My People Are Rising (35 page)

The party even leased the Fox Oakland Theater from the Mafia, employing comrades to do renovations on the historic movie palace before hosting a grand opening, featuring the premiere of a film called
Black Girl
, a Black family drama directed by Ossie Davis
.
Other films, concerts, and events promoted by the party would follow.

Gracious donors purchased a large church in East Oakland that took up almost an entire city block. This building housed the party's new venture, the Oakland Community School and Community Center, which started as a school for Panther children. It grew to become a full-fledged private school with a large cafeteria and a large auditorium, a venue for talent shows, concerts, and fundraisers. On Sundays, the auditorium was the site of the Son of Man Temple services, a sort of revolutionary worship service with guest political speakers, community leaders, party officials, and a choir made up of party members and the Charles Moffett Band. A great jazz artist who had collaborated with the likes of Ornette Coleman, David Izenzon, and Pharaoh Sanders, Charles Moffett had taught his four kids to play the various instruments that made up the band. He was also the school's music teacher.

The party's centralization was a huge, bold undertaking and it slowly became apparent that the new direction would move us closer to creating a liberated territory. Comrades were arriving almost daily from all parts of the country: New Haven, New York, Boston, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, DC, Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Baltimore, Winston-Salem, New Orleans, Atlanta, Miami, Dallas, Houston, Los Angeles, Seattle. They came by plane, car, bus, and truck. The Chicago chapter drove their own Greyhound bus. Big Malcolm moved to East Oakland from Santa Barbara. Upon arriving, people were assigned to living quarters and job assignments prior to having a physical and an eye exam at the party's medical clinic in Berkeley.

I was assigned to the Legal Aid Program, working specifically with the prisons, and I would also be alternating as OD with James “Bubba” Young from New York. As for others from the Seattle chapter, Anthony Ware and Larry Ulmer were assigned to the school and the child development center, the party's day care. Melvin Dickson was assigned to the LampPost as a cook. And Tyrone Birdsong, his wife Rose, and Marcus were assigned to Central Headquarters.

Four comrades were assigned to the photo department, led by Lauren Williams. Each had his or her own camera equipment and would be engaged to follow every move of Bobby Seale and Elaine Brown in their electoral campaigns. They also covered stories for the party newspaper and all Panther events. They had their own darkroom, where they spent many late hours developing photos for the paper or brochures. The comrades working with Lauren were D. C. from Boston, Bunchy from Houston, and Melanie from Los Angeles. No one looked more out of place in the revolutionary atmosphere of organized chaos than Melanie. She was always well-dressed and perfectly manicured. Whereas most comrades fell asleep in their underwear or clothing from the day, Melanie put on pajamas. She was a really sweet sister, but also no pigeon or pushover. We had a special friendship, and many times I wished it were more than that. But Robert Bay was her sweetheart.

Many East Coast writers were assigned to the paper, including Sherry Brown from Baltimore, Jonina Abra from Detroit, and
Daryl Hopkins from North Carolina. Michael “Tapps” Rhyms from Chicago, a quintessential temperamental journalist, and a brother named Michael Fultz, one of the brainier comrades from Boston, would have looked right at home in the pressroom of the
New York Times
. Fultz constantly smoked and twisted his beard, drinking cup after cup of coffee, his eyes darting around. As assistant editor, Fultz spent almost all his time in the newspaper room. Asali Dickson was assigned to work with Emory Douglas on the paper's artwork. And no one was as distinctive as Benny, a light-brown brother with curly hair, thick glasses, and perfect diction. A printer, he ran the party's printing press, which always seemed to be in use. Benny printed all the flyers and brochures, as well as outside printing jobs. I can still hear the clickety-clack of Benny's press in the back of Central Headquarters.

Worldwide distribution and local circulation of the Panther paper was handled by the distribution and circulation department. James Pharms and Sherman Wilson from Los Angeles along with Naomi Williams and Cindy Smallwood from Frisco made up the staff of this vital department.

I ended up working with a chain of different ODs, but the one who impressed me most was Bubba Young. He dealt with comrades and problems better than anyone. Although a year younger than me, he carried himself like a wise old man, and sometimes looked like one in the body of a twenty-one-year-old. Bubba had skills in other areas that were far more valuable than what he was called upon to do as OD. It wasn't long before he was assigned, along with his friend Omar from New York, to run one of the campaign offices.

Comrade assignments also included the free medical clinic in Berkeley, the LampPost restaurant, the school, the child development center, and the community center, among others. The medical clinic, in addition to many other services, provided outreach testing for sickle cell anemia on a regular basis. Monday through Saturday, when not working other assignments, comrades were sent out into the field to sell the Panther paper or collect donations for sickle cell anemia research. Comrades received 25 percent of the proceeds of their paper sales and collections. Many carried a three-inch Buck knife for protection.

And there was the weekly garbage run. Huey disliked the Mafia, who controlled the sanitation industry in Oakland, so rather than paying them to pick up our garbage, he initiated a garbage service. Using the big black truck owned by the party, we would start at 5 a.m., picking up garbage at each of the many Panther houses scattered throughout Oakland and Berkeley. We would finish around 9 a.m., shower, and go to our next assignment.

When not working as OD, I spent most of my time in the Legal Aid Program, coordinating and revitalizing the Busing to Prisons Program, and corresponding with inmates in the Panther cadres scattered throughout the California prison system. We also prepared gift boxes for the inmates at Christmas, one of the most important and challenging times for prisoners. The party was committed to supporting inmates during the holidays as well as the rest of the year.

Tanya and I had been estranged ever since she learned of the birth of my daughter, Nisaa. Now, Tanya had revenge on her mind. Not long after our relocation to Oakland, she began a relationship with John Seale. It was torturous for me to see her moving on, but I had brought it on myself. What made the situation even more difficult was that Tanya became assistant coordinator of the Legal Aid Program, and thus my supervisor. With our relationship already strained, this only made matters worse. For four years I had been Captain Dixon of the Seattle chapter, one of the party's strongest chapters—at least in J. Edgar Hoover's eyes. Now I was a line worker, a rank-and-file member. I agonized over this demotion, but had to put it behind me, put my ego aside, and do what was right for the movement and for the party. Even Gwen Fontaine, who had consoled and comforted me a month earlier, was now living with Huey. She and I would never hold each other again. We could only smile ever so politely.

One beautiful aspect of the centralization was meeting and getting to know the comrades from other parts of the country. Each chapter seemed to have its own distinct culture, a specific way of relating—the way they talked, acted, joked, responded. The Philadelphia comrades were outgoing, sometimes comical. The Chicago comrades were often quiet, kind, and almost introverted. Detroit, Connecticut, New York, North Carolina, Boston, Ohio, and Southern California chapters were all distinct. Yet we were bound by our determination and dedication to true justice. The New Orleans comrades, in particular, stood out from the other chapters. They were as close as a family, with good organizers and a very easygoing manner of getting things done. In contrast, the Los Angeles comrades were serious, hard, and occasionally dogmatic.

All the different faces and personalities together brought a warm feeling to the sometimes tense atmosphere. Yet, despite all the new comrades and the excitement about the move, the atmosphere was not as compassionate, close, or unified as it had been in April 1968, when I first came to Oakland. There also was a lingering air of fear, not of the pigs and raids as earlier, but a fear from within.

In this tense and dynamic environment, many friendships blossomed from the geographical mixes. I became close to many comrades, including Allen Lewis from Philly, later called “House Man,” and Tapps
from Chicago
,
but I became closest to Louis “Tex” Johnson, who was from Detroit. I remember the day Tex arrived in Oakland, grinning from ear to ear, showing his gold tooth, his big applejack hat covering almost his entire head. He proclaimed that he felt like he had just landed in paradise—Oakland.

The Boston chapter was the brainiest in the country, with a few comrades recruited from the halls of MIT and Harvard; it was probably also the most efficient and organized of the chapters. The chapter coordinator was Audrea Jones, a short, serious, dynamic sister, who would be appointed to the Central Committee. Another Boston comrade was Robert “Big Bob” Heard, a former football player who stood six foot seven and weighed 350 pounds. He was as tough as they come, and was soon assigned as one of the bodyguards for Huey P. Newton. One of the best organizers from the East Coast was the effervescent Doug Miranda, also from Boston, with the perfect Afro and movie-star looks. He hit Oakland like a lightning flash—he was a potent organizer with the gift of gab. He managed to organize the Laney and Grove Street College campuses in a matter of weeks. On top of that, he had the student sisters from the colleges following him around like the Pied Piper. But Doug Miranda's stay in Oakland was short-lived; within months he left the party and went back to Boston.

Another of the dynamic organizers also came from the East Coast, “Big Herm” from Philadelphia. He was a heavy-looking brother, but he was the only person I ever met who had more energy than Sam Napier. Big Herm became Bobby Seale's campaign manager as well as the coordinator of the LampPost. With his knack for business, he turned the LampPost into a money-making machine. Big Herm developed plans for an entire array of potentially lucrative businesses for the party, but many of his suggestions fell on deaf ears.

I often chatted with Billy “Che” Brooks, one of the brothers from Chicago. He had been onstage with Fred Hampton back in December 1968, when Fred and I spoke on the same program. Che had been through jailings, beatings, and the deaths of six Chicago comrades. He found himself assigned to the newly formed security squad of the party and sometimes worked as bodyguard to Bobby Seale.

While working at Central Headquarters, I developed a friendship with Ericka Huggins. She and Chairman Bobby had been released from a Connecticut jail three or four months earlier. Ericka had endured a tremendous amount of suffering since the death of her husband, John Huggins, in Los Angeles. After his death, she had gone back to Connecticut to organize the New Haven chapter, and not long after was arrested and imprisoned on murder conspiracy charges, forcing her to leave her daughter, Mia, with her parents. Ill in health yet strong in spirit, she had endured a long confinement. When I first met Ericka, she seemed so soft and fragile. But slowly she became a nurturer for many comrades in need of comfort and consolation. She and I started making birthday cards for comrades, together providing a little compassion for overworked, emotionally spent party members. She sauntered
around Central with her long, curly hair, looking mystical and writing poetry.

One day Ericka sized me up and said, “Aaron, why are you walking around holding your arm like it's still broken? You need to stop!”

I was surprised by her comment. I thought about it that night and realized she was absolutely right. I tended to unconsciously hold my damaged left arm, clutching it to my body. I had been walking around like a wounded puppy, looking for sympathy. From that day forward, I stopped holding my left arm. I started writing left-handed and driving with just my left hand, using it more than my right, slowly letting the memories of the shotgun explosion subside. The pain remained constant and the nightmares vivid, but Ericka was right. I had to put it behind me. Ericka and I definitely felt some kind of connection. Maybe it had to do with our both being Capricorns and needing a lot of quiet, introspective time alone. She and I never got involved in a physical relationship, though. She only related to one brother, James Mott.

The party had an open sexual relationship policy, meaning that brothers or sisters could have sexual relationships with as many partners as they wanted to. This policy seemed to work mainly because there was so much uncertainty from day to day. On any given day you could suddenly be on your way to prison, or to another party assignment across the country, with no guarantee of returning. You might be sent underground, or, worse, you might be killed. Life for us was so uncertain that we wanted to enjoy love when the opportunity came. Of course, there were some comrades—mainly men, and mainly in leadership positions—who abused this policy.

Because so many comrades were congregated in close quarters, it was necessary to implement a “sexual freeze” whenever a sexually transmitted infection was diagnosed in the party clinic. A freeze order meant no sexual relations until the infection was stamped out.