Babe ruth

George was holding back tears, trying to look brave. A policeman had affirm grip on the seven years old boy as he pulled him along the cobblestone streets in the ramshackle waterfront section of 1902 Baltimore, Maryland.

George Ruth, I’ve looked the other way before, scolded the officer, but this time we’re going to have a little talk with your father. George didn’t even look up as they arrived at the somber row house on West Camden Street. Two railroad men walking arm in arm, burst out into the street from the saloon that was owned by the Ruth family. They were dirty and smelled of the sea.

Hey! Isn’t that little George with the law? One man exclaimed. What did you do, kid, steal an apple or break a window? The men laughed. Be on your way before you get the sane, my business is with Mr. Ruth, not with the likes of you. The officer tapped his nightstick. The smiles vanished from the men´s faces, and they quickly shuffled down the block. George’s family lived above the bar that his dad tended. The Ruth´s worked long, hard hours, as the saloon was open all day and most of the night loading ships in the harbor, and merchant marines just back from long ocean voyages came in and out at all hours to drink, gamble, and swap stories about their adventures.

 While George and his father waited for someone to greet them, George had a little time to think about the situation he had gotten himself into. He didn’t much like the looks of the place with its iron gates. But he was sure that he was tough enough to take care of himself there. Besides, he figured he would be out and back with his friends, in no time. The boy hadn’t lost any of his cocky confidence; only his freedom.

St. Mary’s was run by the Xaverian Brothers, a catholic order. One of the brothers called out to the Ruth’s to enter the inner office.

Some had even run away from home and been picked up by the police in Baltimore; George even thought that he recognized an older boy from his neighborhood, one he thought had landed in jail. Others were orphans, but the one thing they all had in common was that they had been sent to St. Mary’s to live until they turned 21.

George stood up defiantly, waiting for someone to start something, but no one did. With his mean scowl, George looked so fierce that the others figured he must be just like them, and would make a better friend than enemy.

When it was George’s turn, his face flushed red and he sputtered; he could neither read nor write at all. After all, he had spent most of his boyhood figuring out ways to avoid going to school. After a moment of snickering from some of his older classmates, George admitted to the Brother that he couldn’t read. Then he boldly said. If the other kids learned to read, so can I’ he started learning that very day.

Later that day Brother Matthias came to the dorm to introduce himself to George. He was in charge of keeping the boys in line at St. Mary’s, and many  of the younger kids were afraid of crossing him, but the boys also knew that Brother Matthias was always fair in handing out any discipline.

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