James Pearson, who had finished his shift and had young Russell Ford with him, was having his own second thoughts about the change of venue. It was not that it was so far from the original meeting place but in a way it might as well have been. The half-mile walk from Goldblatt’s Discount Store to the corner of 48th and Marshfield would put them in an all-Polish neighbourhood. James Pearson was himself far from delighted to be going there but he knew Tommy Parks would be even less happy to go there. James Pearson was contemplating calling Hellerstein and suggesting they switch it back to somewhere around Goldblatt’s. He would argue that the detriment in discussing union business in broad daylight in a public place was smaller than the likely harm achieved by getting Tommy Parks riled before the meeting had even started. When James Pearson and Russell Ford arrived at Goldblatt’s, they found that Tommy Parks was already there and, although nobody was late yet, it appeared everyone was already too late for the meeting of Hellerstein, Herb Marks and Tommy Parks to achieve its purpose.
Tommy Parks was sitting alone at one end of the lunch counter waiting to be served. Between his seat and the next person in the row of seated customers were four empty seats. All of these customers had either been served or were being served. All those customers were white. James Pearson, with Russell in tow, walked over to Tommy Parks. He knew that while black workers and their families might have shopped at the store, while they might even have had accounts at the store, they didn’t eat there. This was where white folks ate.
‘You get the message? They changed the meetin’ place,’ James Pearson asked him.
‘Yeah, I heard,’ Tommy Parks said, looking around.
‘Well, you wanna go now? It’s the union hall over on 48th and Marshfield.’
‘I know where it is,’ he said distractedly, still looking around the room.
‘I got the boy here with me but … I mean … we don’t gotta go there if you prefer it some other way.’
‘Some other way …’ Tommy Parks repeated, still looking around the room when he wasn’t tossing a spinning coin into the air and catching it. ‘Yeah, I do prefer it some other way.’ James Pearson shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
‘You want me to get them come here? We could maybe meet up with them here and –’
‘No, it don’t matter. I go there.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, just as soon as I get me some of that soup.’
‘What?’
‘That’s right. Can’t talk business on no empty stomach,’ he said standing up for a moment and craning his neck, feigning a need to better examine the contents of the bowls of the people down the other end of the row.
‘Tommy, what you doin’?’
‘When you come in –’
‘Tommy –’
‘When you come in you mighta seen that there soup them good folks eatin’. Looked like chicken soup, far as I can tell.’
‘Tommy –’
‘You see the soup I’m talkin’ ‘bout? Got them dumplin’s. Ever seen that, boy? You ever seen them Jew dumplin’s they put in their soup?’ Russell Ford kept quiet. He looked up at James Pearson, who squeezed the boy’s shoulder.
‘Tommy, they ain’t gonna serve you no soup here. Let’s go to the union hall.’
‘No, what you talkin’ ‘bout? They got the soup. I seen it. Now it all hot already. I drink it down real quick then we be ready meet your pals at the union hall. Miss!’ he called out. ‘Miss!’ The waitress, a young woman, the only person serving the customers, turned around. She walked over to the end of the counter where Tommy Parks was sitting. On her lapel she wore a name tag that read ‘Esther’ and she took in the sight of the two black men, one sitting and one standing next to the young black boy and she said quietly, ‘Sir, we don’t want no trouble. Okay?’
‘Trouble! I don’t want no trouble neither. Ain’t no one ever want trouble but just ‘bout everybody get some. Now I’m just looking for some service here, Esther. See I’m lookin’ for some of that fine soup with them dumplin’s.’
‘Sir, we’re not lookin’ for any trouble here,’ the waitress repeated. She became aware that all the other customers at the other end of the counter were now watching their interaction.
‘Tommy, come on. We got business take care of.’
‘I know,’ Tommy Parks said casually, ‘I just gonna have me some soup ‘fore we go. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the soup what those people got.’
‘Sir, I don’t make the rules,’ the waitress said.
‘Look like you do, Esther.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, now, you the only one here.’
‘My uncle’s back in the kitchen.’
‘So why don’t you go on back there and ask him for some of that nice soup you people make?’
‘Tommy, we gonna be late. Let’s go!’
‘Can’t keep them white union boys waitin’.’
‘Tommy –’
Then Tommy Parks swung around on his stool to face James Pearson and he fixed a threatening stare on him. ‘You call them union boys and you tell ’em Tommy Parks be right there soon as he can get his self some soup.’
‘Tommy –’
‘When I gets the soup I go to the union hall. It’s a simple proposition. They understand. You tell ’em that.’
‘This is just some stunt, ain’t it, Tommy? You ain’t got no intention of comin’ to this meetin’.’
‘You can walk there or you can call ’em but you gotta tell ’em. This ain’t Mississippi or wherever the fuck you from. This here Chicago, ain’t it, Esther? When I gets the soup I go to the union hall. It’s a simple proposition.’
Everyone was staring at the group of black men and the waitress as James Pearson took Russell Ford with him outside into the street. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and dialled the number written on it from a nearby payphone.
‘Yeah, Ralph, it’s me, James Pearson.’ Then he explained everything that had happened. Ralph Hellerstein was relaying every word of it to Herb Marks.
‘He’s screwing with us, James. For Christ’s sake, one thing at a time! He can’t expect me to desegregate every lunch counter, restaurant and drugstore in Chicago before he’ll agree to meet with us. We gotta start with the union. Tell him we want his help so we can help each and every one of the workers at the plant but … Jesus, one thing at a time!’
James Pearson went back into Goldblatt’s to try to explain Ralph Hellerstein’s position and heard Tommy Parks continuing to argue animatedly with the waitress.
‘We always have to come in the sideways entrance to the movie theatres. Pay the same price for the same ticket though. How you explain that, Esther?’
‘That’s nothin’ to do with me.’
‘It’s all nothin’ to do with you. Ain’t nothin’ to do with you. If it ain’t nothin’ to do with you, how come all those good people over there lookin’ over at you in your family’s business right this very minute? Ain’t nothin’ to do with you!’
‘We don’t own any movie theatres.’
‘They all owned by Jews. All of ’em, far as I knowed.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
‘Well I know about it. You take our money but you make us come in the sideways entrance and now here you won’t give me no soup.’
‘Tommy, they ain’t buying it, the union men,’ James Pearson explained. ‘You can come with me now for a meetin’ in the union hall or you can forget it.’ He turned to face young Russell Ford after he said this and wondered what the boy was thinking. Which side of this argument was he leaning towards? Tommy Parks, aware the boy was interested in what they were saying, continued, ‘That’s what your union worth. It ain’t worth shit, Pearson. And look at what you showin’ the boy here, runnin’ round doin’ white man’s business tryin’ to talk me down from my stool here.’
‘Tommy, one thing at a time!’
‘All right, I see that. I make the one thing to be one them
bowls of soup with the dumplin’s, just like they got,’ Tommy Parks said, pointing at the people at the other end of the counter.
James Pearson took Russell outside again and made the call to explain to Ralph Hellerstein that it was all over with Tommy Parks. He wasn’t going to budge.
‘Yeah, well fuck him then,’ said Hellerstein over the phone.
‘I’m sorry ‘bout this, Ralph,’ Pearson said as the young boy looked up at him.
‘James, it’s not your fault. You’ve done everything you could do. Anyway, it’s not like you didn’t warn us he was a hot-head. It was worth a try. Go home and get some rest. See if you can think of anyone else who might be the right type, someone with … I don’t know … charisma.’
James Pearson had put the phone down and he and Russell were about to walk back into Goldblatt’s when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.
‘I heard we got trouble. Anything I can do?’ The man put his hands on Pearson’s broad shoulders. It was Herb Marks. The two men shook hands.
‘Who’s the young man?’
‘Russell, say hello to Mr Marks.’
‘How do you do, Russell?’ he said, shaking the boy’s hand.
‘How do you do, sir,’ Russell answered.
‘You work in the plant too, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘Well, if you’re old enough to work perhaps you don’t need to call me sir. My name’s Herb Marks. I’m from the union and I’d be pleased if you called me Herb.’
‘How’d you do … Herb?’
‘Well, I’d do a lot better if we didn’t have this problem with Mr Parks. I heard he wants a bowl of soup before he’ll consider coming to our meeting.’ Russell nodded gravely.
‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
‘Won’t do no use, Herb,’ said Russell Ford.
‘Oh, I don’t want to talk him out of it. I want to see if we can’t get him some soup. With kreplach, if possible. You ever had kreplach?’
The three of them walked in to see everybody at the counter still watching Tommy Parks arguing with the waitress, Esther. Herb Marks walked over to them and stuck his hand out to the waitress and introduced himself.
‘Mister, I keep telling him, we don’t want no trouble.’
‘No, of course you don’t. Whoever wants trouble? Why don’t you attend to your other customers while I have a chat with Mr Parks here?
Okay?’
The waitress was pleased to have an excuse for a respite from the argument with the stubborn man whose repeated requests for a bowl of soup were making her more and more uncomfortable. As she was leaving, Herb Marks stuck out his hand to introduce himself in a quiet voice to her antagonist.
‘Hello, Mr Parks, I’m Herb Marks. I’m one of the two union men hoping to meet you tonight to invite you to join the Packinghouse Workers Organising Committee. The other man, my partner Ralph Hellerstein, can’t be here right now because he’s furiously busy back in the union hall cursing you to the heavens.’ At this Tommy Parks smiled and took the man’s hand.
‘Yeah, what’s he sayin’?’
‘Well now, bear in mind that I’m a good ten minutes out of date but when I left the union hall he had just called you a useless cunt.’
At this Tommy Parks smiled even more broadly. ‘Now you sure he didn’t throw the word nigger in there somewhere? You ain’t holdin’ nothin’ back now, are you, Mister –’
‘It’s Herb and, no, he doesn’t use that word. ‘Bout the only word he doesn’t use. None of us on the Packinghouse Workers Organising Committee use that word.’
‘Well, I’d raise my glass to you, Herb, but Esther over there, she won’t give me one.’
‘You want a bowl, don’t you, a bowl of chicken soup, is that right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And if you got that bowl of soup you’d come to the union hall to meet with me and Mr Hellerstein?’
‘I sure would.’
‘Well, that sounds fair.’
‘Glad you find it so, Herb.’ Tommy Parks considered this white union man from his shoes up to his deep-set eyes. ‘You ain’t from here?’ he asked the union man.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You one of them Brooklyn Jews, ain’t ya?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘You gonna get me some of that soup?’
‘Well, what kind of a union would it be if we couldn’t even get you a bowl of soup?’
Herb Marks managed to get the waitress alone as she was coming out of the kitchen with somebody’s burger and he convinced her to give him a minute or two to talk to her in private away from other people. But she wasn’t having any of it.
‘I know who you are, mister. You’re one of them unionists and you don’t care about making trouble for ordinary people because you like trouble. Well, we don’t! If we serve him he’s gonna tell his friends and then they’re all gonna come in expecting to be served. There’s already two of ’em waiting to see if he can get service. Then they’ll all come in.’
‘And if they all come in then it’s more business for you.’
‘Mister, I don’t make the rules. If the coloureds come in then those folks won’t,’ she said, pointing to the customers at the other end of the counter. ‘Mister, I don’t make the rules. This is a family business. We’re just trying to make a living.’
‘So is he.’
‘Yeah, well, I ain’t stoppin’ him. Mister, if you don’t all leave I’m goin’ to have to call the police.’
Herb Marks was walking back in the direction of Tommy Parks, Pearson and Russell Ford. Feeling a sense of triumph at seeing the union man walking away, Esther quite unnecessarily called out, ‘That’s right, mister, the police. So you get the hell out of here or else that’s what I’m goin’ to do.’ Then she went to clear plates from the end of the counter that had been getting her service. But the damage was done. She had called out too loudly in too close a proximity to the kitchen and this was when her uncle heard her and he came out. He walked out on to the floor and over to the counter and stood about midway between where Herb Marks was confessing his failure to Tommy Parks and the others and where his niece was wiping up someone’s mess.
‘What’s going on here? What is there to call the police?’ asked the old man in an accent coated in Europe.
‘Your waitress, Esther –’ Herb Marks began.
‘She’s my niece. What about her?’ the old man asked.
‘She doesn’t seem to want to serve my friend here.’ Everyone stopped to see what the old man was going to say, including people who were too far away to hear the conversation.
‘What does he want?’ the old man asked.
‘He wants a bowl of soup,’ Tommy Parks announced about himself.
‘What kind?’
‘Chicken with dumplin’s,’ said Tommy Parks. The old man stood with his hands on his hips, looked around the restaurant at the customers looking at him. He drew breath and let it out.
‘Esther, get the man his soup.’
‘Uncle Nate –’
‘Get the man his soup.’
‘Uncle Nate, people ain’t gonna come here if –’
‘Get the man his soup! Don’t argue with me!’
Esther walked towards the kitchen shaking her head and muttering under her breath. What didn’t her uncle understand?
‘I’m sorry for this, mister,’ the old man said to Tommy Parks. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. You come in here for my soup whenever you like. And you can tell anyone you like … about our soup.’
‘I’d like to order another three bowls for me and my two companions, with kreplach,’ said Herb Marks. ‘We have to go to a meeting and we need our strength. We got a lot to talk about.’
The old man went back out to the kitchen and it was clear he was having words with his niece.
‘Let me duck outside for a minute to call Ralph. He thinks this meeting’s cancelled.’
‘Next meeting, I
want you to get me Saul Alinsky. I wanna meet with him,’ announced Tommy Parks. ‘I wanna talk with him about housing … for my people. Can you fix that?’
‘Sure, we know Saul.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘Who’s Saul Alinsky?’ James Pearson asked.
‘He’s what you might call a “community organiser”,’ Herb Marks said before Tommy Parks interjected by way of further explanation, ‘He organised all the housing for them folks in Back-of the-Yards.’ Then turning to Herb Marks and pointing at James Pearson he added, ‘See, I know more ‘n him.’
After a few minutes the old man himself came out with a tray containing four bowls of soup. He put the tray down on the counter, and allocated each man a bowl, a spoon and some crackers and a napkin. Then, as if sharing a confidence, he spoke quietly to Tommy Parks.
‘You come here whenever you like but forgive the girl, please, mister, I ask you. Don’t make trouble for the girl. She was born here so …’ The old man seemed unsure how to finish the sentence.
‘So what?’ asked Tommy Parks.
‘So she thinks she’s white.’
That evening Tommy Parks joined the Packinghouse Workers Organising Committee. Some time much later he stood in the Pilgrim Baptist Church not far from James Pearson and Russell Ford as Pearson, Mr Anything-You-Want, took the vows necessary to marry Callie Ford. The daughter of Rosa Rabinowicz, Elly Border, was there too, dressed in a crisp white shirt with a frilly collar and a perfectly pleated skirt, all of it painstakingly made by the bride. Elly, who had never been to a wedding before, was beaming as she stood beside her silent father. To fully absorb as much of the occasion as possible she turned around for a moment to glance behind her and this was when she first noticed Ralph Hellerstein and Herb Marks standing a little farther down the back on the groom’s side of the aisle, right opposite Mrs Sallie. She wondered who these white men could be.
*
Lamont Williams’ grandmother had grown accustomed to his arriving late home from work sometimes. Increasingly, she didn’t ask why, assuming it was because he had been able to secure some overtime and this had to be good news. It was good news because it meant extra money for her grandson, extra self-confidence, and extra hope for a future where he had found himself a place in the world, and because it suggested that his supervisor, or the Human Resources Department, or whoever it was that made the hiring and firing decisions, was looking at Lamont favourably. But Lamont’s occasional lateness had nothing to do with overtime and nothing to do with how he was regarded by anybody but an old man, a patient with no apparent power to influence anything in Lamont’s life. Nonetheless, at the end of his shift, Lamont Williams had become, yet again, drawn into this old man’s world, the world of this man’s past. Mr Mandelbrot, without explaining why, had said he was soon to be discharged from his room on the ninth floor of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. Lamont didn’t know how to ask whether the patient was being sent home because he was in remission or whether he was being sent home to die. Fearing that this might be his last opportunity to talk with him, he stayed back late yet again and quickly found himself enthralled in the next chapter of this man’s history, almost to the point of disbelief.
The Street Sweeper Page 42
