The Sharecropper Prodigy (15 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

             
Ben was led to an empty lecture room and told to take a seat in the front. The man who was administering the exam asked me and Abby to wait in the library where we would be comfortable. We were told to help ourselves to any of the books or other reading material.

             
The man handed Ben the first section of the test. “The first section of the exam will be mathematics,” he said. “If you need another pencil or run out of paper, just raise your hand. Do you need to visit the restroom or anything before we begin?”

             
“No, sir. I’m fine,” Ben answered.

             
“Alright, then. You have one hour, beginning now.” The man looked at his watch and Ben went to work.

             
Twenty minutes later Ben raised his hand. “Is there something you need?” the man asked, as he looked up from his book.

             
“I’m ready to move on to the next section, sir,” Ben responded.

             
“Mr. uh…”

             
“Just call me Ben, sir.”

             
“Uh…Ben. Are the problems too difficult? If they are, we can always reschedule for a later date after you‘ve had the appropriate tutoring.”

             
“No, sir. I’m finished, sir.”

             
“Ben, you’ve only spent, ah…,” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes. That’s not nearly enough time. It would take our mathematics professors twice that long and they’ve seen the exam several times. I strongly urge you to look back over your work. You have plenty of time.”

             
“I checked it twice already, sir. I don’t wanna keep Tom and Abby waitin’ any longer than I have to.”

             
“Very well, Ben. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.” He walked over to Ben’s desk and picked up the exam papers. He placed them in a folder and handed him the next section. “The next section is writing. Again you will have one hour. There is plenty of time if you need a break.”

             
“No, I’m fine, sir.”

*****

              An hour and a half after Ben went into the lecture room, he emerged with a smile on his face and was directed to the library where me and Abby were still waiting. I was engrossed in a book on human anatomy when I looked up and saw him. He was grinning from ear to ear.

             
“Are you finished already, Ben?” Abby asked incredulously. “You didn’t take half the time you were allowed.”

             
“It was fairly simple, ma’am,” Ben replied. “ And I’ve decided to celebrate. I’m gonna treat you and Ben to dinner.” Me and Ben were country boys and called the noon meal dinner. A lot of city folks called it lunch.

             
“No you’re not,” Abby exclaimed. “Today is your day. I’m treating you. I know a nice place downtown that serves Italian food. I’ll bet neither of you have ever had Italian food, have you?”

             
“No, ma’am. We’ve had Mexican food, though,” I answered, not wanting Abby to think we were total social misfits.

             
“You’ll love the food at this café,” Abby said. “I promise you’re in for a treat.”

             
“Abby,” Ben said, looking down at the floor, “they won’t allow me in a white restaurant.”

             
“They will at this one,” she said. “The owner is a good friend of mine.”

*****

              The restaurant was just off Peachtree Street near the Loews Grand Theatre, where the movie
Gone With The Wind
had premiered just four months earlier. Abby had told us about it and said that two of the main characters, who were black, were not allowed to attend without sitting in the balcony. What made her think Ben was going to be allowed in a café that was only a block or two away, when Hollywood stars were barely allowed in this part of town was beyond me.

             
We walked into the little café, Ben bringing up the rear and looking as if he were walking into a lion’s den. Antonio, the owner, saw Abby and ran around from behind the counter and took her hand, kissing it several times.

             
“Hello, Abby. I have not seen you in such longa time,” Antonio exclaimed in his broken English. “How havea you been?”

             
“I’ve been doing wonderful, Antonio. And you?”

             
“Ah… I do so good. I have another grandchild. A boy. My son named him Antonio. After his olda Poppa.”

             
I had been looking around at the people in the café while Abby and Antonio were exchanging pleasantries. Most of them were looking at Ben like he was a stray dog that had just walked in off the street and might grab the food off their plate at any minute. Some began to whisper and mumble quietly to each other. A few that had finished eating, and were just sitting around talking, quickly asked the waiter for their checks. Ben, who never missed anything, noticed it too.

             
Abby was still talking to Antonio. “We are here for a little celebration of sorts, Antonio.” She turned to Ben. “This is a dear friend of mine, Benjamin Evans, and he has just completed the entrance exam over at Morehouse College. And this is my other friend, Tom Martin, who is also Ben’s best friend.” Antonio shook both our hands vigorously, as if we were old friends he hadn’t seen in years.

             
“I’ll givea you a good table anda makea you something special,” Antonio said to Ben.

             
Ben smiled and nodded then turned to Abby. “Can I talk to you and Antonio somewhere in the back?” he asked her. Antonio heard him and motioned to him and Abby to follow him. I followed too. I didn’t want to be out there by myself with a potential lynch mob.

             
Antonio took us into his little office and introduced me and Ben to his wife Adrienne. She had a grandmotherly look about her and eyes that looked like they were always smiling and loved the whole world.

             
Ben put his hand on Antonio’s shoulder and simultaneously took Abby’s hand. “Miss Abby, I don’t want to cause Antonio any trouble. I saw the way the people out there were looking at me when I came in. Black folks are not welcome in this part of town.”

             
“Any friend of Abby’s is friend of mine,” Antonio stated defiantly. “If other patrons adon’t like it, they canna leave.”

             
“I won’t be responsible for costing you business, sir,” Ben argued. “If word gets around that you served a negro, you might lose customers. You might even lose loyal customers that eat here frequently. But I have a suggestion. I’d really love to try your delicious food. So why don’t we wait in here while you prepare our meals and then we can take them with us.”

             
“Antonio, I’m afraid what Ben says might be true,” Abby agreed. “I didn’t think of it that way. I don’t want to cost you any business either.” She turned to Ben with a sad look on her face. “Someday it won’t be like this, Ben,” she said, as if she were apologizing for the entire Caucasian race. “I believe the day will soon come when you will be welcome in any café or theatre, or any other place in the country. There are still just too many ignorant people in the world, and especially Atlanta.”

             
Antonio put up an argument, saying that if his customers didn’t think enough of him and his food to let a thing like serving a friend who happened to be black keep them away, he didn’t want their business anyway. But Ben reminded him of how he had to make a living for his family, despite the injustice of bigots. He finally capitulated and left us all in his office with his wife while he and his other cooks prepared our food.

*****

              We had just gotten in from work and had already had some good news that day. I had gotten another raise and was now making eighty-five cents an hour. Ben had been raised to seventy cents. Abby heard us come in and came running from the kitchen into the foyer, holding a letter in her hand between her finger and thumb. The rest of her hands were covered in flour.

             
“I hope I didn’t get it too messy, but I couldn’t wait for you to get home to open it,” she said, holding the letter that was still sealed in the envelope out to Ben.

             
The envelope was the official stationary of Morehouse College, with the return address and the name of the Dean of Admissions in the top left hand corner. Ben took it from Abby and held it like it might explode if he dropped it. Even though he was confident he had done well on the exam, he was still nervous. It was as if the contents of the envelope held the power of life or death.

             
“Well, are you gonna open it or not?” I asked.

             
Ben slowly tore the end off the envelope and took out what appeared to be two separate letters. One was typed, the other handwritten. The one that was typed had his score on the three different sections of the test, with the final tally at the bottom. I couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder and saw that the results read, Critical Reading - 800, Mathematics-800 and Writing-800. Total Score - 2400. Then I saw the scale at the bottom. It ranged from 600 to 2400. My jaw almost hit the floor.

             
“Ben, you….you scored the highest possible score,” I said. I knew he was perfectly capable of it, but somehow still didn’t expect him to do this well. I was expecting him to be nervous and at least miss a few.

             
Abby was jubilant and started jumping up and down. She grabbed Ben’s hand and started dancing a jig, swinging him around the room so violently, I thought she would dislocate his shoulders or arms. Then she asked what the letter said. Ben opened it and held it so we could all read it at the same time.

Dear Mr. Evans,

              I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on your exceptional performance on the school’s entrance exam. You accomplished something that has never before been achieved. You answered every question correctly and were deemed as near perfection on the writing section. I have to tell you that this is nothing short of amazing, and quite frankly, is unheard of. The personnel that graded your exam went over it numerous times, thinking there must be some mistake, but each time the results were the same.

             
Some in the administration department suggested that we test you again with an oral exam, believing surely some nefarious activities must have been involved for a fourteen year old with little formal education to achieve such a phenomenal feat. I assured them, with the strongest language appropriate, that it was impossible and that the lady who was accompanying you that day is a well known and highly prominent citizen of our fair city, held by everyone in the highest regard, and had in the past made many generous  donations to our institution.

             
The next step is your enrollment. I would like to meet with you personally Tuesday of next week, if your schedule permits. I know it is short notice, and if there is a conflict you can call or write my office and we can reschedule. I don’t want to give you false hope, but it is my sincere belief that some sort of scholarship could be arranged, due to your excellent and historic performance on the exam.

             
Our meeting will include arranging for a counselor to assist you in declaring a major course of study and instructing you on the prerequisites of that endeavor.

             
I look forward to our meeting and having a more detailed discussion with the young man whose erudition thus far has surpassed any who have come before him.

Sincerely,

Dr. Josiah Goodman

Dean of Admissions

              “Well, I’ll be damned,” I mumbled, quickly apologizing to Abby for having said it. “Ben, Abby’s right. You are a prodigy.”

             
“Well, now I have to figure out a way to attend classes and still earn a living. I suppose I’ll have to find some sort of night job,” Ben said, as if the results were no surprise at all.

             
Abby looked like she was in deep thought. Then she snapped her fingers like she had just had an epiphany, which she had.

             
“Ben, my husbands former law partner has a lot of research that has to be done and I’ve heard him say that he never has enough time or qualified help to do it. In fact, he was telling me this very thing only a couple of weeks ago. Someone with your intelligence could be of enormous benefit, I’m sure. I’ll call on him tomorrow. All I have to do is flirt with him a little bit and he would walk through fire for me.”

             
“Miss Abby!” Ben shouted, not believing the words that had just come out of her mouth.

             
Abby laughed, “Don’t worry, Ben. I assure you my sterling reputation will not be compromised. A woman has ways of knowing things and I have always known he believes me to be a handsome woman. He doesn’t hide it very well at all either, though he thinks he does. His wife is somewhat of a prude, though she and I always got along fine. Besides, once he sees how intelligent you are, you want need any help. Your own merit will be more than enough.”