The Liberty Hotel

They are opening a new hotel in Boston.  Competition among four and five star hotels is fierce in this town.  The Bostonian, The Plaza, The Ritz Carlton, and The Colonnade will all pamper and spoil you.  Any new hotel just opening has to offer something special to succeed.          The Liberty Hotel does just that.  Three hundred rooms, most of them in a new sixteen-story tower will have views of the city and river.  Three eating rooms will offer everything from special small plate food to nightlife entertainment.  Flat screen televisions in each room will entertain visitors to Boston. The remaining twenty rooms  are built within the frame of a historic old Boston landmark.  Do you think you'd like to spend a night in the Charles Street Jail?
         During World War II, my grandmother did, long before it was fashionable.  It happened like this...
         They had to pick the coldest day of the year, thought Kitty.  The Portuguese lobster men from Houghs Neck had given her a ride into Boston City Hall to try to get some of the flour and sugar that the state was making available.  In these days of coupon rationing, an extra supply of flour was welcome.  And sugar!  After months of eating Anadama bread made from molasses, the kids were going to love some real sugar in their oatmeal.  Maybe there might be even enough for a cake or some cookies.
         She shivered again.  Kitty Riley had been standing in line since eight o'clock this morning. Seven hours of sore feet and shivering, but she was no worse off than the other women in line.  Behind her, a young mother stood, rocking a carriage back and forth.  The baby was  napping.  Kitty turned and smiled at the harried young woman.
          "It's hard when you have to bring the little ones, isn't it?"
         "Sure is.  I was hoping my mom could watch him today, but she got called into the shipyard."
         "Fore River?  I work there.  Where's your mom working?"
         "In the finance office, for two years now."
         "It's not a bad place to work.  I'm a welder, and my girl Barbara works in the mess hall."
         "I wish I could work.  My husband's in Italy, I have to take care of the baby."
         "He'll be home soon, God willing, and things will be easier. He'll be pleased you managed so well."
         "That's nice of you to say, but this war keeps going on and on.  I'll be glad when it's over."
         The woman in front of Kitty chimed in, "I heard today that the boys have crossed into Germany itself.  It won't be long until Hitler's singing a different tune, you'll see."
         The talk swirled back and forth.  Anything helped to keep the minds of the women off their discomfort.  It was late afternoon now and the sun would be setting soon.  Already the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.  The young mother tucked the blanket tighter around her son.  Kitty sipped another hit off the flask she had in her pocket and offered it to the woman in front of her in line.
         "Thanks, can't say no to that.  I walked here from the North End. The wind is cold tonight and it's bound to get colder."  The woman, dressed in the solid black of an Italian peasant, downed a slug and gasped. "Good for what ails you." She saluted Kitty.
         There was a bustle behind them and a squeal of tires in the road.  A door slammed and high heel shoes clicked on the pavement.  Kitty turned to look for the disturbance and saw a woman of indeterminant age approaching.  She was dressed in a fur coat and hat with leather gloves and, God help us, nylons.
         By now, the line had inched its way towards the door where a table was set up and boxes and bags of flour and sugar were being handed out.  Kitty figured it might only be another half hour.  The whisky flask had been a huge help getting her through the day, but it was near empty now.  She was tired and cranky and would have been feeling good if she wasn't so physically miserable.
         Suddenly, the woman in the fur coat stopped next to the young mother whose baby was awake again and fussing. 
         "Can't you shut that kid up?"
         The tired, frantic mother picked up the child and began rocking him in her arms.
         Kitty got a good look at the newcomer.  Her dress was a shade of red that matched the enamel on her nails. She had put on her makeup with a heavy hand and, at this hour of the day, her eyes were smudged and pale cheeks spotted with quarter-sized dots of rouge.  She managed to looked cheap, for all the probable cost of that coat.  Kitty stared her up and down.
         "Leave the kid alone, why don't ya?  She's been here long as I have."
         "Hmph."  The woman ignored her.  Looking towards the door, she edged into the line between Kitty and the Italian woman. 
         "What do you think you're doing?  Get back to the rear of the line,"  said Kitty.
         Slowly, the woman turned and eyed Kitty disdainfully.  "I'm here in line now."
         Kitty took the last sip of whisky and tried to hold her temper.
         "Listen, we're all tired and cold.  Why don't you just go on back to the end of the line now?"
         "I said I'm here and I'm staying."  The woman turned back towards the head of the line.
         Behind Kitty, the baby whimpered and his mother seemed close to joining him.  In front, the fur-coated woman elbowed the Italian lady aside and moved up one more space. 
         As the dark-haired Italian reeled back from the intruder's elbow, her ankle twisted and she almost fell.  She leaned heavily against a nearby light-pole, rubbing her ankle.
         Kitty Riley smiled at her when she grimaced at the newcomer's fur covered back.  Like many Italians, she had a vocabulary of really expressive hand signals.
         The line inched forward again and the intruder stood at the table waiting as the government man wrote down her name and handed two flour sacks to her.
         Kitty reached out a hand and patted the young mother's shoulder.  Then, she put her purse in the baby's empty carriage.  She removed her own jacket and placed that there, too.  She walked past the Italian woman and tapped the troublesome invader on the shoulder. 
         "Excuse me, apparently, you didn't hear me.  I said move to the back of the line.  There's no cutting here. Those sacks belong to this woman standing right here."  Speaking this last to the clerk, she indicated the Italian woman with a wave of her hand.
         The woman in the fur coat turned and spat in Kitty's face. 
         Kitty hadn't survived being raised with two brothers for nothing. She swung out with a good right hand, followed by a left uppercut. Then, she kicked.  The woman went across the table in a ball of fur.  Flour flew like snow in the winter afternoon. When the woman hit the ground, Kitty went with her in a flurry of fists, feet, and teeth.  The sound of the guards' whistle-blowing and the thumping feet of their boots running to get her off her victim never penetrated her single-minded focus. 
         The handcuffs did.  The policemen lifted Kitty bodily into the Black Mariah, the paddy-wagon, and took her to be processed and thrown into the holding cell of the Charles Street jail along with hookers, thieves, and other miscreants.  Across the aisle in another cell, a woman  with a brilliant purple and green shiner sat huddled in a flour covered fur coat.  The sight of her afforded Kitty with a great deal of satisfaction. The following morning, Kitty's neighbors and family raised enough money to bail her out and bring her home.
         Years later, Kitty Riley went to her death still proud of the incident.  To know that rich people are going to be sleeping near her holding cell, must have her rolling over in her grave laughing.