Unlike Panama, Colon is flat and square-blocked,
as it is considerably darker in complexion with its large mixture
of negroes from the Caribbean shores and islands. Uncle Sam seems
to have taken the city's fine beach away from her. But then, she
probably never took any other advantage of it than to turn it into
a garbage heap as bad as once was Bottle Alley. On one end is a
cement swimming pool with the announcement, "Only for gold
employees of the I. C. C. or P. R. R. and guests of Washington
Hotel." It is merely a softer way of saying, "Only white Americans
with money can bathe here."
Then beyond are the great hospitals, second only to those of
Ancon, the "white" wards built out over the sea, and behind them
the "black" where the negroes must be content with second-hand
breezes. Some of the costs of the canal are here,--sturdy black
men in a sort of bed-tick pajamas sitting on the verandas or in
wheel chairs, some with one leg gone, some with both. One could
not but wonder how it feels to be hopelessly ruined in body early
in life for helping to dig a ditch for a foreign power that,
however well it may treat you materially, cares not a whistle-
blast more for you than for its old worn-out locomotives rusting
away in the jungle.
Under the beautiful royal palms beyond, all bent inland in the
constant breeze are park benches where one can sit with the
Atlantic spreading away to infinity before, breaking with its
ages-old, mysterious roll on the shore just as it did before the
European's white sails first broke the gleaming skyline.
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