“Well, kid, doesn’t sound like your old friend Stephen is so little any more. And he sure ain’t your friend any more, either. Hold on.”
Cadgie went behind the bar, bent down, opened and shut a metallic-sounding lid, and came up holding an oilcloth. He unwrapped it and removed a little pistol. “This little thirty-two is what you bring to a knife fight. Never get caught out like that again. Next time the blade could do a lot more damage, maybe even end your life. Is that what you want?”
“No, that’s not what I want, and I don’t want that gun either.”
“You’re not afraid of guns, are you? Your daddy was afraid of them. Remember your Grandma Denie’s little derringer?” Oh yes, thought Prez, I remember. “Let me tell you, your daddy, when he was little, he’d pee on himself every time he saw it.”
“I’m not afraid of guns, I just don’t want one.”
“What will you do next time somebody pulls a knife on you?”
“I’ll be better prepared next time. I’m going to go into training so I can defend against a knife.”
“You’re gonna what? I love you, Preston Junior, but I have to tell you that for the first time since you were born, I look at you and I see a fool. I can’t respect fools. But you are my nephew, you got no father, so I have to try to overlook a few things here and soldier on.” He turned and retrieved a cognac glass from an overhead rack. He reached under the bar and got a bottle of cognac. He looked at Prez, slammed his fist down onto the bartop, and shouted “Motherfuck!” He threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered, and said “Shit! I need whiskey.”
He got himself a shot glass and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. He poured himself some and gulped it down. He took a deep breath.
“I said something that I didn’t mean. I will always respect you, just as I will always respect the memory of your father, my baby brother. You are both made of the same stuff. I know what it is. It is honor. You have the same sense of honor regarding how you think you are supposed to conduct yourself even in the face of danger. Maybe your tumbled thinking comes from having your talents and martial skills, and I know you train at, what is it, Japanese, Korean?”
“It’s Chinese and Filipino.”
“Now that’s a mishmash if I ever heard one. Look at you, smart, strong, handsome, with girls so desperate to get close to you that they’ll even be your big sister.”
“You’re wrong about that, really wrong. Salome isn’t like that at all. She’s like a sister to me. We talk. She gives me good advice. She knows what to say to get her point across so that I hear her.”
“Alright then, let me calm down so that I will say the right thing and get my point across. Violence is not about rules and regulations. And it definitely is not about honor. It’s about life or death. I don’t want to go to your funeral, Preston. I don’t want your mother to have to bury you. Let me wise you up. Your skills and talents against someone unskilled or untalented is akin to bringing a weapon to a fist fight. You ever think about that?”
“I guess not. But, are you telling me that I need to stop trying to be a decent person?”
“Oh, boy.” Cadgie poured himself another shot and gulped it down. “No, I’m not. But I am telling you that being decent can get you killed. You can only afford to be decent after you’ve won. You haven’t touched your root beer. It’s probably warm now.” He put ice cubes in a beer glass and poured in the root beer.
“I hear what you are saying, but I need to make sense of things in order to function properly.”
“Oh, boy.” Cadgie poured himself another shot and downed it. He lifted the bottle and peered down into it. “Can’t believe I’m about to finish this whole goddamn bottle of Johnnie Walker. I recognize that my way of thinking may not be the best way. Old guys like me, we are counting on you kids to be smarter. Anybody can tell you something is broken. But only the brightest can tell us how to fix things. But you can’t fix anything when you’re dead. So here, you need to take this with you and learn how to use it. It’s just another tool in your tool box. Go out in the country somewhere and learn how to hit what you look at. That’s all I am asking. I am not saying to carry it around with you. I am not telling you to start thinking like a bully or a criminal. You might actually forget that you have it until you need it, like we don’t drive around thinking we have a jack in the trunk, do we? So please take it and learn how to use it.”
Hearing an argument he had advanced thrown back at him was weird. But he didn’t want that pistol. “What about you, Uncle Cadgie? How will you protect yourself and Jemima?”
“I got protection all over this house. And Jemima shoots with a .44 Magnum revolver. That’s a big brute of a gun that kicks like a mule and will stop a bull.”
Walking back to Salome’s car Prez asked, “Do you have a jack in your trunk?”
“What’s a jack?”
“Oh, man. I should have ducked. Do you have a spare tire?”
“Jesus, Prez, I don’t know.”
“Open your trunk. There. You do. Those tools are for fixing flat tires.”
“Let me tell you what happens if this car gets a flat. It gets abandoned. I get out and catch a cab.”
“You’re supposed to fix your flat.” Salome crossed her arms, gave him a not-on-your-life-sucker look that made him laugh again. “Can I put this bag in your trunk?”
*
When they arrived at Chauncey’s they were both surprised to see Tala’s car; and even more surprised that she was sitting in it. Salome got out of her car and didn’t even bother looking Tala’s way. When Prez got out, Salome said, “I’m sure she has some words for you.”
Prez walked over, opened the passenger side door and got in.
“What happened earlier today in the park didn’t really happen,” said Tala. Prez let out a long sigh and looked away. “Don’t be like that. We have to forget it. I cannot fall for you. I will not fall for you. I’m engaged already. I love my fiancé. You’re just a kid to me. Well, say something.”
Prez got out of the car and started walking down the street. He felt her looking at him as she slowly drove by but he wouldn’t return her gaze. After she passed, he turned around and walked back to Chauncey’s door and rang the bell. He spoke with Chauncey for a few minutes until Salome came out.
“So, the big hurt, huh?”
“I need a favor. Can you drive me back to my uncle’s? There’s something in your trunk I need to return.”
34
Washington, D.C., late July, 1963
Tala accompanied Chauncey downtown to the office of the march’s organizing committee. Prez tagged along and was a bit put off that the committee asked that he and Tala wait outside of the room. It was a quick meeting. Chauncey came out in a huff, slammed the door, and commanded, “Let’s go.” As they approached Tala’s car he said, “I’m in a hurry. You drive, Prez.”
“It’s Tala’s car,” said Prez as he got in the back seat.
The heavy fifteen-minute silence was broken as they rounded Logan Circle.
“People are already on the move,” said Chauncey. “They’re comin’ up from the South where the tree leaves are bloodstained from lynching and the grass still singed from the burning of crosses. Caravans are coming from the soiled shores of the West Coast. Native peoples are coming from the sagebrush steppes of the Southwest. The descendants of the Pilgrims are coming from the Northeast led by women who would have been burned alive as witches just a few centuries ago. Even foreigners are coming from places like Canada and Japan. And those old assholes are fussing at me about tone, telling me that I cannot give my speech the way I want to give it because it is too ‘militant.’ I will not change a word.”
*
Back at his own headquarters, Chauncey said, “Goddammit! I’m sick and tired of funerals, whether for progressive people or progressive ideas.” He looked up at Prez. “I should hav
e listened. You never agreed with the non-violent approach.”
“True. It becomes a bit grotesque, like last May during the so-called Children’s Campaign. The adults in charge, instead of protecting the children, put them out there to be brutalized. Did you see on TV how the police sicced dogs on them and beat them? Over nine hundred children were arrested, even an eight-year-old.
“But look, Chauncey, I think this upcoming march is too important. The whole world will be watching. You can alter your tone and play with words to protect the substance of your speech. Your thoughts need to be heard.”
“Alright. Yeah, Prez. Okay, let’s keep making those posters.”
Salome, huge stapler in hand, asked, “Chauncey, will anyone, preferably a woman, speak about women’s rights?”
“You know full well what the march is about. It’s about jobs and freedom.”
The women looked at each other incredulously. “That’s no answer!” said Salome.
“There will be women speaking. I’m sure of it,” said Chauncey. “The details of the speakers’ list are still being worked out. Women’s rights is a fairly broad subject. What specifically do you want addressed?”
“Jobs and freedom are fairly broad subjects,” Tala retorted. “What specifically will be addressed?”
After moments of awkward silence, Chauncey said, “I know Myrlie Evers is speaking. She’ll be talking about her husband and maybe the NAACP. And another lady is going to speak about the role of women in the civil rights struggle.”
“History is important,” said Salome. “but who will speak about the actual problems we face daily and how to fix them?”
“Ah, shit!” said Chauncey. “Nobody.” He clapped his hands together, plopped down in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut. “Nobody, nobody, nobody! That’s what’s going on. That’s why they want me to change my speech. They don’t want anyone to speak about real liberation.”
35
Howard University, September, 1963
“Hello. I am Professor Koko Okoro and I greet you with cheer this morning. I am thrilled to see so many of you here, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as they say. You are at the very beginning of an intellectual journey that I sincerely hope will mean more to you than credits towards your undergraduate degree.
“I shall proceed blissfully along under the assumption that you are all here because you chose to be. But I must inquire before I proceed if there are any questions or qualms about the syllabus or reading list.
“Alright . . .” The professor ran her forefinger over her seating chart. “Lamay, Miss Marsha Lamay.”
“Good morning, professor. I notice that your reading list is divided into three groups, A, B, and C. I just want to verify that group A is mandatory, group B not mandatory but necessary for a fuller understanding, and group C just for personal interest.”
Prez glanced over his shoulder at the speaker. Damn! he thought. Look at the legs on that girl! She caught his eye and they exchanged quick smiles. He quickly turned back around.
“Yes,” said Professor Okoro. “I’ll go along with your characterization. Let me clarify. Required reading, group A, is for passing. Supportive reading, group B, can lead to a deeper understanding of the course material. Consider it my gift to you. Group C material will, hopefully, allow you to imagine the multiple and non-linear vistas of investigative thought available to you while attempting to solve thought problems. It’s worth something tangible. Any group C material accurately and effectively incorporated into your writing assignments gets you one point five extra percentage points. Think about it as your gift to yourself. Any more questions?
“Mr. . . .” The professor ran her forefinger over her seating chart again. “Downs, Preston Downs. Yes?”
“Thank you, Professor Okoro. I was just wondering, having looked over the course syllabus, why are we beginning with René Descartes?”
“Has anyone else wondered about that? Don’t be shy. Has anyone else bothered to look at my syllabus? Anyone? Oh my, I do see a couple of hands. Mr. Downs, why did you ask me that question?”
“Descartes was a seventeenth-century European philosopher. I am aware that he is commonly called the father of philosophy, but how can that be when philosophy existed in the motherland long before Descartes was even born?”
“Your question is a very good one. This is my fourth year teaching this course and no one has ever asked me that question before.” She rose from her seat and moved around to the front of her desk.
“We are studying Descartes within the context of the development of European intellectual and academic disciplines. The United States of America were founded upon principles that evolved from and within that context.
“Secondly, by starting our investigation into philosophy with Descartes we are not negating nor ignoring the origins of human intellectual development and the rise of systematic critical thought which occurred in Africa. We are acknowledging, as we must, that the European codification and categorization of the intellectual disciplines we currently practice represent qualitatively new stages in human intellectual development.”
As they left class and walked down the hall, primal urges compelled Prez to walk directly behind Miss Marsha Lamay. She was wearing a miniskirt. His Physics 101 class had introduced him to motion mechanics. It was all there for him to observe: rotation, velocity, acceleration. He was being so studious that he walked right into a really tall guy waiting on the steps outside who said, “Gee, thanks, little fella, for misleading the prof into thinking we all give a damn.”
“Oh shit! Big Ricky! Oh, man, it’s so good to see you. You were always tall, but shit, what did your mother feed you?”
They laughed and embraced, then sat down a bench.
“Man, it’s been so long,” said Prez.
“Yeah, way too long.” Richard Lee Brooks was from Prez’s original neighborhood of Columbia Heights. “Last time was at Butch’s funeral.”
“Was it? We were peewees then. How are your parents?”
“I’m like you, man, my father isn’t here anymore. He had a heart attack. I was in eleventh grade. He never saw me graduate high school.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Prez. “We need our fathers, man. I know I need mine more with every passing year, but he’s not coming back. So, I need to grow up.”
“Prez, if my father were alive, he’d be a happy grandfather.”
“What? You’re a father? Who’s the mother?”
“Millie. You remember Millie. Lived up on Eleventh Street.”
“Rick, of course, we all started kindergarten together at Banneker, man. You two have known each other all your lives. There’s something kinda beautiful about that.”
“I dunno, man. Her parents hate me. But they put up with me. I thought I should marry Millie to make things right. Her parents, especially her mother, were dead set against it. Next thing I know, I’m standing in a courtroom with my parents and the judge says that Millie’s parents are the legal guardians of my son. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started crying. I was just so confused. I didn’t know what any of that stuff meant. That was the summer after junior high. My father asked if he had any rights as a grandfather and the judge said no. Everyone was crying. I mean, except little Richard Lee. I guess he was wondering what the heck was wrong with all of us.” He giggled. “Little Ricky’ll be five soon. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t appreciate how smart Millie’s parents were. They have promised me and Millie that as soon as we are twenty-one, they are going to legally relinquish their guardianship and release the trust fund they set up for little Richard Lee into Millie’s name. And you know what? They are paying my tuition here, man.”
“They really love you, man. They love you and Millie and your son. Going to court like that must have broken their hearts. What about basketball, you’re still playing, aren’t you?”
> “I had to stop. I have a heart condition. If I overexert myself, my heart could explode. Don’t feel bad for me, though. It’s all under control with the drugs I’m taking.”
“Why are you taking philosophy classes?”
“Law school, man. After my experience in that courtroom, and seeing how much power that judge had, I decided I wanted to learn law and become a judge someday. Philosophy is a prerequisite for law.”
“Same for me, Rick. I want to be a lawyer too, a really powerful lawyer who can take on the system and win.”
“New leaf, huh, Prez? Make ’em eat crow instead of knuckle sandwiches. I can dig it.”
“Hey, look, tonight we’re over at the Café Campus on Georgia Avenue. A bunch of us have been getting together ever since Medgar Evers was killed. We already had some stuff going on to try and unify us in this city. You must have heard about what we accomplished with the Serpents. Truce, baby. Now we want to pull the whole city together, especially after the march.”
“But I thought the march was a good thing.”
“It was a historical event of magnificent proportions. But we learned something. We were not in control of the agenda and we have no idea what will come of it. A whole bunch of people showed up. So what? Was it like we’ve always done since slavery, taking part in something on faith and hoping that somehow the end result will benefit us?”
“But didn’t President Kennedy meet with the leaders after the march? He promised to do something.”
“To do what exactly? I think he was delivering rhetoric. He’s never addressed the essential question we raised and resolved at our very first meeting. Is freedom a right or a privilege? What do you think?”
“Is that a trick question, man?”
Exile Blues Page 20
