“Sure did, Mattie. If they only knew!”
“I try to give my son credit for being smart and mature. He’s known all along that his school principal is more than a former pro football star, that he’s Debra’s father and that Debra’s mother is the famous lawyer Wilhelmina Wilbanks of the NAACP? He’s carried himself well, I think. But he thinks people have honor and they don’t. I don’t want the moment he realizes that to be the moment of his death. He’s all torn up inside. He needs healing. Away from these streets. I really do feel badly about taking Preston out of his school, especially since he only has one year before he’s in high school, but I know what he’s into around here. We’re moving.”
30
Washington, D.C., September 1960
Their new Langdon Park neighborhood was very different from the flat Lincoln Park/Capitol Hill neighborhood they had moved from. It wasn’t dominated by the architecture of Washington’s ubiquitous brick row houses. City blocks were not neatly demarcated. There weren’t any back alleyways. Nor was there the airborne pungency of car exhaust from the Seventeenth and East Capitol Street intersection, which spilled traffic eastward towards the Anacostia River or westward towards the Capitol.
Here was the realm of neat, mostly small and modest single-family homes sided with aluminum or vinyl in an almost rural setting. The houses were laid out upon lots comprising more earth than one would be accustomed to seeing in a city. The air was quieter and more aromatic. The lush park from which the neighborhood took its name was a mere half a block away.
Lincoln Park was essentially a flat greenspace in the midst of a traffic roundabout. Langdon Park was more a little forest full of big trees. There was a ball court, a football field, a baseball diamond and barbeque pits. Thank you! One could weekend-party in Langdon Park with gusto. Then go to the little church across the street at Mills Avenue and Franklin Street on Sunday and ask Jesus to forgive your whole smorgasbord of sins, both committed and desired.
That Sunday after they moved into their new home, the little white church on the corner was buzzing. The streets around the church were impassable due to the overflow crowd. For blocks you could hear the piano chords backing the choir and congregation singing rocking praises to God and his son Jesus Christ. This was surely due in large part to the fact that all the doors and windows were open in hopes that the Lord would send through many breezes of cool air. At the end of the service those inside spilled out, led by the black-robed pastor of the church walking arm-in-arm with a white man also in black robes. The congregation itself was liberally salted. Prez wondered if what he saw was actually what the dream of integration looked like.
He asked his mother if he could go to that church’s service the following Sunday instead of their home church in the old neighborhood of Lincoln Park. His mother agreed, almost immediately thinking it would be good for him if he could start to break his ties with his old crowd.
It was with great surprise that he walked into the New Bethel High Congregation for Everlasting Worship on that next Sunday to find a rather sparsely attended service with not a white face in sight. The church was much smaller than he expected. It looked a bit like his church in miniature. The chancel section was the most packed part of the church, as it seemed practically the whole of the congregation in attendance sang in the choir. In front of them was the requisite pulpit with five empty seats, including the pastor’s Mercy Seat. The pastor, the Very Reverend Farnsworth Pennington, stood up the whole time, though he hardly ever stood behind the lectern except when he needed to wipe his sweat with a large white towel or take a swig from a flask he kept behind it. Prez could tell that the pulpit was sturdily constructed because Pastor Pennington jumped, swayed, danced, bounced, and stomped upon it throughout the service and the pulpit never so much as squeaked.
Prez stood to light applause when the pastor asked for visitors to please stand.
“There we have a fine young man, no doubt desirous of living the pure life of a sheep in Jesus’ flock. Come here today all by hisself when the average young man his age would rather be out tending to the bizness of the devil. But here he is come into the house of the Lord as his first order of bizness as a new family come to us here in Langdon neighborhood from—where you come from, son?”
“The Lincoln Park area, sir.”
“Praise the Lord, son. Alright, sit down.”
Prez couldn’t believe how poorly the man spoke. He really had to pay attention because the pastor’s grammar was so bad, he sounded as if he was speaking another dialect. And when he did open the Bible it seemed he wasn’t reading but reciting from memory—his eyes would squeeze tight, his head sway back, he’d rock on his feet and recite some words Prez just knew could not have been written down that way in the Bible. When Prez glanced around everyone else had their Bibles open and were nodding away in affirmation, most of them with their eyes closed, too. But no one was actually looking at the Bible. So Prez tried not to feel too badly that he was unable to find the passage the pastor said he was reading from even though he was sure he had turned to the right book, chapter, page and verse. Prez just shut his eyes, threw his head back, and said “Amen” when the pastor said to say amen.
At one point he reached for a hymnal and instead his hand found a slim little booklet tucked into the book tray behind the pew in front of him. He looked about and noticed that they were in abundance. He looked at the front cover: God Loves All His Children Equally but Separately. There was an illustration of an old white man’s white-bearded face formed by clouds in a blue sky. Beneath his puffy smiling face and beaming blue eyes an African-American child sat cross-legged under his puffy-cloud left hand, and a white child sat the same way under his right. Between the children floated a puffy-cloud white angel holding a harp.
Prez turned the booklet over and at the bottom of the back page was a square emblem featuring two crossed flags, one American, the other Confederate, on a white background. In a circle around the flags was written the words: Bladensburg Citizens’ Council, States’ Rights-Racial Integrity.
After the service was over a group of young people came back to talk to him. There were six of them. They were all the pastor’s children and they all had biblical names: Mary, Magdalene, James, Joanna, Salome and Josephus. Twin sisters Joanna and Salome were two years older than Prez, and baby brother Josephus one year ahead. The other siblings were much older.
“So nice of you to come. What’s your name?”
“Preston Coleman Downs, Junior.”
“You all just moved in a couple of weeks ago, huh? Where’d you go to school before?”
“Eliot Junior High near Eastern High.”
“Oh, it’s rough over there, we hear.” Will you go to Taft? Where are your mother and little brother?”
They ask a lot of questions, thought Prez with a giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that before I can answer one question somebody is asking me another.”
They all laughed out loud. They liked each other. But it was the oldest brother James that Prez felt an automatic bond with.
“Okay, so what do they call you for short?” asked Joanna.
“They call him Prez,” said James. Prez looked at James and wondered how he knew that. “Al Proctor is our cousin. That’s how I know about you.”
They walked out and stood on the church steps and continued talking. Eventually, Prez had to ask, “What’s this?” as he held up a copy of the little booklet.
“That’s from my daddy’s best friend’s church,” gushed Mary, the oldest.
“His name is Pastor Jacob Jeremy Jasper,” said Magdalene.
“And his church is over in Bladensburg, Maryland, not that far from here,” said Mary.
“It’s called the Holy Ghost Fellowship Evangelical Cathedral,” said Magdalene.
“How close are we to Maryland?” asked Pr
ez.
“Hop in a car and you’re there in ten minutes,” said Josephus.
“That man is a white man who thinks he is better than we are.” That raw fact was spoken with authority and not a trace of emotion. What an old soul Salome was. No one uttered a word in disagreement. Prez was taken aback a bit.
“Well, he’s Daddy’s best friend, Salome. You’re too militant sometimes.” said Mary.
“They grew up together in Bladensburg. They’ve known each other all their lives,” said Magdalene.
“They would die for each other,” said Mary.
“They almost did in the war. They were in the army together,” said Magdalene.
“Then they went to seminary school together on the GI Bill,” said Mary.
“Daddy said he would not have made it through seminary school if it weren’t for Pastor Jasper,” said Magdalene.
“Every alternating first Sunday the two churches come together,” said Mary.
“We go there or they come here,” said Magdelene.
“But what is this?” Prez asked again, holding out the little booklet. The two oldest girls appeared a bit embarrassed. The twins both rolled their eyes.
“It’s racist propaganda,” said Salome. “I’ve spent the whole summer, me and my best friend Tala, protesting at Glen Echo Amusement Park. They won’t let Negroes in. You know about that, don’t you?”
Prez was really taken aback. “No, I don’t. I’ve never even heard of Glen Echo.” Lincoln Park was following him. “You don’t mean the Tala whose father is Master Flowers?”
“That’s exactly who she means. You know her?” asked Josephus.
“That’s two people from my old neighborhood that your family is close to.”
“Some call that ‘destiny’,” said Salome.
“I have different thoughts on that,” said Prez. “Destiny is the destination; fate is the trip.”
“Brilliant,” said Salome.
“How’s Al?” asked Prez.
“Man, he’s been back at Finley’s for a while now. But his competition days are over. “He’s got bullet fragments in his shoulder so he mostly training younger guys, trying to help them as much as he can. You should come in, man. You have what it takes. You could be ready for the ’64 Olympic trials if you start now. Al would be really glad to see you.
“News, my man. First, the cat that owns your place was a middleweight contender. His name is Garland Edwards and he fought Holly Mims. That’s top-ten action. He’s a friend of Mr. Finley’s so between Al and Garland you’re in at Finley’s easy. Number two, the family that lives under you, they’re away on vacation now but should be back any day now.”
“Well, what about ’em?”
“That brings up number three and there are two of ’em. It’s the daughters, man. Don’t worry, they are way too old for you. They’re the same age as Mary and Magdalene. But they are so fine, dudes come from miles around just to hang out on the porch with them. It might get a little crowded when you try to get into your front door. That can be the real problem.”
“Okay. Be cool,” said Prez.
*
Back home, Prez undressed, folded and hung up his good clothes, put on his track sweats, and plopped down on his bed. He read through the little booklet:
God’s Word Says to Segregate. The word of God says do not mix the races.
In Exodus God says, “So shall we be separated, from all the people that are upon the face of the earth.”
In Leviticus 20:24 God says, “I am the Lord thy God, which have separated you from other people.”
In Deuteronomy 7:3 God says, “Neither shalt thou make marriages with them.”
In Jude 7 God tells us exactly what will happen because of integration and intermarriage: “Even as Sodom and Gomorrah, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.”
But perhaps worse is that if we allow integration and intermarriage, we will cause our innocent babies to suffer for an eternal time. In Deuteronomy 23:2 God says, “A bastard shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord; even to his tenth generation shall he not enter into the congregation of the Lord.”
Our Southern way of life and our way of thinking is ordained by God himself as he gave it to Moses in the Ten Commandments. The laws of God are more powerful than the laws of man. The decision of the US Supreme Court that says we must integrate is not more powerful than the Commandment of God to Moses: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant.”
Prez went and got his mother’s big black King James Bible and double-checked the scripture passages quoted. He couldn’t find any discrepancies. He closed the pamphlet and shoved it in a drawer. He needed to get out and shoot some ball or maybe take a jog. It was too bright and sunny for him to be feeling so dark and dreary. Sitting on the toilet, he thought if there were justifications for segregation in the Bible, there had to be even more for integration. He had been brought up believing that all God’s children were equal in everything, not just in being loved by Jesus. He had always interpreted that to mean skin color didn’t really matter—“red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world,” the hymn went. If people were all essentially the same, then how could there be words in the Bible that justified segregation without more words to repudiate it? The answer, he thought, must lie in the New Testament, which is supposed to be the word of Jesus Christ whom God sent to correct the wrongs of the Old Testament world. That was such a good thought. It made Prez feel almost brilliant. But he was actually more than a little worried. Suppose there were no words in the New Testament to justify integration? All he could think of was that Jesus said love thy neighbor, which he heard on a regular basis in church. There had to be others. He decided not to go out. He grabbed the big black Bible, went back to his room, and settled in to find those passages that said segregation was a sin. Given the size of the Bible, Prez figured he’d be finished in about a year, so he dove in.
“Preston Junior!”
He jumped up, looked at his watch—4:30 p.m. It was too early for Sunday dinner and Gussie was sound asleep. Prez wondered how his brother could nap in the middle of the day.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You and Gussie come out here for a minute, will you? I want you to meet some people.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kicked at Gussie. “Wake up, man.”
“This is Miss Connie Mae Stevens. She’s a friend of ours from back home.”
“Well, what fine-looking boys, Mattie!” said Miss Stevens, “I’m actually a year ahead of your mother but we all grew up around Daniel’s Chapel Baptist Church in Enfield. And this is my fiancé, Mr. Ronald Lawson.”
The guy was huge, like Deb’s dad. Prez shook their hands. Next it was his aunt’s turn, “and this is my new friend Reverend Lon Dorsey. He gave the guest sermon this morning at Mount Moriah.”
“And what a rousing sermon it was,” said Mr. Lawson with a booming voice that seemed to make stuff shake.
Prez thought he heard someone else coming up the stairs and turned around to see the most muscle-bound man he had ever seen. “And this,” said his mother, “is our new landlord, Mr. Garland Edwards.” Prez wondered if he could even lift his arm to shake hands without destroying his suit jacket.
“I’m not sure I like the landlord label. But I do own the house. And that is my name.”
He grabbed Prez’s hand and rolled and squished it around. It happened so fast that Prez wasn’t ready to position his hand to avoid the squish-shake, a typical bullying tactic. So Prez just let him have his fun, never flinching nor uttering a word of protest. This defeated Mr. Edwards’ purpose and he gave Prez a hearty slap on the back. “Nice to meet y
ou. Heard a little bit about you.”
Mattie looked surprised. But before she could figure out what to ask, Mr. Lawson continued speaking to Reverend Dorsey.
“Your sermon hit home in a number of ways. We just can’t go on allowing the white man to think he is God’s chosen one. The Bible is for us too. And we have just as much right as he does to all the freedoms of the Constitution. We fought for it. We died for it.”
“We’re still dying for it,” said Mr. Edwards. “Only now we’re dying here at home and it’s them wearing different uniforms doing the killing.”
Mattie got a worried look on her face. She kept cutting her eyes over to see how her son was taking it all in. Miss Stevens was giving her fiancé a prolonged dirty stare because she had told him what had happened to Preston Junior and yet he initiated such a conversation. He ignored her.
“Men must be men. We have to stand up and fight for what we believe in, especially now.” And he looked hard at Prez.
“And you know,” said Mr. Edwards, “it’s like being in the ring. You can’t show fear. That’s half the battle lost if you do.”
“But just this morning in Sunday school we were talking to the children about loving thy neighbor and turning the other cheek,” said Celia.
“Those are most assuredly the ideals that we’d like to instill in our children,” said Reverend Dorsey. “But we can’t be fools either. God doesn’t want any of his children to be fools. The word of God is a very powerful thing.”
“But is God always right?” The adults’ heads snapped around to look at Prez.
“Son, never question the word of God!”
“Preston Junior is always asking questions,” Aunt Celia laughed nervously. Please don’t say another word, Preston Junior, she thought.
His mother wrung her hands and pursed her lips. He’s still traumatized, she thought. Just like after his father died and he screamed out loud that he didn’t believe there was a God because if there was, his father would still be alive. She wished his Uncle Cadgie were there.
Exile Blues Page 17
