Someone to watch over me

himself, wore no uniform or badge and wasn’t nearly old enough to have served in the Great War, but he exuded authority. “It depends on when your friends came here. There are more than twenty encampment areas. They’re sorted by state or region of the state.“
    “About three weeks ago, I think.“
    “Then they’re not in the city proper. Only the first to arrive are close. They’ll be over on the Anacostia Flats. That’s the largest compound and the most recent arrivals are there, about fifteen thousand of them.”
    Jack gasped. “Fifteen thousand! How will I ever find the right people?“
    “It’s well laid out, and they have rough maps. The entrance encampment on the other side of the Eleventh Street Bridge can help you. They’re mostly all U.S. Army, including lots of former officers, you realize. They know how to organize huge numbers of people, and army folks love maps.“
    “How do I get there?“ Jack asked.
    “Do you know where Pennsylvania Avenue is?“
    “Yes.“
    “Take it southeast, about a mile and a half, and turn right on Eleventh Street. It’ll take you right to the bridge. About a two-mile walk is all.”
    In the spring or fall at home in Voorburg this wouldn’t have seemed like any distance at all. But in a sweltering, smelly July night in Washington, when he’d been up since before dawn and had already walked all over midtown Manhattan, it seemed a very long way.
    Jack thanked the young man and started out, feet literally dragging, and the suitcase feeling twice as heavy as it did this morning.
    He found his way easily and was surprised at how much traffic there was going the same way. Men were still arriving in cars and trucks, on foot, and even by bicycle, with most of them, like him, on foot. Some had farm wagons pulled by horses or mules. Many had their wives and children in tow. It had never occurred to Jack that women and children were involved in this, and he’d not read or heard another commentator mention them. But why not? They had every bit as much at stake in demonstrating to the government how desperately they needed the bonus payment to survive—now! Not thirteen years from now.
    But there were also a few people going the other way, men and women who couldn’t face looking at the newcomers. They had grim expressions and looked away from the people joining the marchers. They were those who’d given up and were going home, Jack assumed. Jack hadn’t even reached his destination, and to his utter shame he was vaguely considering turning around and going back to Voorburg.
    The main encampment tent across the Eleventh Street Bridge crossing the Anacostia River was well staffed. The first line he stood in was managed by an older man with a spectacular reddish mustache that flared out when he spoke. “Where are these folks you’re looking for from?“ he asked Jack.
    “New York. Voorburg-on-Hudson.”
    The gentleman, still able to fit into his Great War uniform and wearing it with pride, even though he hadn’t been able to get rid of the creases from its having been folded away for well over a decade, flipped through a couple of registers. “I don’t see a listing for this town. Is it small? What’s it near?“
    “I guess it is pretty small,“ Jack had to admit, against his will. “It’s between Cold Spring and Poughkeepsie.“
    “Ah, that makes it easier.“ He pulled out a stack of crudely hand-drawn maps and handed one to Jack. “This is the general layout. And here,“ he said, circling a distant area, “is where you need to go. There’ll be a sign with this number on a tall stake, and someone will be stationed there who knows where your friends are.”
    Jack was sick at heart at how far away it looked. He had been hoping as he crossed the bridge that the end of his journey was close. But he was also pleased and encouraged by how well this movement was functioning. No one was apparently being paid to do the work, but here were lots of middle-aged men—some in heavy wool uniforms from their war years, some in farm clothes and muddy boots, and a few in shabby dress suits—volunteering to help newcomers. He himself was so tired and hot that the thought nearly brought him to tears, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in many years.
    A young woman with a long blond braid carrying a baby in a sling made with a pretty shawl and holding the hand of an older child overtook him. It embarrassed him that, thus burdened, she walked faster than he did. “You