Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824)

by Moses, Shelia P.

  Round six o’clock, the guards round up Uncle Buddy and the other men to go back to the jailhouse and the prison camp. They don’t take that gun off of Uncle Buddy the entire time. Like he is going to run with the big chains on his ankles. Then they all get into a bus with bars all around the windows. Grandma puts her head down and only the sound of the bus going down Rehobeth Road, past Jones Property, can be heard. I ain’t going to say a word because Grandma’s hurt done turn to anger.

  Miss Doleebuck is back at the stove and Ma is still sitting with Grandpa. Mr. Charlie sits on the back porch all day. Every now and then he goes in the house and sit with Grandpa. Grandma, as usual, decides it is time to change things around this house.

  “The devil is a liar,” she says as she stands up and go in the house, slamming the door. Now Grandpa got two screen doors to fix.

  “Doleebuck, you and Charlie been here all day,” Grandma says. “Now, y’all go on home, I can finish supper. The law got my boy, but they ain’t got my soul. We going be all right. That’s what the Lord made tomorrows for.”

  I can smell the corn bread on the porch. Grandma don’t need to cook no meat. We’re eating Miss Thelma’s pork chops tonight.

  Miss Doleebuck wipes the corn meal off of her hands and hugs Grandma.

  “I reckon we best get on home. It’s time for Charlie to take his blood pressure medicine.”

  They gather their things and say good-bye.

  “Bye, Mr. Charlie. Bye, Miss Doleebuck,” I yell as I walk them to the end of the path.

  “Bye, grandbaby,” they yell back as they cross the road that now has sand on it waiting for gravel. Sand laid by Uncle Buddy’s hands.

  We go to bed early. We go to bed sad.

  • • •

  This morning I hear Grandma long before 5:00. I get up, too, because I know the chain gang will be back with Uncle Buddy. Sure enough, when they come, Grandma is waiting. She ain’t crying this morning. She just sitting in her chair and watching the devils giving Uncle Buddy orders of what to do today. I sit here holding her hand for hours, while the sweat rolls down Uncle Buddy’s body. He never looks towards Jones Property. He waves slightly when the guards aren’t looking. But he never looks our way. He waves again in the afternoon. But he still don’t look our way. He don’t want them white folks to see how much they are hurting him. How much they are hurting the only ma my uncle Buddy can remember.

  When they leave with my uncle Buddy, Ma starts crying and praying. Grandpa gets out of bed and takes his place on the porch. Mr. Charlie is here now and sits with Grandpa until it gets so dark they can’t see each other. This is going to be a long sad night.

  Ma comes on the porch and announces that I will be going back to work in the fields tomorrow. She says Randy will look out for me. I don’t want to go, but I have to. Ma sent word by Mr. Charlie for Randy to pick me up in the morning.

  Randy shows up, all right, but he ain’t stopping at the end of the road. He comes in the yard and everyone on that truck gets out and speak to Grandma, who is back in her chair.

  “Morning, Miss Babe.”

  “How you doing, Miss Babe?”

  “Can we do something to help, Miss Babe?”

  Miss Nora hugs Grandma and me real tight. But she don’t say nothing. Not one word. Then she move out the way and all Miss Blanche children hug Grandma.

  This goes on for about ten minutes, then we all pile on Ole Man Taylor’s truck and go to work.

  Miss Nora and me talk all day in the field about what’s going to happen when Uncle Buddy goes to court.

  “Miss Nora, do you think they are going to put Uncle Buddy in prison for life with those other men?”

  “Now, child, stop worrying about grown folks business.”

  She may be a city woman, but she still believes that grown folks business is grown folks business. She give me some more information about New York and stops talking about my uncle. I really don’t care about the North right now. I just want Grandpa’s tumor to go away and Uncle Buddy to come home.

  I’m so glad it’s Friday, so I can stay home with my folks for two days. We off work at 2:00 today because it is so hot that the sun has made Chick-A-Boo blacker. I see Grandma sitting on the porch long before we make it to Jones Property. Uncle Buddy is still out there in that hot sun working like a dog. I go straight to the front porch.

  “How you doing, Grandma?”

  She don’t even do her control thing; she answers me in seconds.

  “Hey, baby, I’m fine. Ole Man Taylor let you off earlier today?”

  “Yes, Grandma, he did.”

  “You wash up and get you someteat.”

  I do as I am told, and check on Grandpa, who is sleeping. My mind must be playing tricks on me because the sound I suddenly hear coming from the road is women folks singing. I rush to the front door and Lord I am in shock.

  Sure enough, it is the women from church. The women from the choir.

  All of them.

  Walking.

  Walking and singing.

  “Jesus, what in the world is they doing?” Grandma says as she stands up.

  They are all dressed in white and Miss Cora Mae Jones, who ain’t related to us, is leading the choir.

  “Hush, somebody calling my name,” she sing on and on.

  By the time they get to the doorstep, Grandma is singing, too. I join in as Grandma shouts for joy.

  “Yes, Lord, yes,” she says as her apron flops up and down like a rooster’s feather.

  Now them white folks guarding Uncle Buddy don’t know what to do. They just look at us and order the men to keep working.

  Grandma yells as loud as she can in between hymns, “The devil is a liar.”

  I want to yell, “That would be you, white boy!” But they might shoot Uncle Buddy if I do that.

  Grandpa somehow makes it to the window and looks. He knows he can’t do nothing with the women of the church. Ma is now out here shouting, too.

  They are having church right here this afternoon and there is nothing nobody can do to stop them.

  I am shouting too, and run to the end of the path in the spirit, to listen to what the white men are saying.

  They pay me no mind.

  “Let’s get them niggers out of here. They all done lost their minds.”

  They start loading Uncle Buddy and the other men on the truck and it is only 3:30.

  “Praise him, oh praise him,” Grandma shouts as they leave Rehobeth Road and give us our dignity back.

  Ma looks at Grandma, who is still caught in the spirit.

  “You think they will be back, Ma Babe?”

  “Don’t know. But if they do, we will meet them at the gate with Jesus, until they see the glory of the Lord.”

  We are so tired from shouting we are going to bed earlier again tonight.

  I can’t wait to get up tomorrow.

  I want to see if they are coming back.

  • • •

  5 o’clock. No guards.

  6 o’clock. No guards.

  When Randy picks me up, it is clear the devils are not coming today.

  They have heard the coming of the Lord. Never to return.

  13

  The Trial

  Today is June 30, 1947.

  We dressed like we are going to church.

  But we ain’t.

  We going to a trial. Uncle Buddy’s trial.

  Mr. Charlie picks us up. Grandpa must be losing his sight because Grandma had to help him dress this morning. Nobody says a word all the way to the courthouse.

  I’ve never been in a building this big before. Nor have I ever seen this many white folks in the same place at the same time.

  I look in the little box that the jury is sitting in. That is where the men who will decide about my uncle’s life sit.

  Uncle Buddy is in trouble, judging by these faces.

  “Sit here.” Ma points for me to sit where Uncle Buddy can turn around and see me. He does and I feel much better.


  It is a long day in that courthouse. They call all the white folks’ names who have trials for one thing or another today before they get to Uncle Buddy. When they finally call Uncle Buddy’s name, the judge takes a sip of water.

  A long sip.

  Then he reaches in his pocket and bite a piece of tobacco. Is this what white folks go to law school for? To chew tobacco in public places? In between chews, he say, “This trial has been rescheduled for November 1, 1947.”

  He takes another bite of tobacco and say, “This court is adjourned.”

  I don’t know what that word means. I turn to Ma.

  “Ma, what does ‘adjourned’ mean?”

  “Baby, it means your uncle can’t come home.”

  Ma starts crying, then screaming like Uncle Buddy is dead.

  Grandma cries for the first time in weeks and Miss Nora does too. I didn’t even know she was in the courtroom until I hear her crying.

  Grandpa curses like I have never heard him curse before, and the law leads Uncle Buddy away.

  We go home.

  No one says a word at dinner. We have been staying here on Jones Property for over a month and it don’t look like we are going home anytime soon. I’m not going to ask when. The other day when I asked, Ma just said when things are better. That’s definitely not now. Uncle Buddy’s in jail and Grandpa says he is in danger, that they want to keep him there long enough to kill him.

  It don’t take long for word to get around Rehobeth Road that them white folks have no intention of sending Uncle Buddy to the prison in Raleigh.

  They are planning something else. Something bad.

  The week is going by so slow as Grandpa becomes weaker from his tumor and the pain of Uncle Buddy being in jail. His sight is worse than yesterday. I can tell because every night before she goes to bed Grandma is laying his clothes out to wear the next day. But he keeps on having them nightly meetings with the Masons. Because Grandpa ain’t feeling well, they come to the house and talk to him about something real important and leave.

  Come Saturday night, some of the younger men show up and say they have come for Grandpa. I know this is serious, because Grandma ain’t even trying to stop him. Plus, Grandpa is dressed like he is going to Chapel Hill. Mr. Bishop leads Grandpa out the door and down the steps.

  My grandpa built those steps; now he can hardly see them.

  I stand on the porch and watch him go into the unknown with those men.

  Colored men who are fed up with white folks about the way they’re treating Uncle Buddy.

  Rehobeth Road is quiet after they drive away. Except for Hobo barking. Hudson is on the front porch in Grandpa’s rocking chair. That cat ain’t no fool. I think he knows where Grandpa is going.

  I’m trying to sleep, but I can’t. Where is Grandpa and what is he doing?

  I almost jump out of the bed when I hear a voice at the window calling my name. I peep outside.

  It’s Randy.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Get dressed. We are going into town. There is going to be a mess out there tonight.”

  “Are you crazy? How are we going to get there?”

  “I’m driving Ole Man Taylor’s truck.”

  “Ole Man Taylor? No way! You ain’t suppose to drive that truck after chopping hours.”

  “Come on, chicken! Chick-A-Boo is waiting for us.”

  If we get caught, Ma is going to kill me. Miss Blanche is going to kill both her children and give them a double funeral like June Bug and Willie’s.

  “Wait! Let me see what Ma is doing.” Thank God, Ma and Grandma are asleep in the sitting room. I ease into the sitting room and they both are fast asleep on the two sofas that line the walls.

  I walk back to the window and whisper, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Lord, I keep thinking about the whipping I will get if Ma wake up in the middle of the night and realize that I’m gone. But that’s unlikely, because Grandpa says if a train came right down Rehobeth Road, into the sitting room, the controlling women would not move. Nothing wakes them up when they are sleeping after a long day in the strawberry patch. Let’s hope that train don’t come tonight.

  Ole Man Taylor’s truck seems bigger than it ever did as we drive away. When we reach Rich Square, Randy parks at the schoolhouse.

  “Why are we parking here?”

  “Because, silly, we don’t want to get caught. The jail is right down the road. We are walking.”

  Now I feel like a criminal, like they calling my uncle Buddy. Like thieves in the night, we walk to the jail, ducking behind bushes, stores, and the movie house all the way. Finally we make it to the store next to the jail. Chick-A-Boo ain’t saying nothing and I think she is going to cry any minute.

  “Now what?” I ask, wanting to cry myself.

  “We have to hide and wait,” Randy whispers. He is sure something is going to happen. He probably has been ease dropping too.

  “Get down!” Randy whispers.

  Randy, Chick-A-Boo, and me hide behind the dime store.

  No wonder Grandma and Ma never buy anything in this store. It’s nasty back here.

  “You yell, nigger, and we will kill you!” The words rip through the air. I hope I am back at Grandpa’s in the bed dreaming, but this is no dream. Five men with sheets on their head come out of the jailhouse. I have heard Grandpa and Mr. Charlie talk about the Ku Klux Klan a thousand times on the front porch at night, but I never thought I would see them with my own eyes.

  I look them over one by one. White sheets and white hoods over their heads, and they all are wearing black shoes. One of them is carrying a shotgun. My uncle Buddy walks out with a look of terror on his face like I have never seen before.

  “Move, nigger!” one of them KKK men yells, as he pushes Uncle Buddy in his back with the butt of the shotgun.

  My feet move to run.

  I have to do something. What, I don’t know. But I have to save Uncle Buddy.

  Randy pushes me back down.

  “Get down before you get us all killed, fool.”

  “But what about my uncle?”

  “We will follow them and see where they take him,” says Chick-A-Boo. Peeping back up, we see them forcing Uncle Buddy into the boot of a black car.

  Three of them climb inside and the other two get in a car in front of the one with Uncle Buddy, and they all start driving away.

  Chick-A-Boo, Randy, and me are now running as fast as we can behind the building, trying to get back to the pickup truck to follow them.

  When the two Klan cars get to the end of Main Street, just before you enter Lovers’ Lane that leads to the swamp, they get caught at the stoplight. Our only stoplight.

  “They stopped,” Randy says.

  Still on foot, we ease to the end of the building to see which way they are going to turn.

  “Stop, or I will shoot!”

  Lord, I almost pee on myself again, because I think they have caught us. But no, in between Moore’s Grocery and the Fish House, we peep again. All we can see is the back of Uncle Buddy running faster than a jackrabbit. The boot is wide open. I can’t believe they didn’t tie Uncle Buddy up.

  That white trash raises his rifle into the air and aims it at Uncle Buddy. I close my eyes and wait for his head to blow into the night sky.

  But the tallest KKK man knocks the attempted murderer’s gun to the ground.

  “You fool, you are going to wake up all of Main Street!” Thank God, that Klan member has come to his senses. He can’t shoot Uncle Buddy, so he lowers his rifle.

  They chase Uncle Buddy on foot. We chase them.

  Then I hear a big splash and I know my prayers are answered.

  He did it. Uncle Buddy just made it to the swamp. All those big fat white men are on their knees out of breath.

  We run into the woods so they don’t see us.

  “Randy, my uncle ain’t going to get caught. He and Grandpa hunted in the swamp for rattlesnakes to make belts for years. He know
s that swamp, and they aren’t going to never find him. Never!”

  Good God from Zion.

  We laugh. . . .

  We laugh. . . .

  We laugh. . . .

  Out of breath . . .

  We laugh. . . .

  We are going home.

  I climb back in the bedroom window.

  Just like I figure, Ma and Grandma are still asleep in the sitting room. I sleep like a newborn baby for the rest of the night.

  14

  Back to Harlem

  This morning I make sure that I am up early enough to ease drop on Grandma and Grandpa while Ma is taking a bath.

  “Braxton, where in the world did you go last night?” Grandma asks in a whisper.

  “Woman, you know better than to ask Masons’ business.”

  “Masons’ business? Man, you got one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peeling and you talking about don’t ask Masons’ business?”

  Grandpa kind of chuckles at that one. One foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peeling. That’s what she and Uncle Buddy are always saying about Mr. Bay.

  “Ain’t no need to get all out of place now,” says Grandpa. “I didn’t go to Rich Square. The meeting was at Johnny Williams’ house. We met for the final plans to get Buddy out of jail before them white folks killed him. The senior Masons stayed there and played bait with Johnny while some of the other men folks went off and did what they had to do.”

  “Played bait? You best start making sense, Braxton Jones, if you plan to eat breakfast this mornin’.”

  Poor Grandpa. Now she is controlling him with food.

  “If you hush your fussing, I will tell you the rest. See, around midnight, we stage for Johnny’s brother, Tradus, to get sick. Then we called the law for them to come down there to help us. That’s the reason we had the meeting at Johnny’s, because he is the only colored on Bryant Town Road with a telephone. Of course the law came, because you know Tradus cleans the jailhouse, and if they like any colored person in Rich Square, it Tradus. It’s amazing what white folks will do to take care of coloreds that clean their houses and offices.