She Had Had The Pain; It Had

It Meant That She Belonged Some Place. She Was A Brooklyn Girl With A Brooklyn Name And A Brooklyn Accent. She Didn't Want To Change Into A Bit Of This And A Bit Of That.

You Took A Walk On A Sunday Afternoon And Came To A Nice Neighborhood, Very Refined. You Saw A Small One Of These Trees Through The Iron Gate Leading To Someone's Yard And You Knew That Soon That Section Of Brooklyn Would Get To Be A Tenement District. The Tree Knew. It Came There First. Afterwards, Poor Foreigners Seeped In And The Quiet Old Brownstone Houses Were Hacked Up Into Flats, Feather Beds Were Pushed Out On The Window Sills To Air And The Tree Of Heaven Flourished. That Was The Kind Of Tree It Was. It Liked Poor People.

She Had Had The Pain; It Had Been Like Being Boiled Alive In Scalding Oil And Not Being Able To Die To Get Free Of It

'dear God,' She Prayed, 'let Me Be Something Every Minute Of Every Hour Of My Life.'

It Was So Simple That A Flash Of Astonishment That Felt Like Pain Shot Through Her Head. Education! That Was It! It Was Education That Made The Difference! Education Would Pull Them Ut Of The Grame And Dirt.