by Kia Corthron
Set up straight, Dwight, she say.
Porters had to buy their own cleanin supplies! Shoeshine wax! Soap! Mr. Randolph hadn’ta come along, they still be callin me George!
George? But your name Lon, Daddy!
I know!
Hahahaha!
Hahahaha! my daddy grin, laugh right back at me!
That was before my time, say Mr. Randolph. White men started it. The Society for the Prevention of Calling Sleeping Car Porters George. Gag at first. Then no gag.
All the members named George! say Daddy.
Some prestigious members, say Mr. Randolph. Senator Walter F. George of Georgia.
Senator George a Georgia say No George! Hahahaha! Daddy smile at my joke.
England’s King George the Fith!
Hahahaha!
George Herman Ruth Junior!
Hahahaha!
Also known as Babe Ruth!
I stop laughin, stare at Mr. Randolph, my mouth hang open. Dwight look up.
Daddy say, Time Mr. Randolph an the union done, we up to a hundred seventy-five dollars a month, work cut down to ten-hour days, six-day weeks!
A hunnert seventy-five dollars! I say.
Firs colored union to bargain with a major corporation! Daddy say. Firs colored union get a charter with the American Federation a Labor!
Semi-charter, say Mr. Randolph. Don’t get me started on the crackers in labor.
Mr. Randolph, you think the New Deal been good to colored people?
Yes, ma’am, I do.
Mama, he said ma’am. She slap me under the table. It don’t hurt.
Out of the New Deal came the National Labor Relations Board. The Wagner Act, outlawing those bogus unions created by the company, and providing for autonomous unions: labor bargaining with capital. All that helped Negroes. Still, we could go further. The National Negro Congress.
Of which you was president.
You know my biography well, ma’am. Yes, I was the first president.
Communists.
Everyone turn to Dwight.
They are!
I can tell Mama an Daddy both wanna smack him but they ain’t closed enough.
Yes. Many of them were white Communists, and the white bothered me a lot more than the red. Don’t get me wrong. I believe there are plenty of good white people in the world. I also believe Negroes can, and should, fight for themselves.
Ain’t you a Communist?
Who told you that! she snap.
Carl’s dad.
Daddy confused. New neighbors, she say, eyes rollin. White.
Ain’t chu?
Let it alone, boy. My daddy’s tone.
I’m a socialist, Dwight. I participate in the struggle for righteousness, for poor people in general and poor Negroes in particular. I am not a Communist, as I believe capitalism should not be abolished but rather reaped for the communal good of all, allocated fairly, no ostentatiously rich, no desperately poor. I am not a Communist because I believe in decision making more generally shared rather than the distribution of wealth coordinated by a small coterie of individuals at the top. Still, there is much overlap between communism and socialism, and at first I had no problem working with the Communists who essentially put together the Negro National Congress. However, I have often been confused by the efforts of Communists, most notably by white Communists. They supported the Scottsboro Boys, a very just and worthy cause, but then quickly abandoned their honorable militancy against fascism the moment the Soviet Union signed its Non-Aggression Pact with Germany. Of course they reversed that decision following the Nazi invasion of the USSR, but this fickle mentality of When-the-Soviets-say-jump-we-ask-how-high I find troubling, and frustrating, and most importantly extremely counterproductive toward our goals of justice for all.
Now Dwight’s mouth hang open! All the questions I got to remember to ask! Who the Scottsboro Boys? What is fascism? What is counterproductive? How come Mr. Randolph say Dwight an he ain’t said my name wunst!
Speaking of German aggression. Mr. Randolph turn to Mama an Daddy. You both know why I’m headed to Washington.
Yes, the march, but please tell us more, Mr. Randolph. Slicin her bake chicken.
The March on Washington for Jobs and Equal Participation in National Defense.
You know what kinda jobs out there, the war mobilization? Daddy sayin to her. Weldin? Rivetin? An they been keepin colored out!
We want those jobs for colored men and women. That’s what the marchers will demand.
We in a war? I thought we wa’n’t in a war.
Not yet son, Daddy say to me. But soon. Probly soon, an Daddy sigh.
Lon an I have discussed this, and we will certainly be there for the March on Worshinton, Mr. Randolph. And our children.
We goin to Worshinton? I say.
Three-hundred-dollar-a-month jobs! say Daddy.
Mama’s mouth open. Three hundred dollar???
I’m meeting with the president Tuesday. The president does not want the march to take place. Up to him, but I’ll need some guarantees for Negro jobs then. Executive order guarantees.
All four of us mouth wide open. President Roosevelt!
We goin to Worshinton? I say.
Mr. Randolph says depends on the president, Daddy say. We might.
I’m grinnin! I never been to Worshinton! I hardly been any place but Humble. Cep walk over the bridge to Mann’s Addition, West Virginia. Cep Latchmore, Pennsylvania, where Aunt Beck live.
They got a plant right in Boddimore! Daddy say.
We’ve already chartered trains, buses. We’re expecting a hundred thousand.
A hundred thousand! Mama an Daddy say.
If the president doesn’t wise up. The committee at the top is all Negro, the March on Washington Movement. All black.
My friend Jeanine’s Uncle Raymonlee say it’s a white man’s war.
Mr. Randolph look at me. Your friend’s uncle is very wise, Eliot.
Eliot! He know my name!
And not the first Negro of that opinion. So much work to do at home, our own freedom, why should we be running across the ocean fighting for some European’s? But I believe if we are resourceful we can use this war, since our national participation in it seems inevitable, we can use this war to stipulate our rights as Negroes. Mr. Randolph take a bite a chicken, all thoughtful. I am a pacifist. I maintain all conflicts can and should be resolved through negotiation. But if we must fight, if Negroes must serve in the military, then our recruits are owed the opportunity to show their mettle and be respected as combat soldiers.
We can fight good as them white boys!
That’s right, son. Two seconds Dwight ack decent an Daddy smilin all over him.
We can, say Mr. Randolph to Dwight. At Tuskegee they’re training Negro men to fly right now.
Negro pilots? Dwight’s face all wonder.
Negro pilots! Still. It’s a segregated military, that has not changed. Well, one thing at a time. For now, the march will focus on jobs. After twelve years of Depression if there is suddenly money in war manufacturing for American workers, we as Negro American workers are owed our share.
What’s a pacifiss?
Peace, Eliot. I believe in peace. There are people who believe in war as the means and peace as the end, people who believe in guns for peacekeeping, but I believe in peace. Period.
Me too! I’m a pacifiss too, Mr. Randolph!
You are?
No war no war.
No war no war, my mama join in, smilin at me. Then she go on: Jus the war buildup. Jobs!
I trust in Mr. Gandhi. Satyagraha. Civil disobedience.
Henry David Thoreau went to jail for civil disobedience. You ever been to jail?
He ain’t no jailbird! I swing at Dwight, but my fist miss.
I have, Dwight, but never for long. Sedition. For exercising my freedom of speech at a time of war, I was arrested in Cleveland, but I was quickly released thanks to the racism of the Cleveland judge. He didn’t think Negroes were smart enough to think up all that complicated radicalism! Mr. Randolph almost fall out his chair laughin!
I wish you was my granddaddy, Mr. Randolph! You smart! Hahahaha!
I’m nobody’s granddaddy, Eliot. I never had children.
You never had children!
No. But I have a wife Lucille that I love very very much.
Mr. Randolph. I heard tell you were once a great Shakespearean actor.
Mr. Randolph look surprised. You do know my biography, ma’am! He smile, bite a corn puddin. Well. Long time ago.
Actor? say Dwight, like hopeful.
Mr. Randolph turn to him. You like Shakespeare?
In bed in the dark I go You know what’s in Worshinton? Monument! Capitol!
No kiddin. Dwight’s back turned away.
We might see President Roosevelt. We surely see President Roosevelt, he live in Worshinton too! Maybe we see a Worshinton Black Senator! Daddy likes em. He likes Henry Spearman on third base, he says he’s a good hitter. I am a Jew I am a Jew. Hahaha! You like Mr. Randolph’s speech? That’s nice he done that Shakespeare for us. Hahaha! What’s a Jew?
Shut up an go to sleep!
Hunnert thousand in Worshinton! I try to whisper but it a loud whisper. Hunnert thousand a us! Hahahaha!
For a second I think Dwight gone on to sleep. Then he make a funny voice. Mr. Randolph, what’s a union? Mr. Randolph, what’s a pacifist? Mr. Randolph, you smart! I wish you was my granddaddy! Sycophant.
What you call me?
Look it up.
Mornin! I can’t wait to go to Worshinton! Starin up at Mr. Randolph, lather all over his face, twirl his blade in the water.
Gonna happen, Mr. Randolph say to the mirror, unless President Roosevelt smartens up. We’ll call the whole thing off if he just make an executive order, fair hiring. Mr. Randolph mow the razor up his neck, smooth, smooth.
I seen Worshinton crostin the Potomac. And Worshinton D.C. set right on the Potomac. Hahaha! Humble set on the Potomac too. Hahahaha!
Gonna happen unless the president gets wise. Then he smile down at me. I’m an organizer, Eliot. I help pull people together, get our rights so the capitalist boss doesn’t slave em, so the government doesn’t slave em. Slavery’s over. Justice.
We put Mr. Randolph on the train to Worshinton an he wave an we wave, smilin! Then we walk home quiet, four of us quiet. I feel sad. I wish Mr. Randolph move into our guess room, live there every day.
The afternoon Dwight come in the livin room, I throw the dictionary at his head.
Ow!
I ain’t no syncopant!
He walk out to the kitchen laughin to hisself.
Afternoon I go to my room get my wood robot. A hunnert thousand Negroes, I tell him. Robey can’t hardly believe it! Mr. Randolph say Negroes should fight for ourself, Mr. Randolph say we get our rights! I walk Robey over the bed, over the dresser, by the wase-basket. In the wase-basket is jus one piece a paper balled up, paper from Dwight’s sketchpad. Dwight don’t never throw out his sketchpapers! Dwight drawr good, he don’t never make mistakes!
It’s him an Carl an Carl’s family playin badminton. Now I see the mistake! Dwight drawr Carl’s family white like he shoulda, then musta forgot an drawr hisself white too.
DWIGHT
You like Shakespeare?
I never read no Shakespeare, that don’t happen till high school. But I nod, I don’t know why. In the livin room Mr. Randolph says I am a Jew and winter a discontent an then he’s Othello, a colored man, that one I really wanna understand but even though he give a quick summary a the story it’s hard to figure outa context. Middle a the night everybody sleep, I get up to pee. I creep past the guestroom so I don’t wake Mr. Randolph, his door cracked. Walkin back I see he ain’t even in the bed. Tiptoe downstairs. He on the front porch, settin on the slidin seat. I go to the door. I try bein unnoticeable but he see me through the screen.
You couldn’t sleep either, Dwight?
I look at him, cat got my tongue.
Sit with me.
We slide gentle.
Tell me what you know about the night sky.
There’s the Big Dipper. An there’s the Little Dipper, leads to the North Star.
You know the significance of the North Star?
Slaves followed it north.
Mm hm. First star you see in the night’s a bright one: Venus. Gone now. But there’s Mars. And Orion’s Belt. Pleiades, the Seven Sisters. Do you know the story of Orion and the Pleiades sisters?
I shake my head.
Greek mythology claims Orion the Hunter caught a glimpse of the seven sisters and pursued them for seven years.
He catch em?
The god Zeus turned them into pigeons, then put them there in the sky. When Orion died, he was placed right behind, forever chasing them. Mr. Randolph breathes in air. I like summer nights in the country. No crickets in New York.
How you know about Pleiades? And Shakespeare? College?
I went to the Cookman Institute, an esteemed high school for Negroes in my home state of Florida. Latin, Greek, philosophy, forensics, French, science, music, literature.
What’s forensics?
Debate. In my family’s home we had few books, but good ones. Dickens, Keats, Austen, Charles Darwin, Frederick Douglass. I was my class valedictorian and still not so strong a student as my older brother James Junior. My father was an AME minister, he made sure we knew about the African Hanibal who fought the Romans, about Denmark Vesey, Toussaint L’Ouverture, Nat Turner. I read from Paul Laurence Dunbar, from home and school I had a first-rate education.
Whadju learn in college?
I never went to college.
Guess my mouth pop open cuz Mr. Randolph smile.
Wanted to. But not much opportunities for Negroes back then. So after high school I worked. Sold insurance a while. Worked in a grocery store. Drove a truck. Pushed a wheelbarrow full of fertilizer.
Why you not a actor no more?
Well. My parents were religious people. They didn’t think it was proper.
A cricket all loud. Under the slidin chair?
And I think I had a different calling. I transferred my booming actor’s voice to public speaking. When I was young, I’d soapbox in New York City, speaking about our oppression as Negroes, how the poor would rise up. The Irish police would want to harass me. When I’d see them coming out the corner of my eye, I’d make a quick detour in my speech. See how the British imperialists have been treating the Irish! And they’d turn right around, leave me alone!
Miss Onnie’s wind chimes tingle.
I believe it was meant to be, my path in life. The greatest gift, pearl of wisdom my father gave to my brother and me: You must be concerned about things that are far more constructive and far more valuable to mankind and to all people than just making money.
Then Mr. Randolph turn to me.
You want to go to college?
I look at him. I look down.
Things are different now. Not the same barriers as in my day.
I shrug. I don’t like school much. My parents. They wamme to go.
Uh-huh.
I don’t like school much.
What do you like?
Flash fronta my face, quick his hand snatch it. Open his fist. Firefly strollin his palm his finger.
I seen this Looney Tunes at the pictures. All from a lightnin bug’s point a view. Steada his light attached, he carried it, lantern. I laugh, tired. Mr. Randolph turnin his hand so the firefly keep walkin.
When I was growing up, some of the other boys would pull out the
lights. You do that?
I shake my head. But shamed to say I seen Roof do it all the time, never stopped him.
Good, say Mr. Randolph. Something that sits on your hand so peaceful, doesn’t bite, doesn’t sting. Just brings beauty. Light. Why would anyone want to make violence against the light?
You think we’re goin to war? For sure?
He gazin at the bug, small smile like he ain’t heard me. Then: Yes.
You think Hitler likes Merchant a Venice?
He looks at me, then back at the bug. I don’t know, son. And the light flies away. He set back. These mountains. You’re lucky, having them with you all the time, part of you. Even in the night you feel their presence. Majestic.
Can I show you somethin?
I tiptoe an nobody wakes. Under the bed, pull it out. Eliot’s eyelids flutter but he stay sleep. Back down to Mr. Randolph, show it to him. Mama ironin. Daddy on the train in his uniform. Eliot an his cat. Bugs Bunny an Barney Google, Orphan Annie an Roof an Carl, Miss Onnie an Eliot, Mr. D’Angelo in his store, the New York Black Yankees, Franklin, an Eleanor, an Benjamin Banneker, an self-portrait: me drawin. Sketches an sketches I show Mr. Randolph, I don’t genrally show em to nobody. I ain’t embarrassed. I jus don’t think no one besides my family so interested. Mr. Randolph look through em, studyin each one, sayin nothin. When he’s finished he hand em back to me.
Art school, he say.
Actin is an art, I say, but you give it up for public speakin. Higher callin.
I said different calling, not higher. Everyone finds their own way.
Kitchen light nex door.
Your neighbor’s an early riser.
Miss Onnie. She’s old.
Sometimes I visit the Metropolitan Museum in New York. I see Rembrandt and Leonardo and Manet and Renoir, the ancient Greeks and ancient Egyptians and even ancient sub-Saharans, miles and miles of jam-packed galleries. It’s big—I haven’t seen it all. Still. Several trips and us I haven’t found yet. American Negroes. That’s a big gap.
Now Miss Onnie open her side door an hundreds a cats rushin out. I look down an there’s Parker on our porch, standin on his hine legs, beret on his head, palette an brush, paintin on his easel. Oh hi, Dwight, he say. Eliot up yet?
