he continued to be wicked. The public might have done better by the boy. It is not known that any human being, outside of three or four news paper philosophers, ever asked him to be good. No other efforts were ever made to get him into school —to keep him clean—to repress his oaths—to calm down his too-ready muscle. The newspaper men might' have succeeded had they had more time, or had they been backed up by outsiders. It doesn’t do a boy a bit of good to pat him on the head and tell him of heaven and then let him walk out among a crowd of young rascals who have collected to make an assault upon him and give him a wholesome mauling, and Wicked Jack discovered that his fists and feet made a better road through life than kind words and square dealing. Where has he lived? And how? Ah! We all ought to feel ashamed! For four or five years he slept in barns, in boxes, on the wharf —anywhere where night overtook him. None of us ever asked him home or gave him money to secure better lodgings, and what else could the boy do? A year ago he got the privilege of sleeping on a hay mow in a livery stable, but he had to help about the barn to pay for it. His meals were made up of crackers and cheese, fruit, or whatever his profits would buy, and his clothing was handed out by some aid society or picked up in the alleys. That’s the way Wicked Jack lived, and yet our churches are sending money to heathens over the sea! Money has gone to the heathens in Africa while Jack, the newsboy, has been allowed to come up with the vile and wicked, knowing all about wickedness —knowing nothing of heaven! Those who know ihe boy best did not believe that anything could' touch the soft spot in his heart, and yet something did. He entered and left the barn as he pleased. They knew Jack to be wicked, but they also knew that he was honest. The other day one of the men about the stable heard groans, as of some one in pain, but they could not be located or traced. The next evening the groans were heard again, and there was something suspicious in Jack’s actions as he skulked into the barn and climbed to the hay-loft. One of the stable men followed, creeping carefully and quietly. The bov had his home in an old wagonbox under the eaves of the roof, and the man was finally near enough to hear talking. There was a strange voice and there was Jack’s voice, and pretty soon Jack’s voice was heard reading. Crouched down on the hay, the listener caught the words; “ Oh, remember not against us former iuiquities; let Thy tender mercies speedily prevent us, for we are brought very low.” Going a little nearer—looking over into Wicked Jake’s home —the man saw —what? The boy leaning back to let the last rays of daylight filter through between the boards on to the sheet-worn page of a Bible that he had picked up, was reading aloud to —to himself? No —to an old man—an old man lying on Jack’s blanket! it was strange, but stranger still when they learned that Wicked Jack had found the poor old man wandering through the streets, ill, hungry, no home, no friends, and had taken him and qared for him two long weeks! And that boy had used his money to buy medicine anil to get little delicacies for his patient, sometimes going hungry himself, and not a man around th* barn or a boy on the street had been .allowed to share his secret! They lifted the old man down and sent him to the hospital. He would have been dead but for that boy’s kindness. Wicked Jack has found new friends—he will enter a new path soon. His name has been abbreviated. It was Wicked Jack. Can you call him that now? Isn’t he entitled to all the respect you could show the son of a king—a king himself?— Detroit Free Press.