“No, no. Let me go. Let me go.” Shar jerked and pulled. She had to break free . . . had to help Matthew.
“Hush, chile, they’re bringing him,” Sallie said as the other choir members surrounded Matthew to block the men from hitting him again. They picked him up and ran to the bus. “Let’s get out of here,” Stan yelled as he closed the door on the bus and sped off.
Emma Jean and Shar worked furiously at stopping the flow of blood coming from Matthew’s wounds. They didn’t have any towels, so choir members gave their old shirts. Emma Jean dunked some of the shirts into a bucket of water and began wiping the blood away from the cuts and bruises Matthew had all over his head, back, and arms. Shar cut up the other shirts and tied them around Matthew’s head and arms. They also tied several shirts around his midsection to stop the bleeding from cuts on his back and stomach. All of this was done as their bus driver drove as fast as he could to get them as far away from that Mississippi hotel as possible.
Matthew moaned and groaned as they moved him around. But when Shar lifted his right arm so that she could bandage it, Matthew yelled like he was being beaten all over again.
“It’s broken,” Emma Jean told Shar.
Tears flowed down Shar’s face as she thought of the pain that Matthew must be in. She was ashamed of herself for the way she’d just stood there with her choir members watching the beating. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I’m so sorry. We all should have been on that ground with you.”
“Hush, gal,” Sallie said as she brought some more shirts to them. “If it hadna been for you screaming and hollering the way you did, those men would have killed Matthew. So you hush that crying. He’s bruised, but he’ll live.”
“But his arm is broke,” Shar bellowed through her tears. “How can he play the guitar with a broke arm?”
“Mmph, he’s alive, and that’s all that matters.” Sallie put the shirts down and went back to the front of the bus to give instructions to the bus driver.
They drove late into the night until they came upon a church building. They parked in the pathway next to the church, and Sallie told everyone to get some sleep. But Shar couldn’t sleep. She and Emma Jean sat up in order to keep an eye on Matthew. He seemed to be breathing a lot easier since Shar and Emma Jean made one of the shirts into a sling and put his arm in it.
“Why are people so evil?” Shar asked Emma Jean as they sat up watching Matthew.
“I can’t explain it,” Emma Jean whispered, shaking her head. “My mama once knew a white woman who was like an angel to her. Treated her more like a sister than an employee.”
“Maybe that woman just didn’t show your mama her true feelings. Maybe she really thought that your mama was an animal and needed to sleep outside, just like those evil men at that hotel.”
“No way. Mrs. Lila was good to me, too. When my dad died and my mama couldn’t pay the rent, she stepped in and paid it for us. She wouldn’t have done that if she thought we were no better than animals, now would she?”
The look on Shar’s face said she didn’t believe a word Emma Jean said.
“I’m serious, Shar. People like Mrs. Lila are the reason why I sing. We bring hope of better days to people when we sing.”
Shar didn’t say anything. She turned toward the window and looked into the darkness. She wanted to go home so bad that she felt like getting off the bus and walking all the way back to Chicago . . . back to her mama and back to Landon. Tears streamed down her face as she realized that if she didn’t hurry up and figure out the reason why she wanted to sing, she would leave the tour and be forced to find some other way to pay for her mama’s medication.
8
As Landon finished reading Shar’s letter his heart filled with sorrow. He wanted to drop everything and go to her. Shar seemed so distressed, but who wouldn’t be after witnessing someone being beaten to within an inch of his life? He put the letter on his desk, stood, and walked over to the bay window.
As he looked out of his window, he could see the dilapidated and overcrowded homes that his people lived in. With more coloreds migrating from southern states every day, Landon knew that something would have to be done to help, not only the people in his church, but coloreds all over Chicago. The newly established Chicago Housing Authority wanted to build high-rise projects and throw a bunch of colored people in them, but Landon wasn’t so sure that was the answer. Low-income housing would change the mentality of his people and keep them in poverty-stricken conditions.
He wanted home ownership outside of the Black Belt for the people. And he had finally gotten a test case to work with. Joseph and Marva Barnes had moved from Mississippi to Chicago five years ago. They had both graduated from college and held good jobs. Joseph worked for the steel industry, and Marva was a school teacher. The Barneses had been living with Marva’s parents since they arrived in Chicago so they could save enough money to purchase a home.
They found the home they wanted, but the owner refused to sell it to them because they would be the first colored couple in the neighborhood. Landon figured it was way past time for the advancement of colored people and that was why he decided to turn to the NAACP for help with the matter. Walter F. White, the secretary of the NAACP, was speaking at the Ebenezer Baptist Church that night, and Landon intended to be there. He’d tried to schedule a meeting with Mr. White. So far he hadn’t heard back, but Landon would not be deterred.
He would go to that meeting, speak with Walter White, and then get on the road first thing in the morning. He needed to get to Tennessee, where Shar and the Dorsey choir were supposed to be performing for the next week. “I’m coming to see about you, Shar, just hold on,” he said as he continued to stare out at the intolerable conditions the people of the Black Belt were forced to live in.
There was a knock at his door, then Nettie Johnson opened it. “I got it!” she said as she practically ran into his office.
Landon turned toward his new secretary. Nettie had been a member of his church for years, but as membership increased in recent months, he found that he couldn’t handle everything himself. Nettie had been working with him for two months so far, and she had managed to bring some organization into his life. “What’s got you so excited, Miss Nettie?”
She handed Landon a small slip of paper. “I just got off the phone with none other than Mr. Walter F. White, and he is willing to give you about five minutes after his meeting at Ebenezer tonight.”
Landon grabbed the paper and stared at it. Walter White’s name was on the paper, but the telephone number had a Chicago area code. “Is this the telephone number to where he’s staying at tonight?”
With an I-got-the-victory smile on her face, Nettie said, “It sure is.”
“I’ve been trying to reach this man for weeks but haven’t been able to get to him. How on earth did you get this number?”
Nettie pranced around the room, strutting like a fat rat with the keys to a cheese factory. “My cousin’s boyfriend’s aunt lives next door to the couple who took Mr. White in for the night.”
“Well aren’t you quite the investigator,” Landon said as he got so excited he pulled Nettie to him and gave her a quick hug. He put the number in his pants pocket. “I won’t call unless I miss him at the meeting, but thank you so much.”
“This is going to work, Pastor Landon. I can feel it.”
He headed toward the door, opened it, and then turned around, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I could kiss you, Nettie Johnson.” As the words came out of his mouth, he knew it had been a mistake. Nettie was his employee, and he had no romantic designs on her. He had just been so thrilled at how tenaciously she had pursued Mr. White. After that, Landon knew that he and Nettie would be able to accomplish any goal they set their minds to.
As Nettie stood in Landon’s office watching him walk away from her, she wished that he would be a man of his word and open that door back up and give her a kiss. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, so she busied herself with cle
aning his office. Pastor Landon was a dynamic preacher and a born leader, but he had no organizational skills at all. That was the reason she quit her job two months ago and came to work at the church . . . well, that and because she loved him and wanted him to succeed in everything he laid his hands to.
Nettie sat down at Pastor Landon’s desk to organize the papers he had scattered all over the place, but the first paper she picked up was a letter from Shar Gracey, and it froze her to the core.
My Dearest Landon,
I must be the biggest fool to ever leave Chicago. I miss you and ma and pa so much that some nights I cry myself to sleep. I don’t feel as if I’m doing much of anything while I’m touring and traveling on these wicked roads. Mr. Dorsey still hasn’t let me lead a song. We sleep outside more than we are offered a room for comfort. And last night, two white men almost beat Matthew James to death . . .
Nettie could read no more. She put the letter down as she realized that she would have to do something drastic to get Landon’s mind off of Shar Gracey. She just didn’t know what in the world she could do. So, she prayed for a miracle. Just one little miracle that would finally turn things in her favor.
Landon sat through the meeting and listened intently at everything Walter F. White had to say. White was so fair skinned that he’d often been mistaken for a white man. This aided his success as secretary of the NAACP and his primary cause, which was to stop the lynching of colored people. Lynching had been outlawed, but the South was hard to tame and the Klan refused to stop killing.
Landon was impressed with White, but not just because of his ability to argue against lynching. White had been instrumental in blocking the segregationist Judge John J. Parker’s nomination by President Herbert Hoover to the U.S. Supreme Court. And Landon didn’t know any other colored man who could lay claim to something like that.
Based on his speech, Landon could tell that White was very passionate about his purpose. The man would stop at nothing until he had accomplished his goal. But every so often Mr. White’s speech turned to the Jim Crow laws of segregation. It was right there, that Landon hoped he and Mr. White could do some business. Although Jim Crow laws were not necessarily in effect in Chicago, his people had nonetheless been segregated to the Black Belt and were expected to live in unsanitary conditions. It was for this very reason that more children in the Black Belt were dying than in any other part of Chicago. And Landon was passionate about that.
When Walter White finished speaking, the deacons passed the collection plate around. Landon put three dollars in the plate. He was a regular contributor to the NAACP and considered it an honor to help fund this cause. After the benediction was stated, Landon got out of his seat and walked to the front of the church. White was standing by the front pew, shaking hands and talking with people as they passed by him. Landon sat down on the front pew and waited for the line to dwindle down.
Once White had shaken the hand of the last man in line, Landon stood back up and walked over to him. “I’m honored to finally meet you, sir. My name is Landon Norstrom.”
White shook his hand while asking, “You and I are supposed to meet tonight, am I right, Pastor?”
Landon nodded. “Yes, we are.”
“Well, Pastor Norstrom, you sure have a persistent secretary.”
Landon smiled. “She’s very passionate about our mission.”
“And what is your mission? Or better yet, what kind of help do you need from me for your mission?”
Landon looked around the sanctuary. There were still too many people in the room for him to speak freely. He hated feeling paranoid, but some colored people were so jealous of the advancement of anyone other than themselves that they got in the way and made trouble before any real progress could be made. “Is there someplace where we can speak privately?”
White turned to Pastor Jones and asked, “May we use your office for a moment?”
Pastor Jones patted Walter White on the shoulder. “Sure thing. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
They went into Pastor Jones’s office and Secretary White closed the door. They sat down in the two worn leather chairs in front of the desk. “Now, what do you have going on that you think we can help with?”
Landon leaned forward, excited to have an audience with a man that he admired greatly. “I’ve been working with the people in my community on housing. The white folks in this city have us living on top of each other in deplorable conditions.”
“Yeah but so many of our people migrated to Chicago that there isn’t enough housing for everyone. From what I hear, the housing authority will be putting up high-rise apartments to help with this problem,” Secretary White said.
“You are correct about that, but I don’t think those high-rises are the answer. Those apartments are meant to house low-income people.”
“A lot of our people can’t afford to pay the high prices these homeowners are renting their homes for. That’s why so many are sharing houses. Shouldn’t they receive some type of help by way of low-income housing?”
“Low-income housing might be the answer for some of our chronically unemployed. The depression has hit our neighborhood the hardest. But some of our people can afford better. They want to own nice homes just like anyone else. A couple in my church have spent years saving money in order to buy a nice home. They are educated and professional.
“So, I thought they would be the perfect test case for moving our people out of the Black Belt. But when they tried to purchase the home of their choice, the owner refused to sell it to them.”
“What reason did the owners give for not wanting to sell the home?” White asked.
“They said that they didn’t want to anger their neighbors by selling their home to a bunch of coloreds.”
“That certainly is troubling, but to be truthful, Pastor Norstrom, our brothers and sisters in the South are still doing far worse than the people in the Black Belt. Your community is worried about housing, while I’m still trying to stop the lynching that’s going on in the South.”
“I know that you are dedicated to the problems in the South, and I commend you for the job you’re doing on that. But I know that you also agree with me that separate is not equal. And if we are being denied housing strictly because of color, that isn’t right.”
“I agree that it’s not right, Pastor Norstrom. But what can the NAACP do to help?”
“I want to sue the city of Chicago.”
White shook his head, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. There’s no precedent to say we’d win the case.”
“What about the case that Charles Houston and that Thurgood Marshall just won in Baltimore, Maryland?”
“Thurgood asked Charles to help him with that case. Donald Murray’s case was perfect for Maryland because he was more than qualified to attend that university. And Judge O’Dunne agreed with us. He ruled that Murray had been rejected solely on the basis of race.”
“The Barneses’ case is perfect for Chicago. This family is professional. They have been good citizens in the community, and they have enough money to buy the house. I’m telling you, this case is a winner.” Landon was excited just thinking about what a case like that could mean for the people in his community.
Secretary White quietly contemplated Landon’s words and then said, “Okay, I’ll tell you what . . . Charles will be in Chicago next week. I’ll tell him to put you on his calendar. If you can convince him to take on your case, then I’m in.”
Charles H. Houston was counsel for the NAACP. This was more than Landon could have hoped for. “Thank you so much, Secretary White. And if he doesn’t already have a place to stay, I have a spare bedroom in my house.”
“We appreciate that, Pastor.” White stood up, signaling that the meeting was over.
Landon stood and shook White’s hand. “You won’t regret this. Tell Attorney Houston that I look forward to meeting with him next week.” As soon as those words were out of Landon’s mouth, he realized that he
hadn’t planned on being in Chicago next week. He’d wanted to leave town in the morning in order to travel to Tennessee. But Landon knew that there was no way he would be prepared for a meeting with the great Charles H. Houston if he was traveling back and forth instead of putting this case together.
Landon really wanted to go to Shar and make sure she was okay. His heart sank when he’d read her letter. She sounded as if she were headed into a depression, and he couldn’t bear to think of the deplorable conditions in which she was living. But Shar had willingly decided to go on the road, while the people in the Black Belt wanted out but couldn’t get out. He owed it to them to stay there and help bring them out of the so-called Promised Land.
As he sat down to write Shar another letter, he prayed that she was comforted by his words of love and adoration. Each of his letters had explained the situation in Chicago, so he hoped she understood that only the business of God could keep him from her at this time. As soon as he had a handle on what he hoped would become the Barnes v. Chicago case, he would go to Shar and bring her back home with him.
9
In the week since Matthew’s beating, Shar had been inconsolable. They had traveled to Tennessee in order to take Matthew home. Once they arrived, they located several boardinghouses because Mr. Dorsey decided to stay and perform at a few of the local churches. But Shar’s heart wasn’t in it.
She had written to Landon and told him how she was feeling. She’d even told him where she would be staying in hopes that he would come see her, or at least write to her. But so far, he hadn’t done either. Tears rolled down Shar’s face as she contemplated the fact that she had stayed away from Landon too long. And he had lost interest in her, or maybe he’d even found someone else to love. Shar couldn’t blame Landon for that . . . what man would wait around for months on end for his woman to come back home?
How Sweet the Sound Page 6
