The Nigger Factory (18 page)

‘I was a little hard to catch up to,’ Earl admitted.

‘Well, we were curious about this meeting,’ Mallory continued. ‘Because we don't think that the proper thing's bein’ done. The truth is, we wanted to do somethin’ constructive befo’ we even learned that Calhoun was closin’ school. What can we do?’

Earl smiled as he thought the question over and lit up a cigarette. There was a bit of comedy to be felt in the scene. The ever-serious football Simon Legree posing a sensitive question; the quiet, studious history professor sitting bolt-upright in a disheveled brown suit, sporting a red nose that indicated a taste of too much whisky. Mrs Gilliam had probably smelled it too. That meant a night of phone calls to inform all of the neighbors that McNeil had visited Earl drunk. He would have to ask her not to mention to anyone the fact that McNeil and Mallory had come to see him. Because of their jobs, he would say.

‘I don't suppose you could do anythin’,’ Earl finally said, sucking on the cigarette. ‘I had planted those notices before Calhoun announced that school was closin’.’

‘But the meetin’ was called . . .’ McNeil began.

‘To find out if the faculty as a separate entity thought our demands were unfair,’ Earl supplied.

‘Some of us don't,’ McNeil said. ‘A few of us are in positions where to agree or disagree means little because we are the head of a department,’ he tapped his own chest, ‘or a coach with a winning record for eight straight years an’ a Sutton alumni.’ Mallory was indicated. ‘There are others, mostly the young white members, who also agree, but I'm afraid it's really not enough of the cross-section that you would need to make a big impression.’

‘Yes,’ Mallory grunted. ‘Your agreers are all either political radicals or Phys Ed teachers who aren't supposed to have a brain in their heads.’ He laughed without humor at the thought.

‘Then there'll be no meeting,’ Earl said with finality.

McNeil set fire to a cigar. ‘We'll go ‘round an’ get some signatures in the mornin’,’ he said, puffing to make sure he was lit. ‘If there is anythin’ to say, come to the meetin’. Otherwise, we'll just know that nothin’ positive has happened.’

‘What will the signatures be for?’ Earl asked.

‘MJUMBE has issued a statement referring to slanted reports being made to distort the facts to parents. They insist that the parents could help the student cause if the students were not being type-cast as hoodlums an’ thugs. Our letter will back up their earlier notes and statements, and perhaps some literature of yours, and be sent to the parents. This might include a plea that school not be reopened without a community hearing to discuss what punishment, if any, your group and MJUMBE should receive.’

‘What punishment, hell,’ Earl snorted pulling on a T-shirt. ‘We won't be allowed back fo’ a hearin’.’

‘What I'm sayin’ is that it should be petitioned or added to
the list of demands. Something like: “No punitive measures shall be taken against the students who participate in this strike.”’

‘Calhoun would laugh at somethin’ like that if he laughs at the things we have down there now,’ Earl said without enthusiasm. ‘But there's a long way to go befo’ we get to that.’

‘Howzat?’ McNeil asked.

‘Befo’ Calhoun can
keep
us off of Sutton's campus,’ the SGA president said, ‘he's got to get us off.’

28

Destruction

The Strike Communications Center on the third floor of the fraternity house issued a six-thirty plea to all female students. It read as follows:

Dear Sisters,

The members of MJUMBE, Ralph Baker, ‘Speedy’ Cotton, Fred Jones, Ben King, and Abul Menka are not certain at this time what measures of force will be used to make members of this community leave before the six o'clock deadline for tomorrow. We understand the concern exhibited by both our sisters and our brothers over this issue and we too are concerned. We ask that all sisters who are asking their parents to pick them up notify their parents of a proposed three o'clock meeting in the auditorium where we can explain the student side of the issue. As usual the administration has bottled up the media so that students appear to be nothing more than trouble-making hoodlums. We hope you will convey this message and we ask that you all be present.

ASANTE, Brothers of MJUMBE

This particular statement was used by Ogden Calhoun to bolster his position when shortly after eight p.m. violence erupted on the campus of Sutton University.

There had been meetings within all fraternal organizations, both male and female, to draw up statements pledging varied degrees of support to the student leaders. On the way back to the dormitories both men and women said that they were
harassed by members of the Sutton police force who were patroling the campus area. The reply to this harassment was unleashed fury in the halls of the dormitories where windows were smashed, lounge furniture was thrown through doors and windows, and public address equipment and telephones were ripped from the walls.

Calhoun received a phone call at his home where he was relaxing, dressed for bed.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ the speaker began, ‘but they've gone crazy out here on the campus. They're tearin’ up everything.’

‘Who? Who has done what?’ Calhoun asked sitting bolt upright.

‘This is Captain Jones. I don't really know what brought any of this on. My men were on foot patrol an’ the police from town were cruisin’ in their cars. I was near Sutton Hall an’ I heard all this glass breakin’ an’ people shoutin’ an’ yellin’. I run down to Washington Hall in time to see a lounge chair gittin’ pitched outta the winda.’

‘What have the police done?’

‘Nothin’ but locked they cars, sir, but they scared.’

‘Tell them . . .’

‘This is Earl Thomas,’ a second voice cut in. ‘We're in the guardhouse in the parking lot. Call off the damn cops!’

‘Thomas? What's goin’ on?’

‘The police are goin’ on. They provoked everything. You're gonna have a real riot if you keep them here.’

‘Where is Chief Connors?’

‘He's not here, I don't think,’ Earl said.

Calhoun muttered a curse. ‘I'll be there. See what can be done. Put Jones back on the line . . . Jones! Do somethin’.’

‘Yes, sir. You comin'?’

‘I'll be right there!’

Before Captain Jones had thoroughly replaced the receiver Earl was already galloping across the campus to his car where the P.A. system remained intact.

Sounds of crashing glass were still echoing across the oval
and lights in the dormitories were being flashed off and on. Earl thought that the flashing lights might be signaling an S.O.S. His car almost backed into the school ambulance being driven by one of the security guards toward Sutton Hall. He paced himself and entered the back half of the oval directly behind a cruising patrol car. He turned the P.A. system up as loud as he could.

‘Brothers and sisters. This is Earl Thomas. I have notified the president of the university about the harassing tactics used by members of the Sutton police force and he is on his way to the campus. I am askin’ all of you to cease the destruction of our own property.’ Earl's drive was interrupted by the opening of his car door on the passenger side. For a moment his heart seemed to stop. He felt sure that it was a member of the Sutton police. It was Abul Menka, carrying a .22 caliber rifle with a box of bullets in his hand.

‘Keep drivin’ an’ talkin’,’ Abul breathed.

‘Brothers and sisters. This is Earl Thomas. I am askin’ for peace. Please stop tearin’ up our homes. Please do not respond to the police by destruction an’ vandalism. We can hurt no one but ourselves that way. I am askin’ too that the Sutton police drive over to the Administration Building and wait for further orders from their superior. I am askin’ for peace.’

‘You layin’ to get a piece a lead from one a these devils,’ Abul said lighting a cigarette. ‘Man, who you think you are? Martin Luther King? Talkin’ all this peace shit . . . these devils baitin’ the brothers an’ sisters, jus’ doin’ they damndest fo’ an excuse to shoot yo’ people down!’

‘Our people,’ Earl reminded Abul.

‘Yours if they crawl on their bellies!’ Menka snapped. ‘I'm down here to defend.’

‘Hi many can you defend wit’ one .22?’

‘Hi many guns did we have at Jackson State? If we'da had one .22 Black people might not a been the only ones that died.’

‘Or mo’ Black people mighta died,’ Earl said. ‘Brothers and
sisters.’ The SGA president turned his attention back to the P.A. Abul was silent.

‘At leas’ turn yo’ light out so you won’ be such an easy target,’ Menka said.

Earl doused the lights. They watched two patrol cars pull up in the driveway next to Sutton Hall. There were still two more somewhere.

On their third turn around the oval the sound of breaking glass and screaming had subsided. Outlines of people were stretched across the screens in the windows of the dormitories.

‘Please turn off yo’ lights an’ stay away from the windows,’ Earl said, continuing to drive slowly with his lights off. ‘Stay away from yo’ windows an’ keep yo’ lights off.’

All four patrol cars were accounted for. The only people seen walking out in the open were the security guards. Earl's car was caught in a blaze of headlights as he started his fourth cycle. Both Earl and Abul recognized the car as the Lincoln belonging to Ogden Calhoun who sat stiffly behind the wheel. Calhoun passed by them as though he had not seen the Oldsmobile. Earl sighed his relief.

‘Misser Big Nigger,’ Abul sneered. ‘A plague on his people. A fuckin’ star-gazin’ parasite! A curse on the race!’

Earl cut the engine off and sat quietly for a minute in front of the path leading to the fraternity house.

‘We all got a long way to go,’ the SGA president breathed.

‘You can’ git but so far runnin’ off at the mouth while you on yo’ han's an’ knees.’

‘You cain’ git nowhere dead.’

‘Better dead than a slave,’ Abul spat, lighting another cigarette.

‘Is that the way you felt last May when I saw you an’ yo’ guest at that bar on 211?’ Earl asked lighting his own cigarette.

‘I wuz waitin’ fo’ you to bring that up las’ night,’ Abul said, his anger and sneering tones dying.

‘I asked you a question,’ Earl said.

‘Do you wanna know if a white bitch turned my head around?’

‘I wanna know what turned you around.’

‘Knowledge, man. I learned where I wuz wrong. Thass all.’

‘An’ you aren't wearin’ dashikis because the fay broad blew yo’ program away?’

‘She had nuthin’ to do with it. I was sick! I was wrong.’ Abul was getting angry again.

‘Then learn somethin’ else,’ Earl said softly. ‘You don't face a bazooka with a water pistol. You don't fight a tank with a slingshot. You don't risk the lives of future Black mothers jus’ because you have an emotional commitment to a .22.’

‘All dead bodies that leave this world undefended tonight will be placed on yo’ doorstep,’ Abul said.

‘All brave Black fools who fight when it is not time to fight will be brought to you.’

‘We'll see. The pigs will show us,’ Abul said as he got out of the car.

While the pig police occupied the minds of the two young Black student leaders, Ogden Calhoun was dismissing them from any further duty on campus, and making another call.

‘Yes, I know it's inconvenient. It is an emergency,’ the Sutton president was saying. There was a long pause while the man to whom he wanted to talk was summoned to the phone.

‘Yes? . . . yes, Governor. How are you? Yes, sir. That's the point. I am havin’ trouble an’ I'll prob'bly get a whole lot more tomorrow . . . I asked that the campus be cleared by six . . . good . . . if they won't leave at six I'll call your men . . . They'll be right outside of Sutton? Wait, let me take that number . . . yes, I'll call back tomorrow . . . right.’

Calhoun reclined in his high-back chair and let the exhaustion that had followed him all through a tense and tiring day take over. He had been assured that a National Guard unit would be available if he needed it for the next night. He felt a fearful certainty that it would be needed.

29

Plans Abandoned

Arnold McNeil was sitting in his living room reading a book when the phone rang. It was answered by his wife, Millie.

‘It's Edmund,’ she said, referring to the head football coach.

‘Good,’ McNeil said, coming to take the receiver. He had not been expecting a call from the coach. ‘Lo, Ed,’ he began. ‘What's up?’

‘Arnold? There's been some more trouble down here this evening,’ Mallory said quickly.

‘What's happened?’

‘The students tore up some furniture an’ things in the dorms ‘bout fifteen minutes ago,’ the coach breathed. He was standing in the pay phone booth in the lobby of Sutton Hall.

‘Where's Calhoun? How did these things get started?’

‘Calhoun is in his office,’ Mallory said. ‘He came runnin’ in a few minutes ago with Jones an’ one a the men from the Sutton police force.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘Not to me, but he seems more resolute than ever about closing the place down.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He sent the local force home, but Nancy, the girl on the night switchboard, said he made a call to the governor.’

‘For what?’

‘For the National Guard, I suppose,’ Mallory fumed.

‘Oh, my God,’ McNeil shouted.

‘What is it, honey?’ Millie McNeil asked.

‘I'll tell you in a minute,’ McNeil waved to her. ‘So what are you sayin’, Ed?’

‘That I don’ know what good any alliance we've formed at this stage will do. I know that Calhoun wants the school closed.’

‘We all know that. What can we do?’

‘Talk to Admissions the first thing in the mornin’. Try an’ see if we can't form an ad hoc faculty committee to investigate the new admissions program.’

‘Do you think Thomas added that demand we suggested?’

‘I don’ have any idea. I wonder seriously if he'll come to that meetin’ in the mornin’ too. I think the boy's fed up with the whole thing.’

‘I didn’ feel that way,’ McNeil said. ‘He's got to do something.’

‘Well, whether he comes or not I suggest we go out an’ get the signatures of the faculty members who are willin’ to serve on the new Admissions Committee to see what happens to Thomas an’ MJUMBE.’

‘We know what'll happen,’ McNeil said. His tone expressed frustration at the prospect of the bureaucratic whirlpool. ‘They won't be allowed back. Calhoun will say that they're keepin’ the school from operatin’ at one hundred per cent efficiency. That was the “catch phrase” in Calhoun's pronouncement . . . and all of the ol’ guard will fall in behind him waggin’ their tails.’

‘Especially after what happened today an’ tonight,’ Mallory admitted. ‘What can we do?’

‘Get the signatures from people at that meetin’ in the morning,’ McNeil suggested. ‘That's about all.’

‘In other words we really can’ do anything,’ Mallory said.

‘That's right,’ McNeil confessed. ‘That's exactly right.’

Earl Thomas was not having an easy time explaining the activities of the day to his girl, Angie. He had left the campus minutes after the four Sutton patrol cars were dismissed and had flopped exhausted on Angie's living room sofa.

‘I jus’ don’ want to see your whole college career ruined,’ she said, stroking the back of his neck. ‘I'm sorry, but you know as well as I do what will happen tomorrow.’

‘I'm not leavin’ tuhmaruh,’ Earl said. ‘I'm stayin’. I tol’ the women to leave.’

‘The women want to stay. You said so yourself. They mus’ feel as deeply about the whole thing as you do . . . an’ besides, there are more women than men on Sutton's campus.’

‘Not the point. The point is that they have to go.’

‘An’ what if they don't go?’

‘Then I'll leave ‘cause I won't want to see them gettin’ their heads kicked in.’

‘You really think that's goin’ to happen? Then I don’ want you there either. I don’ want to see . . .’

‘You sound like Zeke an’ Mrs. Gilliam earlier this evenin'!’ Earl exclaimed. ‘What is this? A conspiracy? Get Earl to chump out on his commitment day?’ He sat up and lit a cigarette, saying, ‘I don’ tell you about things I want to do to start a damn debate! I tell you so you'll know where I stand!’

‘Or where you lay,’ Angie said, walking to the easy chair and reclining in it. Earl could barely make out her features in the darkness. He could see that her head was back and that her eyes were closed. She was rocking a bit and her bare feet were rubbing across the carpet. He got up and walked over to her, standing her up before him and kissing her forehead.

‘Nothin’ will happen to me,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

‘How can you promise that?’ Angie asked. He could see for the first time that her eyes were brimming with tears.

‘Nothin’ will happen to me that's bad,’ Earl said. ‘I mean that the worst thing I could do would be to stay away from where I belong. If I'm not there I couldn't do you any good or myself any good. No matter how healthy I looked, I'd be dead inside.’

‘Earl! I know something will happen to you. Something always happens . . . Earl! Make love to me, Earl. Please?’

There were mixed emotions in the man's eyes. More than anything else in the world he wanted to slap his woman; feel his palm smack with all the conviction he could muster across her tear-stained face. He wanted to grab her and squeeze her until she begged him to release her. He wanted to turn and walk away from her, leaving her there in torment wondering what she had said to anger him.

‘Self-pity?’ he asked. ‘Selfishness an’ self-pity? Something always happens to the things that you love? Make love to you one last time before I die? I should knock hell out of you! Doesn't how I live mean more than whether I live? I'm ashamed of myself, you know? I'm damn ashamed because when I met you I thought you were so stuck up and now I see that it was an ice wall of self-pity; a walking martyr. Angie Rodgers. Her old man is dead. Her boyfriend screwed her and left her with a baby in her belly. She's twenty-two years old and walks around with a foot in her ass that was placed there when she was born. I swear and be damned!’

Angie was stunned. She tried to force Earl to meet her eyes and see the tears that ran more freely now, across her nose, salt water stinging her lips and tongue.

‘Is that what it is, Earl? Is that what you think? My desire to make a good home and be a good mother was an “ice wall of self-pity"? My putting aside the things that twenty-two year old women do because I had no man to help me was self-pity? Was it? What can a woman be but cold when she's got to make it by herself? . . . Earl, I love you. I'm a woman . . . Maybe I was wrong to ask you, beg you to make love to me, but I couldn't think of any other way to let you know how much I really love you.’ Angie could find no more words to say. She hadn't even looked up during the last part of her monologue to see the pain burned across Earl's face. She hadn't even noticed that Earl was an open book of confusion and agony because of the things he had said that suddenly became obscene and too incredibly wrong to tolerate any balance or consolation. She walked slowly from the room and up the carpeted stairs.

Earl sat under the lamp smoking a cigarette, asking himself where all of the understanding he had thought he possessed was now, when he was faced with a crisis that called for understanding. Halfway through the cigarette he stubbed it out and turned off the lamp. He had made up his mind to go and talk to his woman. He wanted to find out if he could be forgiven for being a man.