The Nigger Factory

by Gil Scott-Heron

  ‘. . . a bit of information.’

  ‘About who?’ Ellen said. She took a furtive look up front and then slid into the booth next to Odds.

  ‘About SGA’s secretary, Sheila Reed,’ Earl said.

  ‘You mean you cain’ get it?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You better start winkin’ at some a these wimmin,’ Ellen smiled.

  ‘Who is Sheila’s boyfriend or man or whatever?’ Earl asked. Lawman and Odds leaned forward. All at once they knew what Earl was getting at. Sheila would definitely give the key to the office to her boyfriend.

  ‘Oh really?’ Ellen asked. ‘Lawd, Sheila’s been goin’ wit Che Guevara. You better get busy.’

  ‘Che who?’ Lawman asked.

  ‘The Revolutionaries!’ Ellen giggled. ‘She been goin’ wit’ Ralph Baker from MJUMBE.’

  The three men looked at each other. Truth is light.

  8

  The Head Nigger

  Earl pulled up in front of Ogden Calhoun’s huge white home at exactly ten o’clock. The house had been built for the president of Sutton College in 1937. Since then it had changed hands eight times, had been destroyed almost entirely by fire in 1940, was remodeled twice, but remained a landmark in the area. Two years before it had been remodeled for Mrs Calhoun, and now it stood like a sentinel of southern history, a replica of the label the students applied to it – the Plantation.

  The lights burning on the first and second floors told Earl that the Calhoun household was not completely asleep. He had been here on other occasions as representative of the SGA for various meetings. He realized at a glance that the first-floor lights were shining in the living room and Calhoun’s den and home office.

  He was surprised when Mrs Calhoun met him at the door.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Thomas,’ the president’s wife said, smiling politely. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, ma’am. How have you been?’

  ‘Just a bit run-down,’ Gloria Calhoun said with a hand at her forehead. ‘Won’t you come in? I’m sure you’re here to see Ogden. Is he expecting you?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Earl replied smiling. He commented to himself that he certainly hoped that Calhoun was not expecting him.

  ‘I’ll run back and see what he’s doing,’ Mrs Calhoun said. ‘We haven’t been here for the past couple of days and our maid was very busy. When I came home from the theater this evening I told her to go right to bed.’

  Earl smiled lightly and Mrs Calhoun made her way across the spacious living room toward the den. There was no question in the young SGA leader’s mind but that Gloria Calhoun was indeed tired. As far as he could see she was always on the run; speaking on a Woman’s Day program at somebody’s church, helping to raise money for a drive of some description, or just appearing with her husband at a university function.

  Earl admired her. Not only because she had been married to Ogden Calhoun for almost twenty years, which put her in line for sainthood, but because throughout all their brief encounters she had impressed him with her sincere interest in community problems and genuine concern about the issues confronting Sutton students.

  She emerged from the den having given Earl just enough time to light a cigarette.

  ‘My husband will see you now,’ she said with a pleasant smile. It seemed to Earl that Gloria Calhoun was always smiling. He considered it quite a tribute to her that she could continue to do so after living with the grouchy, grumbling Calhoun for so long a time. ‘By the way, how is Dora Gilliam? You do have a room with her, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Earl replied. ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘I must have a chat with her soon. She’s such a fine woman. I’ve been thinking about having her return a favor and speak at my church’s Woman’s Day next month.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d enjoy that,’ Earl said.

  ‘Good . . . well, do give her my regards. I’ve got to run along now.’

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’

  The president of Sutton University sat in a leather swivel chair behind his desk, smoking a pipe, with a pair of bifocals perched on his nose. Ogden Calhoun was fifty-seven but didn’t look a day over forty-five. He was dressed in a silk bath robe with a pair of maroon silk pajamas peeping from beneath the robe. As Earl entered the room Calhoun put down the sheets of paper that he had been studying. He stood and shook hands with Earl rather stiffly and then sat back again. He ran a hand through his thick, silver head of hair.

  ‘How are you, son?’ he asked Earl.

  ‘I’m fine. Yourself?’

  ‘Good,’ Calhoun boomed.

  Earl looked around. The working den was well decorated. An oaken bookcase against the wall to his right was stacked with thick volumes on law, a multi-volume encyclopedia, textbooks, and pamphlets that proselytized for Sutton University. Behind Calhoun was a sliding door that led out onto a glass-encased patio where sat yet another desk, plus a round patio-table with an umbrella, a glider, and a couch with plastic cover. In the corner directly to Calhoun’s left was a lamp that seemed to grow out of an expensive-looking jade vase. The illumination was detoured by a rose-patterned lampshade. The thick green carpet was wall-to-wall here in the office. There were several chairs in the room: a captain’s chair, a reclining easy chair that resembled a leather throne, and another plastic-covered couch.

  ‘Sit down!’ Calhoun boomed, sucking on the pipe. ‘An’ tell me what I can do for you.’

  Earl offered the mimeographed sheet of paper. ‘I have a list of requests here from the students,’ Earl said choosing his words very carefully. ‘They’re for you ta take a look at.’

  Calhoun adjusted the glasses across his nose and took the copy of the demands. He read them, lost deeply in thought for a moment. Then his head snapped up. There was a crooked grin on his face.

  ‘Requests?’ he asked. ‘There’s nothing here that I’m requested to do. These seem to me like threats! It says here that I’m to respond to these by noon tomorrow. Is that right?’

  ‘Thass right,’ Earl agreed.

  ‘What’s requested then? These are intimidating. This is an intimidating document . . . never mind,’ Calhoun tried to lower his voice, ‘it sez by noon tomorrow. What if I don’t reply by then?’ There seemed to be real amusement in the president’s voice at this time.

  ‘I suppose I’ll jus’ have to wait until then,’ Earl dodged.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To see what the studen’s have to say.’ Earl replied evenly meeting Calhoun’s eyes.

  ‘Meaning that I’ll have to wait until then too?’

  ‘Thass right.’

  Calhoun backed down a bit at that point. He took another look at the paper. Earl had half-expected to get kicked out.

  ‘This is a short-time thing you have here,’ Earl was told.

  Earl said nothing.

  ‘I doubt seriously,’ Calhoun went on, ‘that I kin do anything excep’ reread these damn things before tomorrow noon.’

  ‘Do what you can,’ Earl said icily.

  Calhoun blazed at that remark. ‘Look!’ he said almost shouting, ‘I have asked students over an’ over again to talk ‘bout whatever the hell it is they want in them various meetings that students are a part of. If this isn’t enough for them I will not be intimidated by a piece of paper tellin’ me what I have to do by tomorrow noon or no time soon! I will make a call or two. I’m gonna have a meeting to ask the people on them various committees what they have been doing if and when these suggestions came up. Chances are none of these things have been brought up. Students generally don’t appear at the meetings even when they have elected positions to serve on various functioning committees that we have. Now you come in here with a piece a paper telling me to put students in charge of damn near all the money that this institution spends within a year! Telling me that I will allow students to check books behind the people that I have appointed to take charge of various funds. And telling me that I, meaning t
he university, will pay for it? I think that you think I must be outta my mind! I don’t respond to this sort of thing. Ha!’ Calhoun sat back in the chair and puffed the pipe forming a cloud of the sticky-sweet cherry blend tobacco over his head. ‘I will call this meeting! I will tell the students when these issues will be open for student-faculty-administrative discussion. That is all I will do.’

  ‘All right,’ Earl said. Calhoun appeared not at all prepared for that response. He regained his composure very quickly.

  ‘Then I’ll see you tuhmaruh?’ Earl asked.

  Calhoun cautiously fielded the question. ‘I’ll try an’ call a meeting in the morning,’ he said, getting up to see Earl to the door.

  ‘I can make it out,’ Earl said holding up his palm as a restraining gesture. ‘I’ll see you.’

  Ogden Calhoun had not allowed the sound of the closing front door to die entirely before he picked up the phone on top of his cluttered desk. He dialed seven hasty numbers. Calhoun sucked at his pipe, but the flame was dead. He didn’t like the tone of voice or the sarcastic glint in Earl’s eyes. He didn’t like the way Earl had gotten up to leave.

  ‘Hello. Gaines? This is Ogden. I jus’ had a visit from that boy Thomas. Uh-huh. The transfer that the students elected. Uh-huh. He brought over a list of requests from the students.’

  Calhoun listened for a minute. ‘You weren’t there, but you heard about it? What?’ The president sat bolt upright in the chair. He reached for a lighter and set his cherry blend on fire. ‘Can you come over here tonight? Good. I’m going to call Miss Felch and a few others and see if I can’t get to the bottom of this thing right away . . . I said Miss Felch, my secretary . . . One more thing. I suppose you must not have heard everything because request number two is that Gaines Harper be dismissed. . . . What am I going to do? I don’t know.’

  9

  Wheels in Motion

  Ogden Calhoun came down the carpeted, spiraling staircase from his bedroom wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and tie. The tie was a bit loose at the collar and the jacket was a touch wrinkled, but the president had a stern policy of never holding any official university business when not dressed for the part. Consequently when he heard the bell ring he knew that Miss Felch had arrived and he came quickly down the stairs to meet her.

  The maid, up and around at Calhoun’s request, showed Miss Felch in. She was a tall, willowy, white, matronly-looking woman with pinched features and thin rectangular glasses squatting on a razor-sharp nose. She was dressed in a navy blue, two-piece suit and carried a matching handbag plus a corduroy zippered satchel with papers and note pads. The expression on her face was one of severe annoyance. She had been upset when the call interrupted her movie, when the cab driver tried to take a long route to increase the fare (thinking perhaps she didn’t know the Black section of Sutton), and when she got out of the taxi realizing that she had forgotten her lipstick in the rush and looked like absolute hell. She pushed a lock of dirty-blond hair away from her eyes.

  Calhoun stepped on the first-floor carpet like a man walking on eggs. He glided up to Miss Felch with his most gracious smile intact.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Felch. I’ve had a real emergency situation arise in the last hour and I’ve had to call a rather hasty meeting. I thought it would be appropriate if you were here to take notes and keep things in some sort of order . . . As only you can.’ The compliment bounced off Miss Felch’s unpainted face. ‘Louise, could you get Miss Felch coffee. Cream, no sugar. Right?’

  Miss Felch attempted a smile and nodded. Louise began her exit.

  ‘And Louise, I’m going to be in my den. I’ll need a few of the light folded chairs from the back. Use the big coffee pot because I’ve invited quite a few men and we’ll probably be keeping late hours. I hope you don’t mind. This emergency, y’know.’ Louise made her exit. Calhoun and Miss Felch entered the den.

  ‘What makes you think this iz so much different from the las’ time when Peabody woke everybody up in the middle of the night?’ Vice-President Fenton Mercer was asking Calhoun in a corner of the den while the others who had been called were gathering. ‘I saw the meeting, but I didn’t even go out to investigate.

  ‘Maybe you should have,’ Calhoun told him. ‘There should have been a note on my desk when I got here.’

  ‘Most of the faculty members and administrators were gone. I was talkin’ to the man from that Kentucky Graduate Program an’ happened to look out the window . . . I thought it might’ve been a prep rally for the game on Saturday.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ Calhoun said, keeping his voice lowered. ‘And I don’t know if it’s any different from Peabody.’

  ‘Then why are we here?’

  ‘I just didn’t like Thomas’s attitude when I questioned him about certain things. He looked . . . smug. That’s the way he looked.’

  ‘Like he had it in hand, huh?’ Mercer chuckled.

  ‘Yes. Like that.’ Calhoun walked away from Mercer and stood next to his desk. It seemed that everyone who had been called was present. Calhoun made a quick head count. Yes, eight people.

  ‘Harrummph. Uh, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible,’ he said. ‘If everyone will be seated I’ll, uh, get things going. Most of you have some idea as to why this meeting was called. I had a visit tonight from the president of the Student Government Association, Mr Earl Thomas. He presented me with a list of what he chose to describe as “requests.” Miss Felch?’ Calhoun turned to the secretary, who nodded. ‘Miss Felch has made everyone a copy.’ Miss Felch passed the stack of papers around and handed Calhoun the original folded print.

  There was a slight buzzing and mumbling as everyone read the list. Calhoun sought out particular facial reactions from various individuals.

  Mercer, the chuckling vice-president, wasn’t chuckling any more. Gaines Harper, the sallow-faced, flour-colored whale of a Financial Aid Officer was catsup-red and coughing. Cathryn Pruitt, the Dean of Women, was biting her right index fingernail. Edmund C. Mallory, the stocky, mustached football coach frowned and continued to sip his coffee. Arnold McNeil, head of the History Department and chairman of the Student-Faculty Alliance was nervously smoking his cigar and rubbing his balding head.

  ‘As you can see,’ Calhoun continued drily, ‘there are several issues covered in the document here, but I wanted to ask for a few comments from the people present here before continuing.’

  ‘You have your mind made up?’ Mallory asked, fingering his mustache.

  ‘Not entirely,’ Calhoun hedged. ‘Every president at every university has a different way of dealing with lists of in quotes requests. I have my particular way of dealing with them and may well do what I generally do . . . tone is important, Ed. I’ve been doin’ quite a bit of running here and there trying to align things for Sutton. I wondered what the tone was; what the feeling was that the group of you had gotten and then I would, quite naturally, proceed from there.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s good,’ Mrs Pruitt chirped. She never thought anything was good. ‘The girls have been coming to me talking constantly about things.’

  ‘These things?’ Calhoun asked surprised.

  ‘Many things. Primarily social things like curfews and late time and visiting time . . .’

  ‘These issues are not listed,’ someone reminded her before she went into one of her tirades about being handicapped at her job. They had all heard it before.

  ‘But it’s an indication,’ she continued. ‘It indicates the unrest.’

  ‘We live in an era of unrest,’ Calhoun said flatly. ‘Mallory?’

  ‘Yes, well, I would say that there are some things here worth investigating. I went to a meeting last week that Arnold was having and . . .’

  ‘Right,’ McNeil said rising. ‘Ed was at last week’s meeting of the Student-Faculty Alliance. Right in the middle of one of our discussions a student came in and started shouting loudly about our committee being the, pardon me ladies, “Bullshit Squad”. He went on abo
ut us never handling the real issues at Sutton. Who was that Ed?’

  ‘I didn’t know him. The students called him “Captain Cool” or something,’ Mallory laughed.

  Calhoun leaned back against the desk. He struck an imposing figure. He was over six feet tall and his complexion was burnished leather. The silver hair gave him an air of importance and command.

  ‘And “Captain Cool” disrupted your meeting,’ Calhoun said, with the proper exaggeration applied to the use of the nickname.

  ‘In a sense,’ McNeil stated. ‘But then he left. Just like that.’

  ‘And this was not . . .’

  ‘No. I didn’t report it.’ McNeil rubbed his balding head again. He was, along with Mallory, the only under-thirty-five-year-old present. ‘I didn’t report it because I wasn’t sure what the complaint was.’

  Calhoun was shocked. ‘You didn’t . . .’

  ‘Allow me to finish,’ McNeil said, waving a calming hand. ‘The implication was that our committee wasn’t really doing anything . . . it isn’t.’

  Gaines Harper looked up. He and McNeil were the only two white men there. McNeil was turning red. ‘I mean,’ he continued, ‘I became the head of the Student-Faculty Alliance because I thought it would give me a chance to more closely associate myself with the students and become a part of some of the meaningful change that my classes are always speaking of as necessary . . . we have hassled over the price of a new score-board for the football field. We have handled a few minor disciplinary problems about curfews and violations of visitation, but we haven’t really done anything.’ He sat down.

  ‘Are you suggesting that we go along with these?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything!’ McNeil said, raising his voice. ‘I said that I didn’t report the man who interrupted my meeting because he was absolutely right! The damn committee has not done a damn thing! The things that are listed on this paper are the things that students come into the meetings to hear discussed. Instead the agenda is full of crap like the allowance for decorations at various dances and allowances for the Homecoming Committee to prepare for the Homecoming Dance!’