The Studs Terkel Reader_My American Century

by Studs Terkel

  I have seen Negroes cry. Around Christmas, this one, his wife ran out on him, took the bankbook and everything. I remember he took me in like a brother. He ran a tavern. A young fella, very good-looking. I remember the tears in his eyes. I know they have feelings. I know that they love just as deeply as we love, if not more so.

  I personally felt his grief more than if it was a white man crying. It’s a rare incident to see a white man cry. I’ve known white people who make it a habit to cry to gain whatever they want to get. But I’ve yet to see a Negro cry for his own personal gain. If a Negro cries, he cries because he’s truly hurt.

  I feel the Negro will fight with us when the time comes. I think someday he’s gonna make a great American. I have many Negro friends. One of my best friends, he says he’d kill for me. I don’t believe in the demonstrations. I think this causes chaos. The Negro’s goal is to join our society in a productive way. He will go out of his way to purchase things, and purchasing things, he contributes to the wealth of our great society. He wants to become part of it. The fastest way for a white man to be friends with a Negro is not to give him a dollar—and this is where I sympathize with Barry Goldwater—but to teach him something you know yourself. I’ve had Negroes working for me in my business. He wants to learn from the white man.

  Why do you think they voted so overwhelmingly against Goldwater?

  Because they didn’t take time out to read his book. And also the strong feeling toward Kennedy. This is why the conservatives didn’t have a true test. People, myself included, sat in front of the television set and saw a great man defeated and they cried. If they didn’t cry openly, they cried inwardly.

  I look at the white people and it irritates me. Every white man wants to make a million dollars. His goal in life is a summer yacht out on Lake Michigan here, a yacht and soaking up the sun out here. He has no goal. The Negro definitely has a goal in life. The white people have to find themselves, they have to keep looking and find out what it is, because if they don’t, the communists can take over this country without a shot being fired.

  How do your conservative friends and your John Birch colleagues feel about you and your Negro friends?

  Nothing was ever said in front of me. They knew how I felt. Maybe they made an exception in my case because I deal with them in my business. Even if this wasn’t, they’d have found it in their heart to accept it. I really think there’s good in all people.

  Do you feel your fellow John Birch members have joined for the same reason you have—to overcome fear?

  I don’t think so. Maybe they just don’t show their fear. This one fellow I know very well, he’s a member of the Knights of Columbus. He’s done very well for himself. He’s not yet thirty, he’s well-to-do. Most of these are middle-income people, who have found their place in the sun and who want to grasp on to it, they see an enemy and they feel there’s a need to destroy him. Not destroy him physically. If they knew a communist on the street, a John Birch would be the last one to throw a stone. The average individual, if he saw a communist on the street, he would pick up a stone and throw it at him. A John Birch member would identify him and he might try to bring him back over to capitalism. Communists only know what they’re taught. If they knew what it was, they’d probably come over because this is a very fruitful life in America. They would want a piece of it, instead of trying to chop the cherry tree.

  People just like myself, hard-working people, seem to have more of a goal than the average white person today. They have a goal, they know what’s mapped out before them. Martin Luther King scares me because he’s done destructive things in peaceful ways. I’ve talked to many white people who despise him. In the white race, he stirs up resentment. They feel he’s going too far, upsetting our society as we know it. And I think nuns and priests who’ve been demonstrating are being taken in. The type of peace they’re advocating is going to cause havoc and destruction and this is what the Commies want.

  What kind of leader would you like?

  To me, the ultimate would be General MacArthur. I wrote a biography about him when I was in school. He was what every young boy wanted to be when he grew up. He was debonair. He had pride in what he was doing. He loved his people, though he never showed emotion, though it came out in his voice. I feel he got a rotten, dirty deal from some of our own people in this country. He was a man that could not be bought out. He didn’t care what the majority of people wanted in a democracy. He knew what was right and he did it.

  Didn’t you work on behalf of Florence Scala?

  Yes. There was a warm person here. She was the greatest personality I’ve ever known among women. She made you feel you were fighting for more than just one cause. I convinced many of my young friends and my young brothers to come out with me on this. We expected trouble. We faced the Syndicate. They’re tough and they throw their weight around.

  We came into the polling place. The policeman was fifteen minutes late. It was his duty to be fifteen minutes late, that’s how he got his job. So the dirty work would take place before he showed up. They started to fight with us. It looked like it would be a free-for-all, there was even guns. We didn’t back down. Toward the end of the day, we received compliments from our opposition. It was the greatest experience of my life, in courage. Not only was I going to try to prove to myself that I was going to be a man, but I was doing it for a great person and a great cause.

  LUCY JEFFERSON

  When I first came from Mississippi, I was so young and ignorant. But I was freer, you know? I think I had a little bit more room to move around in than I have now. Because I think the white man wasn’t so afraid then. There wasn’t enough of us. There’s too many of us now, I think that’s what frightened him. Nobody noticed you then. You were there but nobody bothered about seeing you.

  She lives in the low-rise Robert Brooks Housing Project on the Near West Side. Hers is described as a row house. It was neatly furnished; some pies were in the oven; there were books all over.

  My supervisor once said to me, “Now Lucy, you sit out here at this desk and answer the phone. And I think you should tell me what’s going on because people here say things to you that they wouldn’t dare say to me. And because, after all, you’re just part of the furniture.” Oh boy, did I give a chuckle. Yeah. I laughed to myself and I said, now here’s a chance for all the hate in the world. But you know what really happened? I felt so sorry for the poor thing. Some Negro went out to the steel mill and he shot up a lot of people, and after that—Oh, I tell ya, I’m very wicked—after that I’d take her arm and say, “Miss Pruner, I want to talk to you about somethin’.” And I slammed the door and she’d freeze. I wasn’t going to do anything to her, but she... [Prolonged laughter.] I am just telling you how wicked I am. I’m an awful louse. [Soft chuckle.]

  I walk down the street, I smoke a cigarette. Well, ladies aren’t supposed to do that. But I’m no lady. [Laughs.] I just have the best old time. Sometimes, it amuses, you know. When I get blue and disgusted, I go get me some beer and get cockeyed drunk, stay at home. I don’t go out. I don’t believe in taverns. Then you say, why the hell do you drink beer? Because I like it. There’s a lot of things that I don’t like.

  I just don’t like doles. I wouldn’t accept one dime from anybody. I’m not gonna raise my children on Aid. Why should I? There’s enough money in America for me to raise my children. Now one is seventeen, one is twenty-one. And I absolutely refused to accept these handouts from anybody. How am I gonna teach these children of mine what a pleasure it is in accomplishment? Do you realize what it means if I’m gonna sit here and accept this check? We can’t go to the zoo because there’s carfare. Everything has to be pinpointed.

  We took the little money that we made, brought it home, and we said, “Okay, Melvin would count it maybe one day, Corrine would count it the next payday.” And they’d say, “Okay, what are you going to do this time, mom? Does the rent have to be paid?” And I’d say, “No, not this time.” “Well, then, we can go to the
show?” and I’d say, “Yes, we can go to the show this time. Meet me downtown when I get off from work.” I’d go to the ten-cent store when I got off from work and buy a pound of candy, mixed. I’d meet ’em at the show. We’d go in. Now this means, this is about five dollars and some cents out of this paycheck. We don’t go but about every two-three months. Or maybe less. I always had a picnic basket and picnic jugs and all this junk. Because these things are essential wherein they could get around and see what is happening.

  I worked at Wesley Hospital for about eleven years. As an aid in physical therapy. I worked part time and went to school part time, as a practical nurse. There was this woman that was very kind to me. She used to tell me, “Lucy, why don’t you get on Public Aid until you can finish school. Don’t let your pride stop you.” Maybe I didn’t realize exactly what she meant by pride. But I just—gave it up. With all the stuff attached to it, maybe that’s why...the publicity, the degradation, see?

  Everybody’s screaming now: Oh, these women on ADC. Why hasn’t somebody told these people that they’re on ADC because you gave all this money to keep from hirin’ ’em? Years and years ago. This didn’t just start, you know. You don’t keep people in a certain category for hundreds of years and expect them to come out and do all these things. For generations and generations they’ve been just barely making it. Now what do you expect? Plums?

  Hell, we’re as poor as Joseph’s goat, as far as that goes. We pinch pennies every day, but truly we don’t think anything about it. When I get paid we know exactly what we’re gonna eat for two weeks. I buy whatever sale is on, that’s what we eat. I go to Hillman’s or George’s or something, whatever’s on sale. Say, for instance, we’re gonna make spareribs today. That’s okay. We might have spareribs and sauerkraut. If the steak’s cheap enough, we might even have steak once in a while. But for two long weeks we know exactly what kind of meat we’re gonna have. So what we do, we wrap it around, we got potatoes in the house, we got rice in the house, we got frozen vegetables in the house, so we build a meal around this thing. So far as being poor is concerned, boy I bet I got a monopoly on that. [Laughs. ]

  It’s a very fashionable hospital, Wesley. The clientele there are usually people that’s got money. To me they were fascinating. All those beautiful clothes. You know, I could dream and see myself in this role. Then naturally I continued to read, self-educated almost. This man came in one day and he suffers from a backache. He usually gets a heat and massage to the low back. He knew me and of course all the clientele called me by my first name, which I resented. But it turned out to be an asset. So he came in and said, “Lucy, what are you reading?” And I said, The Status Seekers. And he said, “Don’t read that junk.” And I said, “By the way, you’re in the advertising business.” I had loads of fun, loads of fun.

  They call you by the first name, the students, everybody. You see, this was the policy to keep the Negro in his place. But I happened to be the kind of Negro that became controversial, because I read such things as The American Dilemma and I walk around with the book in my hand, see? I defied them in so many ways. I almost terrified’ em.

  You know, it got so every time I got on an elevator—“What are you reading? What are you reading? What are you reading?” [Laughs.] And I’d begin to enjoy this thing, you know. I was having the best old time. I was absolutely terrifying’em. Everybody was yelling: “Lucy, Lucy!” Maybe that’s why I say, the first name, it came in very handy. Because if they hadda just said, “Jefferson,” nobody probably’d ever knowed it was me. But by making this so commonplace, here’s this Negro woman, every time you see her she’s reading a different book. You know what I’d do? I’d go to the library and get these books, and I’d just dash back home and read these. And truly it became a game with me. I don’t think I ever had more fun in my life than I had working right there.

  I guess I was darn near fifty then. That’s the reason why I say I was havin’ a ball. I’m carrying the book by Faulkner, paperback, in my pocket, you know. But this particular time I didn’t realize that the heading of the book was sticking out just a little above. The students, doctors, interns got on...“Faulkner!!” [Prolonged laughter.]

  What is it they’re afraid of?

  This is what—you are just breaking down this stereo thing that all Negroes are ignorant, they won’t read, they won’t do this, they won’t help themselves. Once they see you’re trying to do it...You see what? They’re not really worrying so much about the Negro, they’re worried about themselves. When I really want to fight them, you know what I do, I glare at ’em. They cringe. [Laughter.]

  I have learned that a Negro woman can do anything she wants to do if she’s got enough nerve. So can a white man. But a white woman and a Negro man are slaves until this day. I’ll tell you why. The white man has set his woman up on a pedestal. He’s trying to prove to her how superior he is. Truly he’s not superior, he’s just another little boy. She has to stay there if she wants to be anybody. But if she ever learns anything and she strays, she’s an outcast. Me, you know what I can do? I can do any cotton-pickin’ thing I feel like doin’.

  The white woman is more a slave than you?

  Oh, by all standards. The black woman has to have nerve, though. She has to have experience. And she needs a little education to go along with it. You know this is such a strange thing. I don’t know why people like mystery. Love is so beautiful. It can be beautiful, with any group of people...Florence Scala and I can sit here...

  We talk about all facets of our lives, things we wouldn’t dare say to anybody else in public. And somebody else, even a Negro, walks in my back door, we shut up. Because it’s taboo. They might say it was Uncle Tomming, or they could make it look ugly. These things are hard to understand. Two human beings could have so much in common that they can really sit down and talk about their own lives, their own failures, their own misgivings, and truly speaking tell you about some of my absolute traits that I don’t like. Two women, we’re just two women. So here is this cloak of mystery. Everybody, even the neighbors, gawking. When she comes in, you know. The curtains are moving, or they come boldly to the door and watch, as though, well, here is the enemy.

  Florence, with Florence what I tried to teach in this particular neighborhood, here’s a woman everybody says, oh well, she’s Italian, she doesn’t have the interest. Damn that, this is a woman that you need to talk to. She doesn’t live on Lake Shore Drive. I tried to show them the little, simple, down-to-earth qualities about this particular woman. But, my God, this Petrillo,44 whoever the hell he is, what are you going to tell him? The man has no interest in white or black. If you’re poor, see? He’s living in another world altogether.

  This is the Berlin Wall right over here. You see, we don’t even have a ten-cent store. Woolworth doesn’t find it profitable. We don’t have a bank. After all, everybody here is on Welfare. So if you want to get your check cashed, I go downtown to the bank. I usually go to Sears or Wards or somewhere where I’ve got a charge account. This is where you get a check cashed, unless you want to go to the currency exchange and pay somebody to get your check cashed. Well, I don’t make that kind of money to give somebody money to cash my check. We don’t have any facilities here that poor folks need. On Michigan Avenue, where people can get along without it, you got your ten-cent stores. I did all my shopping in a ten-cent store when I worked at Wesley.

  Here again, it’s the white man’s standards. You know, I laugh sometimes. Just like these books we have in our schools. Dick and Jane, here’s this pretty rosy-cheeked white woman and she’s got on a pretty dress and a lovely little apron and she’s standing out on this lawn and here’s this big huge driveway, goes to two, three acres. All this stuff, and she’s waving goodbye to her son. He’s off on his way to school, you know. And this is what they teach the children in projects. [Laughter.] Boy, this is really something.

  I was trying to live by white man’s standards myself. I didn’t realize it. One day the school sent for me. I�
��m kind of a stickler for not laying off the job, so I sent my mother. The principal told her Melvin was a problem child. He must have been about seven then. When I got off from work at five o‘clock, I chased myself home to fix supper. I couldn’t see the forest from the trees. I was so busy trying to get home, trying to get dinner, trying to help with homework, trying to get him to bed, so he’d get enough sleep. Do you realize what a vicious cycle this is? I didn’t realize what I was doing to my children. Because I was rushing them to death. I was rushing myself to death.

  I asked for help. I realized that all the voices Melvin heard were female voices. My voice, his sister’s voice, his grandmother’s voice, his teacher’s voice. I began to get frightened. I went down to the I.S.U. something, I talked with them. They decided I was the one needed the psychoanalyzing. They had me in a conference and there were about twelve psychiatrists, all around. Somebody was taking notes and what have you. Nobody said one word about tomorrow. I explained to the people that my child, he’s wandering away and I’m afraid he needs male companionship. I’m not asking you to give him anything, just a few minutes of your time. Till this day I didn’t get it.