Like One of the Family

by Alice Childress

  Marge, I wish you wouldn’t be laughin’ through every word I say…. Well, if you think my imitation is good, you shoulda dug him! Girl, there I was tryin’ to control myself, and you know how a vein in your temple can start to throbbin’ and beatin’ when you’re holdin’ somethin’ inside of you that ought to come out! … No, I didn’t bust or cuss, but I held fast to the smile, determined to hear him through although I had to ease in a couple of words. “You can call me, Mildred.” I says.

  Billy Alabama looks a little shook up for a minute and then he says, “All right, Millie, now, as I was sayin’, I am not goin’ to lose my faith in the Nigras no matter what anybody says. I have known some really fine Nigras over the years and I say that they were some of the greatest people I ever met.”

  By this time Marge, he decided to settle down to business and really chat a while so he takes a seat in Mrs. M … ’s leather chair. Well, you know there’s two of those armchairs that sits facin’ each other right in front of the fireplace. So I sat down in the other one. Girl, he got a look on his face like somebody had just slammed a automobile door on his finger.

  Sure, he had to go on or else get ungenteel! Well, I could see him struggling for strength. He swallowed hard and started in again, “Some of the greatest people I’ve ever met. There was one old colored gentleman in particular that I recall, Rev’rend Higgensby! Never had a day’s schoolin in his life, but I don’t think a wiser man ever trod this earth. He was humble and sort of quiet-spoken, but he had a heart as big as all out-doors and when I was a lad there was many a day that we’d go down to the old fishin’ pond and just laaaaazy away the afternoon together. Old Rev’rend Higgensby would say, ‘Mr. Billy, you gonna be a great man one o’ dese days an’ I’se gonna be pow’ful proud o’ you, but I wonts you to ’member po’ old me and when you gits up dere in de high-place I wonts you to sen’ for de of man to take kere of you an’ see dat no harm don’ come to plague Mr. Billy.’

  “… Yes, that’s what he said. He also said, ‘Dis po’ ol’ man ain’ nothin’ no-how, but when you’s struttin’ in de high-place, I’se gonna be so proud o’ what you’s doin’ ’til I’se gonna fol’ my han’s and say, “Lawdy, call dis ol’ man home to Glory ’cause I’se had my reward!” ‘ ”

  Marge, Billy Alabama’s eyes misted up so ’til he had to take off his glasses and polish ’em up while he paused for a breath.

  “He sounds like a real character, all right,” I says. “Is he dead?” He put his glasses on and shook his head. “No, the old man’s still hobblin’ around on a cane, he’s pretty crippled up now, but he still has a light in his eye and a smile on his face.”

  Billy Alabama waited for me to say somethin’ so I said, “No, nothin’s gonna kill old reverend but time.”

  “Well,” Billy says, “I talked with the old gentleman a few weeks ago and his mind is just as spry as ever.” “Do tell!” I says, and Billy rambles on with his story, “‘… Rev’rend,’ I asked him, ‘what do you think is gettin’ into these Nigras to make them carry on all this devilment about the schools and busses, where do you think it will end?’ And the old man shook his head sadly as he looked up at me …”

  I interrupted him then, “Where was he, on the floor?” “Oh, no,” Billy says, “he was sick in bed, just kind of ailin’, but he looked up at me and said, ‘Mr. Billy, fo’give ’em fo’ dey knows not what dey do, dey’s pow’ful change comin’ ovah folk and dey’s fo’gettin’ de of ways and dey’s fo’gettin’ de days when all wuz peace and dey’s fo’gettin’ dey place.’ Yes, that’s what the old man said. Now, Millie, I’d like to be able to go and see him when I get back home and tell about the fine girl that’s workin’ for my cousin up North. I’d like to tell him what you think about the fuss that’s goin’ on. I suppose you’ve heard something about what’s goin’ on down our way.”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, “there’s been a few rumors flyin’ around, and we’ve been able to hear a bit of it now and then even though we do live way up here in New York City. It’s really surprisin’ how news travels these days.”

  “Well,” he says, “I’m preparin’ a paper for one of our Southern newspapers and it would help me if I could hear your viewpoint.”

  No, Marge, I wasn’t ready to jump in yet so I put up my guard. “I’d like to know what you think.” He fell right in and went to tellin’ me. “The Lord, in His great wisdom, wanted the races to be as separate as the fingers on the hand, if He had wanted them to be together He would have made them all look the same, He would have mixed them up in the first place if that is what He wanted. Why try to improve on the Lord’s handiwork. Mixin’ the schools will mix the races!”

  I gave him a real inquirin’ look, “Do you think that the white folks will have so little control of their personal feelin’s that they will up and marry us from kindergarten all the way through college?”

  He turned a wee bit red in the face, “It’s a very grave problem because the Nigra man is overly fond of white womanhood.”

  “Well,” I says, “can he marry her if she doesn’t want to marry him?”

  He held up his hand like a traffic cop, “I’m not talkin’ about marryin’, I’m talkin’ about mixin’! It’s against the laws of state and God to mix the races!”

  “But they are mixed already,” I said.

  No, Marge he didn’t retire at all but kept right on wadin’ in. “I want the Nigras to have fine schools of their own! I want the races to go their separate ways in peace, I want an end to this three-ring-circus called desegregation, I want an end to the American people makin’ a laughin’ stock of themselves before the world!”

  His eyes misted up again, Marge, and his voice trembled. “And I resent, yes, deeply resent anybody who dares to say that I don’t have a warm spot in my heart for the Nigras!” Then he leaned forward in his chair, Marge, and looked at me real earnest-like, “Millie, I’m askin’ you to do me a favor, I’m askin’ you to send a heartenin’ message back to old man Higgensby,”

  Marge, I looked around the room real cautious and then got up and shut the door, I put my finger to my lips and said, “Shhhhhhh, we don’t wanna make any noise” … and then I tip-toed back to my chair. I guess he thought I lost my mind because I started whisperin’ … “Don’t talk loud ’cause I don’t wanna disturb anybody, shhhhhhh!” And he kept starin’ at me kinda spellbound.

  Then I whispered at him, “When you see that old Uncle Tom you tell him I said that if I ever lay eyes on him I’m gonna kick that walkin’ cane out of his hand and beat his tail with it.”

  “What!” says Billy Alabama. And I kept on whisperin’ soft and rustly-like, “I got a message for you. We gonna change all these laws ’til there ain’t a piece or a smithereen of Jim Crow left. Yes, we’re gonna go to the schools, ride the buses, eat in the restaurants, work on all kinds of jobs, sit in the railroad stations, and do all the things that free people are supposed to have the right to do. As far as this Jim Crow is concerned, I expect to hear about him bein’ dead any day, and when he goes, we’re gonna bury him in a gray suit, stick a yellow rose in his hand and bury him so deep and so tight that when Judgment sounds, he’ll have to sandblast to see Glory.”

  Marge, when I tiptoed out of the room, he was still sittin’ there like a stone image except that his lips would move a little as he kept sayin’ shhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhh, shhhh …

  IF HEAVEN IS WHAT WE WANT

  I REALLY ENJOYED the church service this mornin’! The minister was talkin’ about the people in the South demandin’ their rights and how so many church pastors are goin’ to jail because they’re demandin’ that their people be able to ride the buses and go to school and things like that. He said that we must give them our support and help by sendin’ money and doin’ whatever things they want us to do. It was upliftin’!

  He also spoke about Heaven in his sermon, and he told how Heaven was always held out to us as the promise of our every wish comin’ through. He said, “If Heaven is going to be a place
where we get everything we want it will have to be divided up into little sections.” … Well, he said that, Marge, because it is plain to see that people want different things. Sure, what would make us happy might make somebody else sad as all get-out!

  The way he put it, we could work it all out very well by havin’ everybody pick the section of Heaven in which they wish to dwell. For example, some folks will want to live in the section where everyone is white…. That’s right, there’ll be no Chinese or Japanese or Philippino or Hawaiian or African or … well, you get the general idea! This particular kind of Heaven will also exclude Jews and a whole lot of other kind of white people!

  Can’t you just picture it? Hitler would be the official greeter, and everybody that wanted to go there could dwell in peace and contentment with all the old slavemasters and slavetraders. Every last one of them would have blonde hair and blue eyes except Hitler. And they could go through the rest of everlastin’ eternity just chattin’ with each other, and they’d never hear anybody’s music but their own, they’d never see anybody’s paintin’ but their own, they’d never hear anybody’s ideas but their own and they’d be chock full of nothin’ but themselves for zillions and trillion killions of centuries for all time to come!

  Now as the minister pointed out, there’d be some who wouldn’t want this kind of Heaven but would rather go to one where nothin’ but top-society folk was to be found. People who worked for a livin’ with their hands would be excluded from this place ’cause you would have to be terrible rich and trace your family tree with important names in order to get in. There would dwell princes and kings and billionaires and such. These people would never see a waiter or a shoemaker, a singer or a musician, a writer or a maid, a bartender or a lawyer…. That’s right, they would see nobody but themselves!

  … No, girl! They could not talk about fashions or boat races or horse races or diamonds! They couldn’t do it because the people who built the boats, made the fashions, dug and cut the diamonds and took care of the horses would all be in some other section…. So there they would be just talkin’ about by-gones and lookin’ at each other from one corner of eternity to the other!

  … No, I wouldn’t want to be there either because it would bore me silly, but we couldn’t be there because that wouldn’t be our kinda Heaven! The minister really started me to thinkin’ though, and I’ll bet we could sit here and think of a thousand different kinds of Heaven that would just delight a thousand different kinds of people. Why, you could have hundreds of ‘one-nationality’ Heavens and all such as that!

  … What kind would I want? Well, girl, if I ever get there I will shake hands with the official greeter and say, “The first thing I want to do is congratulate the plannin’ committee on how well they fixed up everything back down on earth and I would appreciate it no end if you could send me to a Heaven almost like that.”

  Then, Marge, when he asked me exactly how I’d like it to be, I’d tell him, “I want to go to the section of Heaven that’s all mixed with different kinds of folks. I want them to have all different kinds of ways of cookin’ and dancin’ and singin’ and buildin’ houses and things like that. I want to have a nice little house on a block that’s peopled by all the kinds of people there are. And I want all of us to get to know each other real well and learn to speak at least one common language so that we can talk to each other about everything there is! And I want the kind of Heaven where all of us can go on a picnic and be together without me havin’ saved up a lot of money to sail on a ship and just stare at them when I got to their homes!”

  Oh, I’d speak my mind! “I want to meet ship-buildin’ people, dancin’ people, lawyers and doctors and vacuum, cleaner salesmen, and subway motormen and poets and newspaper people and folks who pick fruit and plant fields and some of all the kind of folks that peopled the place where I came from—at least all of them that don’t hate me or mine ’cause I can’t think of anything better than meetin’ and gettin’ along with the whole world!”

  Then, Marge, the official greeter would say, “Oh, you want it to be just like the earth.” And I’d say, “No, I don’t! I’d like you to leave out the bombs and wars. You can keep all the dispossess and charity agencies, also the miseries and diseases, the hatreds, the floods and tornadoes, Jim Crow houses and schools, and all manner of ugly things like that. And I don’t want to spend all eternity restin’ and takin’ my ease ’cause I’m afraid I’d get weary of sittin’ down! I want lots of work, lots of rest and lots of play!”

  … Oh, go on, Marge! You so silly! … Okay, have your way, I will also ask for a T.V. set that gets nothin’ but good shows!

  WHERE IS THE SPEAKIN’ PLACE?

  WHAT IS POLITICS? … I know it’s about elections and the government and things, but I mean what is it besides all of that?

  Well, what I mean is just this, I have here a magazine piece that says that famous people like actors and writers and such should not be gettin’ into politics! … You are right and I do agree with you! Anybody oughta be able to do what they want! But I’m not talkin’ about folks runnin’ to be governors or congressmen or anything like that! Oh, no, this piece is all about famous folks keepin’ their mouth shut about anything that goes on that calls for folks speakin’ out!

  It sure taught me a whole lot ’cause I have always wondered why these big, famous, grand, important people never have a word to say about the most important things that’s splashed all over the newspaper. You know, we have so many celebrities in this country that it would take you a lifetime to count ’em up! Just think of how many bigshot actors and musicians and writers and singers and things we see in the movies and on the television and stage and things like that!

  Well, if you think about it some, you will find that whenever you read something they got to say or hear them speak on a T.V. interview they all pretty much speak about the same two or three little things all the time. Well, they will say what film they are gonna do next and maybe tell how nice it was to work with somebody or the other and they will also let you in on what they are gonna do next and also tell about how they might visit Italy or some country. And that is all. Have you ever noticed that Marge?

  … No, it seems that famous doctors and folks like that can dilly-around with a few other subjects, so I guess it means that celebrities like famous show-folks are not supposed to have much sense! … No, I don’t believe that, either! ’cause I know it takes a lot of sense to act and write and sing good enough to be real famous.

  I guess that the general idea is that big folks are too important to concern themselves with what happens to other people. And I think it’s kinda sad ’cause most of the celebrities seem so warm-hearted and friendly-like and sunny.

  I wonder if I could stand bein’ famous if it had to mean that I couldn’t ever talk about nothin’! It would torment my very soul if I had to shut up and pretend like they never murdered a little boy in Mississippi ’cause he was colored. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’ about all those ministers that was arrested ’cause they wanted the same kinda rights that I had! I couldn’t sleep ’cause I’d be sick and ‘shamed-to-my-heart that I dared not mention a word about it. I’m afraid I’d get weary just talkin’ about Europe and all the other famous people I knew. I guess I would also feel kinda stupid and foolish too, especially if I was playin’ parts and singin’ things about great deeds and brave folks and big happenin’s!

  When I see some of these actors hangin’ off of cliffs and fightin’ a dozen people singlehanded or trackin’ down dangerous, armed, crazy murderers, it strikes me that it wouldn’t take a hair-breadth of that much nerve to speak out against murderin’ real live people! … I know it is make-believe, but I am always readin’ ’bout how one of them has hurt himself or almost froze to death ’cause he was tryin’ to play the thing real-like.

  … No, Marge, I don’t think I’d like bein’ a celebrity at all if it meant givin’ up my speakin’ place. Nobody could give me enough swimmin’ pools or champagne cocktails or
motorcars to make up for that.

  … Yes, I guess you got a point there! Of course, some people might not like them speakin’ up. But the people who wouldn’t like it would be the ones who either wanted to murder folks or else wanted to see somebody else keep on doin’ It. And I wouldn’t care whether folks like that liked it or not! … You think they would lose their jobs! … Well, why should you think that? Do you believe that the folks they work for want to see the murderin’ go on? … Well, then, what is it all about? Unless, unless … Marge, do you think them celebrities don’t care even one little bit?

  … No, honey, I could never be famous, it would cost too much! As short as life is, I sure wouldn’t want to go to my grave havin’ missed my chance to put in a little comment about this old world!

  … That’s a hard question, Marge, and I don’t see how I can answer it but I’ll try. If I was a celebrity and had to keep still ’cause I was told to, what would I do? Well, I can’t see nobody tellin’ me what I have to do. But if I was simple enough or scared enough to let ’em get away with it, I guess there’d be nothin’ for me to do except go out and get drunk!

  MISSIONARIES

  MARGE, THE OTHER DAY I heard a very interesting radio program. It was all about missionaries and how hard they have to work to save “the heathen” in far-off places, and also how much hard cash they have to spend in order to keep up the soul savin’ work and how we ought to chip in some dollars to keep the ball rollin’…. Who do I mean by “we”? I mean the two of us right here or rather I should say anybody that was listenin’ to the program…. Well now, not so fast. I think missionary work is a good idea. What is more important than savin’ people?