Darnell Rock Reporting

by Walter Dean Myers

  “I didn't ask you,” the councilman said.

  “I'm telling you anyway,” the man said.

  “I don't know how effective a community garden would be,” the councilman said. “You can't feed people from a garden.”

  “You could sell what you grow,” Darnell heard himself saying.

  “I think bringing people who are … nonschool people into that close a contact with children might not be that good an idea,” the councilman said. “Who's the last speaker?”

  “A Mr. Jones,” the clerk said.

  Sweeby came into the middle aisle, and a lot of people began to talk among themselves. There were a lot of things they were interested in, and most of them were not interested in the school parking lot.

  “I just want to ask you why you don't want to listen to this boy,” Sweeby asked.

  “You have four minutes to speak,” the councilman said. He seemed angry. “We don't have to answer your questions.”

  “You don't have to answer my questions,” Sweeby said. “And you don't have to have the garden. You don't have to think about us—what you call us?—nonschool people?

  “But it's a shame you don't want to listen to this boy. I wish he had been my friend when I was his age. Maybe I would be sitting in one of your seats instead of being over here.”

  “Is there anything more?” the councilman asked.

  “No, you can just forget about the whole thing now,” Sweeby said. “Go on back to your papers.”

  “I think we can vote on this issue now,” the councilman said.

  “I think Mr.”—the councilman looked at the agenda to find Darnell's name—”Mr. Darnell Rock had some good points, but it's still a tough issue. Let's get on with the vote.”

  The vote went quickly. Three councilpeople decided not to vote, five voted against the garden, and only one voted for it.

  Darnell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tamika patted him on his hand. When he looked at her she had tears in her eyes.

  Darnell felt he had let Sweeby down. His father patted him on his back, and Miss Seldes came over.

  “You did a good job,” she said. “Really good.”

  “I lost,” Darnell said.

  “Sometimes you lose,” Miss Seldes said. “But you still did a good job.”

  Sweeby and some of his friends were waiting outside the Council meeting, and they shook hands with Darnell. Sweeby was telling him how the members of the Council didn't really care about people when Darnell saw Linda through the crowd. She waved and he waved back. She was smiling.

  Larry's mother came over and asked his father for a lift home, and they were waiting for Larry when Peter Miller from the Journal came over.

  “Hey, you want to write another article for the paper?” he said. “There's a guy who wants to donate a couple of lots for a garden in another location. My boss wants to run it as a human interest piece.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Darnell said. “You want a long article or a short one?”

  “I don't know. Call the paper tomorrow and ask for the city desk,” the reporter said. “My editor will give you the word count.”

  “Okay,” Darnell said. “But first I have to check with my editor to see what she wants.”

  FIFTEEN

  Darnell was disappointed that the Jackson Avenue garden was as small as it was, but as Sweeby said, it was a start. It was located between two abandoned buildings and was fifty feet deep by thirty-five feet wide. A flatbed truck was parked in front of it and was being used as a platform for the mayor as he made his speech about how some kids from South Oakdale had “made things happen.”

  “And as long as I'm mayor, I'll always listen to the kids, for they are the future !” he said. Then he got down from the truck, got into a limousine, and was gone.

  “They should have named it after you!” Larry said.

  “When they name stuff after you it means you're dead!” Darnell said.

  “Darnell!” It was Linda Gold.

  “What?”

  “They want you to be in a picture breaking the ground,” Linda said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Breaking the ground,” Linda said. “Just come over here and hold the shovel.”

  Linda reached over and took Darnell's hand and started toward where a small knot of reporters was gathered in one corner.

  When they reached the reporters, Darnell was told to put his hand on the shovel.

  “You the man of the hour,” Sweeby said. He had his hand right next to Darnell's.

  They all put one hand on the shovel, as if they were all digging with it at the same time, and had their picture taken. When that was finished, a reporter asked Sweeby how he felt.

  “I feel good,” Sweeby said. “A young brother like Darnell here has put his mind to a problem of his people. How you going to feel bad when something like that happens?”

  “Do you really think this garden is going to make a difference?” the reporter asked.

  “It's going to make a big difference,” Sweeby said. “Because every time somebody walks by this place they're going to remember that there are people who need some help, and there are some people who are willing to help. You can't see that?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” the reporter said, closing his notebook. He shook Sweeby's hand before walking away.

  “Looka that,” Sweeby said to Darnell after the reporter had left. “When's the last time you think he shook the hand of a used-to-be homeless man?”

  “You got a place to stay now?” Darnell asked.

  “You got me so excited about being down at the City Council and in the newspapers that I had to do something/' Sweeby said. “And me being in the newspapers helped because the hospital offered me a job. Like this garden, it's small, but it's a start. Now, you take care of yourself. I got about a half hour to get to work.”

  Sweeby started off with one of his friends, and Darnell started looking for Tamika.

  It was Tamika who woke up Darnell on Saturday morning.

  “Get up,” she said. “Mama wants you to go get some bran flakes and a half gallon of low-fat milk.”

  “How come she wants me to go when you're up already?” Darnell asked.

  “Because it looks like it might rain,” Tamika said, “and she's afraid I might melt.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  Darnell got up, dressed, and found that his mother did want him to go to the store for cereal, milk, and potatoes. Outside it was cool and raining lightly. A stray dog followed Darnell down the street, turning with him when he decided to go over to Jackson to take another look at the garden.

  Mrs. Lucas from across the street walked over to him. “Hey, ain't you that little Rock boy?” Her hat was on crooked, and she looked mad when she talked, the way she always did.

  “Yes, ma'am,” Darnell answered without stopping.

  “Don't you walk away from me like no fresh thing!” Mrs. Lucas called after him.

  “I wasn't walking away.” Darnell stopped.

  “Well, you don't have those people raising no tomatoes/' Mrs. Lucas said. “Those tomatoes get wormy they can kill you faster than take wings and

  fly!”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Darnell said.

  “You go on,” Mrs. Lucas said. “And you remember about them wormy tomatoes!”

  Darnell started down the street again, the dog following him all the way. He stopped down the street from the garden. There was someone in it. It wasn't Sweeby, just an old man picking up handfuls of dirt and letting it run through his fingers.

  “Hey, dog, what you think about the garden right here on Jackson Avenue?” Darnell asked the dog.

  The dog looked at him, saw another kid walking down the other side of the street, and went to follow him.

  Darnell went back to the supermarket. When he came out he saw Larry on his bicycle.

  “Tamika said you were over here,” Larry said.

  “You want to carry this stuff on your bike?” Darnell asked.
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  They put the shopping bag on the crossbar and rolled the bike as they headed toward Darnell's house.

  “So what you thinking about writing about next?” Larry asked.

  “Wormy tomatoes,” Darnell said. ‘They can kill you, man.”

  “No lie?”

  “No lie!”

  Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children's Books a division of Random House, Inc., New York

  Copyright © 1994 by Walter Dean Myers

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  eISBN: 978-0-307-51939-9

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