The reckoning, p.4
The Reckoning, page 4
“Now, Mr. Phillips, you know we’ve been trying to find the money to get that work done,” Mayor Johnson responded, now standing up himself. “There is only so much we can do without the funds we need. We’ve paved a few streets in the Clarksville section.”
Obviously agitated, the mayor tried to appear cool and sat down again. But the look on his face said he wished Gramps would disappear.
Lamar had been watching his grandfather so intently he had forgotten to start the videotape. He had never seen his Gramps like this before. Lamar picked up his camcorder.
“Yeah, I know. I know, Mayor,” Gramps countered. “Three. Mercy, Pine and Walnut. That’s it. And you paved them more than a year ago.”
Lamar was flowing now, moving from his grandfather to the mayor, from the mayor to his grandfather. Gramps moved closer to the dais, where the mayor was seated. Lamar moved closer, too.
“Tell me this, Mayor Johnson, why are the streets in the White neighborhoods paved? They got streetlights. They even got sidewalks. But we don’t have sidewalks. When it comes to our communities, we’re always told there ain’t enough money!”
Mayor Johnson looked stunned by Gramps’s charges. Lamar bet he was probably wondering what the town hall attendees were thinking. Gramps had just accused the council of unequal treatment. Mayor Johnson rose to his feet again, pointing a long finger at Gramps.
“Mr. Phillips, that isn’t fair,” he blurted out. “You know most of those streets in the White neighborhoods were paved long before I came into office! You know that! You campaigned for me. I’m just trying to do my best for the people as we move forward. I think I’ve done quite a lot for this town. That’s why I was elected.”
“All that’s good, Mayor. And we appreciate the things you’ve done,” Gramps said, coming back at the mayor. “But we elected you so you could help make life better for all of us. You’ve put a few Black people in good positions, and that’s a good thing. But things ain’t changed enough for most of the people, if you know what I mean.
Gramps is right, Lamar thought as he continued to capture all the excitement. There certainly is action here!
“Mr. Phillips, I think you’re being very unfair,” Councilman Burleigh, one of the Black councilmen, jumped in. “It takes time to change things. It can’t be done overnight. And you know that as well as anyone!”
“I know things can’t change overnight, Councilman Burleigh. But in order for things to change in any meaningful way, y’all got to give some of the problems we Black people face the same kind of priority these White council members give to the problems the folks in their communities face. Move the money from somewhere else and use it to fix the streets. That’s what the White council members would do.”
Lamar videotaped the three White council members as they watched the interchange, bemused by it all.
The Black people in the room stood and applauded again.
“Tell it like it is!” one of them yelled out.
“Somebody needs to tell them the truth!” sounded off another.
“Thank you, Brother Phillips!” a heavyset lady shouted.
Mayor Johnson looked confused. These were the people who had voted for him in past elections. They were enthusiastic about having one of their own as mayor of a town that for decades had denied them the right to even vote. Raised voices issuing complaints and concerns cascaded throughout the chamber.
Slowly, Mayor Johnson sat back down in his seat and looked out at the animated faces before him. Their outbursts were similar to the way they’d responded to previous White mayors of the town. For several minutes he stayed silent, surveying the room. Finally, he stood up and urged everyone to quiet down. He then turned to Gramps.
“Mr. Phillips, can you come by my office tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. I sure can,” Gramps answered, surprised. “What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there five minutes before ten.”
Mayor Johnson took a deep breath. Now he seemed a little more relaxed.
“And if any of you want to join us,” he offered in a calmer voice, “you can. I look forward to meeting with you. We have an open-door policy.”
When the meeting ended, people rushed to Gramps, patting him on the back and thanking him for speaking up.
“You told them right, Mr. Phillips,” a beaming young man said. “We need more people like you. You tell it like it is. You stopped coming to these meetings for a while and believe me, we missed you.”
“I’m back now. I’m back,” Gramps assured him.
“Thank God for you, Mr. Phillips,” an older lady added with tears in her eyes.
Lamar kept taping. He couldn’t be prouder of Gramps.
On the way home, Gramps was quiet. Lamar had expected him to continue talking about all the things that were wrong in Morton. But his grandfather had toned down.
Maybe he’s waiting for me and T.C. to say something, he thought.
“Gramps, I’m glad we went to the meeting,” he told his grandfather. “I learned a lot.”
“Me too,” T.C. seconded.
“You really spoke up, Gramps,” Lamar continued. “I didn’t know you could speak like that. You’re another Reverend Al.”
“Lamar, I ain’t no Reverend Al,” Gramps corrected him. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. I feel sorry for the mayor and the Black council members. They got tough jobs. The White people with money moved away when Black folks got a little power. And they took their money with them. So there’s not enough money in the town’s budget to do all the things that need to be done. But if we don’t speak up, that little money will still go to help White people, not us. The mayor gotta know that he’s got to make us the priority sometimes. There has been some progress, but this town is still segregated. So when the White communities are given the priority, we get left out. It ain’t enough to put a few Black people in offices while the rest of us are suffering.
“I like the mayor. He’s a good man. You just gotta push him to be more courageous about the things the whole town needs, not just some parts of the town.”
“Why don’t you run for mayor, Gramps?” Lamar suggested, his face animated by his brilliant idea. “Me and T.C. can help you with your campaign. And I can shoot commercials for you.”
“No, that ain’t me,” Gramps replied. “I’m not cut out to be no politician. I’m an agitator, like W. E. B. Du Bois and Ida B. Wells were. You know Ida used her pen and her voice. W. E. B. was a thinker and a man of words. Of course, y’all know Malcolm and Dr. King. I’m not comparing myself to those Black giants, but I got a little of their spirit and fight.”
Lamar and T.C. nodded and said “YEAH!” But Gramps didn’t pay them much attention. He had something else on his mind.
“I got to get you boys some good books to read. You need to have more relevant material to read other than those few books you have at school. There’s so much Black history you need to know. You know what they say, knowledge is power. I’ll give you some of my books and you can read them, and we’ll discuss what you read. How does that sound?”
“I wanna start reading more anyway,” Lamar said. “In order to be a good filmmaker, you have to know a lot of stuff, right, Gramps?”
“Yeah, that’s true, Lamar. But you need to know a lotta stuff, period. I’d love for y’all to come by my house for a visit.”
“That’ll be cool.”
“Like Lamar said, that’ll be cool,” added T.C.
As his car moved slowly away from downtown Morton, Gramps was quiet once more. Lamar wondered what he was thinking. He looked back at T.C. His friend was fighting to stay awake. Lamar smiled at him. Just like T.C., he thought.
“You know, since Grandma Ella died, I’ve been in that ol’ house all by myself. It’ll be good to have some company.”
Lamar was surprised by how sad Gramps now sounded.
“It’ll be good to visit you again, Gramps.”
Lamar knew how close his grandfather and Grandma Ella had been. They were always together. If his Ella were still living, she would have been at the council meeting tonight, standing right beside Gramps. And speaking up, too. Grandma Ella was just as tough and as smart as her husband.
Lamar remembered when he was much younger, his family visited his grandparents’ house often. There were family dinners at Thanksgiving, Christmas and the Fourth of July. Grandma Ella cooked different kinds of delicious dishes. Sometimes, the kids would eat and then play until late at night. Uncle Robert, Lamar’s father’s brother, and his family would drive down from Thomasville. His father’s youngest brother, they called him Rich, had moved to Dallas years ago. But sometimes he would drive across the country to join the family gathering. Eloise, their sister, and her daughter always came, too.
But after Grandma Ella died, that all stopped. Gramps wanted to be by himself. He rarely left the house. After more than fifty years together, he just found it difficult to go on without his partner, without his other half. That was more than a year ago. Lamar hadn’t visited him very often during that period. His friends and classmates had taken up most of his time. And there was his interest in being a filmmaker. Connecting with his grandfather now reminded him how much he had missed.
As Gramps drove through the south side, Lamar knew that Grandma Ella was on his grandfather’s mind. When they reached T.C.’s house, T.C. didn’t want to get out of the car.
“Ah, man, this is a downer,” he protested. “I like being around you, Mr. Phillips.”
“We’ll get together again,” Gramps assured him.
T.C. jumped from the car and dashed into his house, smiling from ear to ear.
“You got the excitement you were looking for?” Gramps asked Lamar as he parked in front of Lamar’s house.
“I sure did, Gramps,” Lamar responded enthusiastically. “I sure did.”
“You got some good footage?”
“Yes, sir. As soon as I get home, I’m gonna check it out. I got a lot of good stuff. I got you giving it to them council people. I’m glad you told us about the meeting. We’ve been racking our brains trying to find something important to videotape in this ol’ country town.”
“Well, you know, there used to be a whole lot more going on here.”
“For real?” Lamar asked.
A whole lot going on in Morton, he thought. That sounds funny.
Gramps relaxed as he settled in his seat and stared out the front window. The front lights of his car illuminated the dark street.
“When I was round your age,” he shared, “there was twice as many people round here than there is now. On Saturdays, the town would be full of people coming to the stores to buy stuff after a long week of working. Most of those stores are closed now. And most of the newer businesses went to the two shopping malls that were built outside of town.”
“But, Gramps, there ain’t nothing in those shopping malls either but places like Popeyes, McDonald’s and a few banks. There ain’t no museums. No bookstores. Only one movie theater. Ain’t nothing here.”
“That’s why people like your daddy had to go to Thomasville to find work. You see, Lamar, most people around here used to work on farms. This was a farming area. People grew cotton, corn, hay and crops like that. That’s all changed now.”
“Yeah, but that was a bad time for Black people, wasn’t it, Gramps?”
“You got that right. Most of us struggled to make ends meet. You think it’s segregated now? Back then it was way worse. We couldn’t vote. We couldn’t stay in that raggedy motel in town. We couldn’t even drink water from the same water fountains that White people drank from. So some of us decided to do something about it. That was in 1966. We started protesting, demonstrating and boycotting White businesses. It was mostly young people. I was in high school then. So was your Grandma Ella. Yes, sir, that’s when the Civil Rights Movement came to Morton. Me and your grandma were some kind of freedom fighters. That’s what they called us.”
“Did you get beat up?” Lamar asked curiously.
“I sure did. I went to jail, too. Grandma Ella, too. It got so rough in Morton, reporters from the national news networks came to cover what was going on. And for the first time, people in other places were talking about this little ol’ town.”
“So what happened, Gramps?”
“We changed some things. It took time, but some of the White businesses in town started hiring Black people, including the bank where your mother work at now. The Colored Only signs went down. The White-only schools were integrated.”
“Yeah, but they’re mostly Black now,” Lamar jumped in. “Ain’t but a few White students at Morton Middle School. At the high school, too.”
“That’s because some White parents took their kids out of the public schools and built private ones,” Gramps responded. “They didn’t want their children going to school with no Black kids.”
Lamar clutched his video camcorder, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “If I was born then, I would have been right there, filming everything. I would have been protesting, too.” Gramps smiled.
“Well, you better go inside,” Gramps suggested. “I’ve been parked here for a good while now.”
“I’m sure glad you spoke up at that council meeting.”
“Somebody has to, Lamar. We’ve made some progress. But there’re a lot of folks who want to take us back. We can’t sit still and let that happen.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad, do you, Gramps? I mean, we got it a lot better than you had when you was younger.”
“Lamar, it is somewhat better. If we don’t admit that we’ve made some progress, we would be dishonoring those who fought for that progress. But we got a long way to go before Black folks are treated fairly and receive equal justice. You see, every generation pass the baton on to the next to carry on the struggle. And look what’s happening now. Folks are trying to undo the progress that has been made.”
Gramps’s observation didn’t register much with Lamar. He turned to his grandfather with a different thought on his mind.
“Gramps, I remember seeing you in that postal worker’s uniform when I was a little boy. You used to deliver mail at the preschool I went to. Remember? I used to tell all the kids, that’s my grandfather! How long did you work for the post office?”
“I worked there for twenty-five years, Lamar,” Gramps answered. “I was the second Black person hired to work in the post office in Morton. Calvin Henderson was hired two weeks before me. We did better on the civil service tests than anybody, even the Whites. Man, those folks put up a fight to stop us from getting those jobs. Both Calvin and me were Vietnam veterans. That made it more difficult for them to keep us from being hired. Calvin is dead now. Yes, sir, I was at that post office for twenty-five years.”
Gramps leaned toward his grandson and placed his large hand on his shoulder.
“Listen, son, now is your time. It’s your generation that’s got the future in its hands. You have to seize the time. You understand what I mean?”
“Yes, sir. You have to take advantage of the opportunities you get.”
“That’s it!” Gramps responded enthusiastically. “And sometimes you have to make your opportunities,” he added. “I wanna spend more time with you, Lamar,” Gramps said. “I know your daddy and mama are busy and all. It took me a while, you know, to get my bearings back after your grandmother made her transition. But I’m good now. I know she’s right here with me. Yes, sir! I feel like my old self again. It’s nothing like doing something that really makes a difference in people’s lives. Something that brings about change, makes life better for your people. You never get too old for that.”
Lamar looked at Gramps in a way that he had never done before. His grandfather was always, well, just his Gramps. He had never heard much about his grandparents’ civil rights contributions. As he studied the lines, the wrinkles and the rough aging, the man next to him was more than just Gramps, someone Lamar had taken for granted. It was interesting to hear about what his grandfather did during the civil rights days. But that was so long ago.
“You wouldn’t mind hanging out with an oldster like me, would you?” Gramps asked Lamar.
“I’d love it, Gramps.”
Gramps turned to get a better look at his grandson.
“What’re you doing on Saturday afternoon?”
“Saturday afternoon?”
Lamar moved his camera from his right to his left hand, thinking about Gramps’s question.
“Nothing, I guess,” he finally answered. “Probably just hanging out with T.C. after I finish my chores at home.”
“Come by the house around two o’clock. I got a good documentary I want you to see. And bring T.C. with you. Bring some friends. They need to see it, too.”
“That’s a bet, Gramps. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
Gramps waited until his grandson had walked into the house. Then he drove off, smiling broadly.
“How’s the synopsis going?” Jeff asked.
“What?” Lamar held his cell phone closer to his ear so he could hear better.
“I said, how’s the synopsis going?” Jeff repeated.
“I’m working on it. I worked on it this morning after I finished my chores. Too bad we can’t hook up at your house or mine so we can work on it together. My folks wouldn’t mind you coming over here.”
“My parents would,” Jeff responded, sounding agitated. “Anyway, I’ve got a lot done. But I have to leave in a little while. My dad wants me to go with him to the golf course. I don’t like golf. I don’t think he likes it either. He just wanna hang out with friends. It’s another Saturday going to waste for me.”
“I’m going to hang out with my grandfather. He’s real cool, man.”
“All right. But don’t forget about our synopsis.”
