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Ninety Days Inside The Empire: A Novel by William Appleman Williams

Afterthoughts

Page 58

"We got to get organized and vote."

"I want some bus service to get home safe at night."

"I don't want no more wars."

"Why can't I buy in the downtown stores? We got to pay more at the one they built us so-called special."

"I'm old and I want to walk in the Lord's way on a sidewalk and I want my grandchildren to have a good school."

Those had been Negro voices. Suddenly Mrs. Scott stood up to bear her Quaker witness.

"It's the Lord's way to get together and talk like this, but we believe in talking and working with each other one by one. The individual is central. It's a mistake to get into politics. We lose our principles that way."

Abbey Mae wobbled a tiny bit as she worked her way toward the center of the room (too much punch, or just tired?). But she got far enough to be heard.

"Now, Missy Scott, that is not quite right. I was a Quaker for many years, most likely even longer than you, and that is just not quite right."

She turned around to the room, for most people had gathered in the living-dining area during the exchange between Run-Run and Lee.

"Us Quakers had a big fight many long years ago. It got so confused that I'm not sure anybody understands it any more. But it did have to do with individualism and community. Missy Scott is big on individualism. Well, the idea behind that was that after everybody said their piece we'd come together in unity and create a community and maybe even change the world."

She stopped, coughing slightly. Lette handed her a glass full of something.

"Well, you see that Missy Scott is right about people being free to express their own selves; but the other Quakers is also right that you got to act together."

Mrs. Scott had exhausted her Quaker patience.

"That's one way to tell the story, and Abbey Mae had got most of it right except for the conclusion. You get into politics and you're just going to cause trouble."

Abbey Mae exploded.

"You talking about trouble from us. Well shit on your broom, Missy, the trouble is why we are here. We didn't cause it. We want to fix it. You take your individual self off to Mr. Crown and get him to fix that death road up there with the sewers runnin' down each side where our women get raped and where they throw dead Niggers. Then you come back to me and I'll think on your individualism."

Louder than she meant, Caroline said to Maggie: "Zipper, zipper, who's got the way out?"

Run-Run was standing with his arm loosely around Susan's shoulder, and felt her start to speak. "Go ahead, Susan, people are forgetting about color."

"I think we need a newspaper, you know, once a week. We need to keep in touch so we know what's goin' on."

Maggie almost shouted: "That's right, we need to get moving in this town. We been whispering and bein' nice too long."

Off in a corner a Negro with a frizzle of white hair unwrinkled his long body from a chair and raised his hand.

"Reverend?"

Griff opened his palms to the group.

"Mr. Rogers asks for the floor."

Silence.

Wendell Rogers was the wise man of the Negro community. And the more perceptive whites (Crown and Burton as well as Marsh) had been known to seek his views. He had learned the essentials of pharmacy from a Negro doctor in the Louisiana back country. He could not get a license, of course, but dispensed his various folk potions with over-the-counter remedies from his little general store a few blocks from the church. He had founded the local chapter of the NAACP and had developed a finely tuned sense of what might be accomplished for the Negro through political guile, persuasion, pressure and bluff. He spoke softly.

"An old man gets past most excitements. Another pretty face or another war to save the world just don't do it anymore. But the Reverend's sermon and listenin' to you folks has loosened my blood a bit and I've got a thought or two."

"That idea of a newspaper has been in my head for a long time. Where's that young lady who got it out?"

He looked about until he found Susan and pointed to her.

"You're the one. Well, if she's got the gumption to give it a try I'll like up some folks who got lots of stories to tell.

"The other thought I've got is that we can't sit around in the sun waitin' for The Reverend to stir us up again at the next communion." He smiled at Griff. "Some of us have this secret name for The Reverend. We call him the catfish man because he can hook us with a bent pin. But we got to take the bait. Takes two to fish. There's a election comin' up right soon and a lot of doorbells need ringin'. So what I'm goin' to do is have a meeting of the NAACP every week just as long as you folks are willing to come and talk serious business and then go out and do it. This Friday at eight sharp, and to keep you humpin' till then each of you find a friend to bring along."

Griff was not at all sure what to do next. Marsh winked at him but made no effort to mount a rescue mission. Wendell maintained the momentum.

"Time for a short prayer, Reverend. Lots of folk got children to feed, and Abbey Mae's got another one due tonight."

"Lord, we thank You for Your Love and Grace, and it has been with us all this day. May we continue in this fellowship and walk together down that lonesome road. We can't make it each alone, but together we can roll the stone from the cave."

Even before the Amens had finished, Griff walked straight to Cat.

"And now, Lieutenant Wye, it is time for you and me to wash the dishes."

"Yes, Sir; but only if you unbutton that piano and play us some Basie."

"And yes, Sir, to you, too!"

Run-Run was rolling up his sleeves on the way to the kitchen. Over his shoulder: "And some of The Duke."

"How about some stride, you youngsters?"

"You the man, Reverend."

Mitch and Susan had beaten them to the kitchen and were sorting and rinsing. Maggie walked in and gave a sharp order to Marsh and Susan to bring in the plates and glasses.

"We don't allow no all-white parties in this part of town."

Griff lit into "When the Saints Go Marching In."