Freedom Riders
Gene and Bob struck up an unlikely friendship. Bob would swing onto campus in his worn-out car at no particular time, and with no prior notice. If Gene didn’t have classes to attend or his cadaver to dissect, they would grab a bite to eat or drink a coffee together. Oddly for two people who’d met through a mutual interest in civil rights, they talked about anything and everything but civil rights: Bob’s time in the army, the country of Vietnam where he’d been stationed and of which most Americans still hadn’t heard; Gene’s cadaver, their backgrounds, their hopes and Nancy.
Although Bob always arrived unexpectedly, there came a time when Gene could predict his arrival. The muffler on Bob’s car was as old as the rest of the vehicle and could be heard from at least six blocks away; in its wake would trail a pall of blue smoke.
‘Why don’t you get yourself a new car?’ Gene once asked him.
‘Hell man, I’m black an’ no job. I start drivin’ roun’ in an El Dorado or some such automobile, an’ the police gonna think I’d stole it or was pimpin’ girls. I prefer the low-profile approach to life, man: under the radar.’
‘How can you possibly think you have a low profile when you’re driving around making such a damned racket? Some of my friends in the Medical School already think you’re dealing drugs and, what’s worse, that I’m buying them from you!’
‘Well that jus’ plain racist! See what me an’ my brothers have to put up with?’ He paused for a moment and then turned to Gene. ‘I don’t suppose you in the market?’
‘Give me a break, Bob! I don’t want to get kicked out.’
‘Jus’ thought I’d ask.’ He paused, and with a mischievous grin on his face said: ‘Nancy smokes dope… bes’ grade too. Gets it from me. She got no problem doin’ business with a black man.’
‘Nancy smokes dope? I didn’t know that,’ Gene said, unable to disguise his surprise.
‘How long the two o’ you been goin’ out – four months?’ Bob asked.
‘About that.’
‘An’ you ain’t never see’d her smoke pot?’
‘No.’
‘Well that’s ’cos she don’t. I was jus’ foolin’ with you, Med’cine Man. Ha!’
‘Jesus, Bob! Why do you do that? Why do you always screw with people.’
‘I guess it the black man’s burden, Gene. I ain’t got no choice in the matter, man. How else we gonna get things movin’? Gotta cause us a few waves or that tired ol’ man rowin’ his boat ashore ain’t never gonna reach dry land.’
‘Well, just make sure you don’t sink him,’ Gene said.
‘You a one to talk,’ Bob countered. ‘People still aksin’ me ’bout yo’ air-conditionin’ speech!’
Gene didn’t take the bait. He’d learned from Nancy that sometimes the best way to deal with Bob was to ignore him. ‘I’m off to class,’ he said. ‘See you at the meeting tonight. I gather it’s an important one.’
‘You bet yo’ sweet ass,’ Bob said. ‘An’ don’t fo’get to bring Nance with you. She’ll be scared shitless by this ’n. We talkin’ Miss’ippi, man. Ha!’
As usual it was Steve Barrentine who took charge of proceedings. He explained to the gathered few (still no more than twenty attended these meetings), that the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) had decided to test the effectiveness of a recent ruling by the Supreme Court that interstate bus stations could no longer discriminate against interstate travellers – whatever the local custom. Segregation of waiting rooms, restaurants and toilets had theoretically been ended.
‘But we all know what theory is, don’t we?’ Steve continued.
‘Theory?’ Bob suggested.
‘Exactly!’ Steve replied, taking Bob’s comment seriously. ‘And if we don’t challenge it, that’s just what it’s going to stay. We have to make sure it does become practice. For this reason, CORE’s organising a bus expedition through the Deep South. It’s leaving Washington in early May and then heading towards Mississippi and picking up additional activists on the way. Whatever the provocation, all responses will, as usual, be peaceful and non-violent.
‘They’ve asked us to provide three volunteers, and I’m glad to say we have them. Bob, Nancy, Gene: take a bow will you. You have our thanks.’
The meeting broke into applause. Bob stood up with a big grin on his face and bowed theatrically. Gene and Nancy just looked at each other: it was the first either of them had heard of this. Bob winked and mouthed: ‘I’ll explain later.’
When the meeting finally ended, Nancy marched up to Bob. ‘My place. Now!’
‘How could you, Bob?’ she shouted at him when he walked through the door. ‘You should have asked us first! Gene and I still have classes to attend and assignments to turn in. We can’t suddenly drop everything. And I’ve told you before: I’m not going to Mississippi.’
‘Aw c’mon, Nance. It’s almos’ the end o’ the semester. Classes an’ exams will be overed with by then, an’ if you ain’t finished yo’ work you can get extensions. We talkin’ two, maybe three weeks o’ yo’ lives. This a chance fo’ you – fo’ the three of us – to do somethin’ useful fo’ a change, steada jus’ jawin’ the whole time. An’ it’ll be fun. You can get off the bus in Alabama, Nance. Ain’t no need fo’ you to go to Miss’ippi.
‘An’ Gene, yo’ cadaver ain’t goin’ no place, man. He’ll wait fo’ you. Not like he’s gonna miss you cuttin’ into him, is he? He’ll be prob’ly glad o’ the rest: give him a chance to get his strength back!’
The three of them joined the bus in Richmond, Virginia. The first few days were uneventful: they got out of the bus, ate food at still segregated counters and then climbed back on to the bus; the only danger any of them could foresee was haemorrhoids. In North Carolina, however, things started to change. After the bus arrived in Charlotte, one of the black riders went into the bus station’s barbershop and asked for a trim. Refused his haircut, he in turn refused to leave the premises and was thereupon arrested for trespassing. The bus rolled on without him, and in Rock Hill, South Carolina, three riders were attacked by a waiting crowd.
In Atlanta, the Freedom Riders – as they now called themselves – divided into two groups and headed to Birmingham, Alabama, in two separate buses: a Trailways and a Greyhound. Bob, Gene and Nancy climbed aboard the Greyhound bus, and Bob lay down on the back seat and fell fast asleep. When a rock sailed through a window six miles from Anniston, he remained sleeping; the incendiary bomb that followed similarly failed to wake him.
The riders quickly disembarked. Fending off blows from the Klansmen who now surrounded them, it took a moment for Gene to realise that Bob was still on the blazing bus. After checking that Nancy was in no immediate danger, he rammed a peaceful and non-violent fist into the nearest face and climbed back on to the Greyhound. He fought his way through the flames and smoke to the backseat, where Bob still slept. He slapped him hard on the face, yelled at him, pulled him to a sitting position and slapped him again. Bob woke up, and fortunately for both of them his reflexes kicked in. Together they scrambled off the bus and reached safety only seconds before it exploded. Nancy burst into tears and Gene put his arms around her.
‘Man, that the las’ time I takin’ sleepin’ pills!’ Bob said.
It was a more sober group of people that continued the journey through Alabama. They were attacked again in Birmingham and three of them hospitalised. In Montgomery it got worse and, there, the journey came to its end.
The city police commissioner of Montgomery had refused to provide the Freedom Riders with any sort of protection, and when they arrived at the city’s Union Bus Terminal they were immediately surrounded by a hostile crowd of some 3,000 people. Fist fights broke out and, once again, the Freedom Riders were forced to defend themselves. White women joined in the affray this time, swearing at the girl riders and swinging purses at them.
Nancy was hit but unhurt, and Gene and Bob managed to escape with only cuts and bruises. Black bystanders at the Bus Terminal were
less lucky: some had their bones broken and some set on fire. US Marshals and the National Guard appeared the next morning, but by then the civil rights activists had already decided to call it a day. Gene, Nancy and Bob returned home. Mississippi, they figured, would be worse still.
Life for the three of them returned to normal. Their friends in the civil rights group hailed them as heroes and Gene, in particular, drew praise after Bob recounted how the Medicine Man had saved his life on the Aniston road. But for the time being they placed activism on hold. Bob returned to the business of being Bob, and Gene and Nancy focused on each other.
Androcles and the Lioness
‘They’re just two of the sweetest people, Gene. I can’t believe they’re so nice. You’re sure they are your parents?’
Nancy and Gene had spent Thanksgiving holiday with Gene’s family, and were now returning to Durham.
‘I remember them hanging around the house a lot when I was growing up, so I’m guessing they are,’ Gene replied. ‘Anyway, why does their niceness surprise you? Are you saying that I’m not nice?’
‘You’re nice enough,’ Nancy said, patting him on the knee. ‘At least you don’t get on my nerves. But your parents are more sociable than you are. You have to admit that.’
‘It’s not a matter of sociability. I just don’t like small talk. I’m no good at it, and I always end up saying something stupid.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know!’ Nancy laughed. ‘And drive faster, will you? The movie’s going to be over by the time we get home.’
‘I’m driving the speed limit, Nancy, and I’m not getting a ticket just to make the start of some dumb art movie. Anyway, a snail has a faster pace than those films. We could turn up ten minutes from the end and still understand the plot.’
‘It’s not just the plot, silly; it’s the meaning and the nuances. You’re such a Philistine, Gene. Do you know that? I’m trying to bring some culture into your life and this is the thanks I get.’
‘I’ve got enough culture in my life already. I’m going out with you, remember.’
‘Oh hush! The only culture in your life is television. If it was up to you, all we’d ever do is stay home and watch stupid game shows. We wouldn’t go to the theatre, we wouldn’t go to museums or art galleries, and we probably wouldn’t even go to concerts. How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t live life on a couch or in a laboratory? There are too many places to see, too many other experiences to be had.’
‘And how would any of that be of help to my patients? If they come to me and I can’t figure out what’s wrong with them, what am I supposed to tell them? “I’m sorry, Mrs Forrester, I can’t quite put my finger on what’s ailing you at the moment, but if it’s of any consolation I could always tell you about the Fellini film I saw the other night or show you some of the snapshots I took when I was vacationing in London last summer”.’
‘Just drive, Gene! You might not have any interest in a life but I do, and I’m not prepared to waste mine stuck in a car with you.’ She then prodded him in the ribs and Gene flinched.
‘For God’s sake, Nancy, don’t do that when I’m driving! You’ll cause an accident.’
Nancy started to laugh and prodded him again.
‘I’m warning you, you do that one more time and I’ll stop the car and make you walk. I’m not kidding!’
‘Of course you are. You’d never do anything to hurt me. You love me too much.’
‘I must have been drunk when I told you that.’
‘You didn’t have to tell me. I knew it already. I know you better than you know yourself – and I know for a damned fact that you can drive over sixty and not get us killed!’
‘You’ve never said that you loved me,’ Gene grumbled. ‘Do you?’
‘Maybe. You should know if a person loves you.’
‘Why won’t you say it, though?’
‘Because,’ Nancy teased.
‘Because what?’
‘Just because.’
She smiled at him, snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Gene bent towards her and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I don’t know if we’ll ever get married, Gene, but I think you’ll always be my friend. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?’
‘Not right at this moment, I wouldn’t.’
Nancy raised her head from his shoulder, kissed his ear and ran her tongue inside it. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Don’t, Nancy!’
They made it back to Durham in time for the film, and afterwards drove to a newly opened restaurant. It had a rustic feel to it, sawn-timbered tables and benches, and the food on the menu was down-home.
‘Would you like to talk about the film, Gene, or would that embarrass you?’
‘The only thing that embarrasses me is the fact that I shelled out five bucks to see it! I don’t speak French, Nancy. How the hell am I supposed to discuss a film that I haven’t even understood?’
‘The movie was subtitled, Gene. You were supposed to read the subtitles!’
‘I couldn’t. I didn’t have my glasses with me.’
‘Why didn’t you say something, then? We could have left early.’
‘Because you were enjoying it – and I was happy to waste two hours of my life for the enjoyment of yours. Remember that next time you’re stuck in a car with me, will you?’
Nancy smiled and pinched his cheek. ‘You poor baby,’ she said. ‘Why do you put up with me? If you treated me this way I’d dump you in a lake.’
The meal passed in similarly discordant harmony, and when the check came Nancy took care of it. ‘My treat,’ she said. ‘You paid for the film.’
They got up to leave and Nancy gave a short scream. ‘God, Gene. Look at that!’ she said, holding out her index finger. ‘Do you think I should go to the Student Health Centre?’
Gene examined her finger. A large splinter had embedded itself in the flesh and the wound was bleeding. ‘There’s no need for us to go to the Health Centre. I can take care of this.’ He wrapped Nancy’s finger in a paper napkin and then helped her to the car.
‘It hurts, Gene. I mean, really hurts! You wouldn’t believe the pain I’m in. I think I’m going to faint.’
Gene kept his face straight and drove them to his apartment. There he had Nancy lie down on the couch. He took a pair of tweezers from a small case he kept in the bedroom, and holding Nancy’s finger with one hand and the tweezers in the other started to pull the splinter, slowly, carefully.
‘Ow-ow-ow, Gene! You’re hurting me!’
‘Stop fidgeting, Nancy! It’s almost out. Please, just keep still!’
But Nancy didn’t. She pulled away from him and the splinter broke off in the tweezers, leaving a small sliver below the surface.
‘Shit, Nancy! I’ll have to use a needle now. Why can’t you just do as you’re told for once?’
He saw tears welling in her eyes and involuntarily started to laugh.
‘It’s not funny, Gene!’
‘I’m sorry, Nancy. I know it’s not. But one day we’ll look back on this and laugh.’
‘You really think so? God, you can be such a jerk! It’s your fault I got this splinter in the first place. It was you who insisted we go to that damn restaurant. Why did you have to take me there?’
‘Because you were telling me in the car how much you liked new experiences. We’d never been to that restaurant before, and so eating there was a new experience. It’s impossible to please you, Nancy. Have you ever thought about that?’
Nancy pushed her lips into a pout, and Gene went to the kitchen to retrieve a needle from a small sewing kit his mother had bought him when he’d first gone to university. While he was there, he poured a large glass of brandy for Nancy.
‘This is how it was done in the olden days, before anaesthetic,’ he said, handing her the glass. ‘People had limbs sawn off and bullets extracted, and all they had to dull the pain was alcohol. I’m pretty certain a glass of brandy wil
l do it for a splinter.’
‘It’s goddamn 1962, Gene! We’re not living in the olden days! I knew we should have gone to the Health Centre. They’d have given me a local anaesthetic.’
‘They wouldn’t have even given you a beer! Now stop being such a milquetoast and drink it.’
He struck a match and ran the flame along the needle, and then waited for it to cool. Once Nancy had calmed, he took a firmer hold of her finger and carefully picked at the flake.
‘I hate you, Gene. Really hate you,’ Nancy slurred. ‘I’m never going to be nice to you again.’
Gene smiled. ‘Will I notice the difference?’
‘You know you will, you big lug.’
Gene continued to work on Nancy’s finger until no trace of the wooden fragment remained. He then dabbed the wound with antiseptic and covered it with a Band-Aid.
‘You want me to drive you home?’
‘No, I’ll stay the night here. If my finger falls off I’ll need someone to put it back on. And don’t for a minute think that I’ve forgiven you, because I haven’t.’
Rather than unpack her overnight bag, Nancy cleaned her teeth with Gene’s toothbrush and then climbed into bed. Gene joined her there and she nuzzled up to him.
‘I’m sorry for being such a wuss, Gene. I’m not very good with pain. And I didn’t mean those horrible things I said to you. You know that, don’t you? It amazes me how you cope with my moods; you do it so well. Anyway, thanks for saving me tonight. I’ll always be able to count on you to save me, won’t I? You’re my very own Androcles.’
Last Bus to Coffeeville Page 3
