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Category Archives: Liberal Coalition

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

by

R.E. Prindle

 Clip 4

     ‘Nothing, unless you’re buying.  No money.’

     ‘I’m not buying.’

     ‘I’m not eating.’

     ‘You’re going to have a cup of coffee at least.’

     ‘Don’t have a dime.’

     Stan looked at Dewey.  He admired his strength of will but he was sure Dewey was lying which of course Dewey was.  He had that twenty but he wasn’t about to show it.

     They got back into the yellow VW to continue on in the brilliant yellow sunshine bursting almost into song over the Great Valley of California.  Zippity do dah.

     Stan probed insistently as they drove past the outskirts of Bakersfield.  He was going to get that twenty.  Had it been a pre-beating Stan he might very well have but with his stuffing missing Stan lacked real nerve.  He could be hit in a couple places where it still hurt.  It would have to be a sucker punch on Dewey.  He tried another ploy.

     There is no natural water in the San Joaquin but clever Californians had built and were building massive dams that provided irrigation water.  Large amounts of that water were used to irrigate cotton fields in the Kern County desert.  Bakersfield is actual desert.  As they were driving past the budding cotton a plane was flying ground level dusting the cotton for boll weevils or whatever.

     Stan brought the VW to a halt by the side of ninety-nine.

     ‘Look they’re crop dusting.  Let’s watch for a while.’

     ‘Uh, I’m in a hurry man.  Why don’t I get out?

page 1431.

     ‘Relax.  Just watch.’

     Dewey doubled his fist keeping his eyes on Leland, ready to defend himself because he realized his danger.  He would have to be knocked out or killed for Stan to get his twenty.

     Stan’s right arm draped over the seat to feel for a wrench on the floor but he needed surprise also.  He needed Dewey to look the other way but Dewey’s tenseness indicated he wasn’t about to.

     With a sigh Stan put the VW in gear but now he was sore.

     ‘You aren’t a nice guy.’  He said with a pout.  ‘You don’t deserve to ride in this People’s Car.  You’re not real people.  Get out.’

     ‘Thanks for the ride anyway, man.’  Dewey said opening the door before the car came to a complete stop.  ‘Sorry about the twenty.’

     Dewey had to turn away to keep from laughing in Stan Leland’s face.  Leland had maybe carried him sixty miles which represented twenty cents in gas.  Did Leland really think Dewey was going to fork over twenty dollars for a quarters worth of fuel when Leland had to use the same amount of gas anyway?

     Leland drove off in a huff cursing Trueman’s back.

     Dewey focused his eyes before him.  He was standing in front of a strip mall.  One of those glitzy but commonplace California restaurants was in front of him.  Inside he could see the owner or manager hopping around anguished at the sight of him.

     Dewey turned around to survey the Great Central Valley of California.  It was bright and it was hot.  The highway structure was an immense pre-asphalt love affair.  A divided highway of concrete led in two lanes each way, the center strip itself was two lanes wide.  A two hundred mile long row of oleander bushes obstructed the glare of oncoming headlights at night.  The oleander, which is a very beautiful flowering bush, is drought resistant which is an essential quality for the Valley.  They are poisonous to cattle but that seemed to be of little consequence in the middle of the highway, although everyone always mentioned it.  They grow maybe ten feet high.

page 1432.

     Highway 99 had a paved shoulder which increased its width as well as an unpaved shoulder.  Another ten feet was kept bare before a chain link fence seprarated 99 from what was called a frontage road which allowed locals to get from place to place without entering the highway.  So all in all there were six lanes and spare.  The whole complex was two hundred fifty feet wide.  The road was the old fashioned kind that was just laid on top of the ground rather than dug in.

     When they built the concrete rollerball chute called Interstate 5 a couple decades later they set it over by the concrete canals carrying water from Shasta.  They built 5 on the same principle as the canals except the channel carried cars and trucks instead of water.  The highway games played on 5 were real live rollerball.

     But 99 was a more humane road.  It bypassed all the towns from the Grapevine to Modesto.  For whatever reasons 99 was the main street of Modesto.  The wide apron made it a very good hitchhiking road; cars could stop easily and safely.

page 1433

    The temperature was building up as Dewey looked back in the restaurant to find the manager with his nose pressed to the glass violently gesticulating at him.  Finally he ran to the door opening it a crack to shout at Dewey:  ‘Move along.  Move along.  Hitchhiking’s against the law.  We don’t want you around here.’

     Dewey looked at him in some wonder then thought that maybe buying a cup of coffee might placate him.  Dewey had no sooner opened the door than the little man shouted at him:  ‘Get out. Get out.  No service for you.’

     Dewey was mystified giving an uncomprehending shrug.  What the heck, he was in uniform, Uncle Sam’s own Blues.  Even a couple customers intervened for him.  ‘Take it easy, Mel.  What’s the problem?  He’s only a sailor, for Chrissakes, he’s serving the country.  Because of him you can sleep more securely at nights.’

     ‘If he’s an example of what is serving the country I won’t be able to sleep at all.’

     Dewey gave him the look anyone would give a looney as he stood half in and half out.

     ‘I want you out of here or I’ll call the police.’  The man named Mel raved hysterically.

     Dewey left stepping back to the highway.  Mel called the police anyway.

     Ten minutes later a Bakersfield Police car, not the California Highway Patrol, pulled up in front of him.  He was accompanied by a young civilian of nineteen years who stared at Dewey silently.  The CWB got out of the car approaching Dewey:  ‘Are you hitchhiking?’  He half said, half challenged in the CWB manner.

page 1434.

     Dewey had stepped back on the grass so as to give credence to the notion that he was not hitchhiking but just taking the air but then thought better of it.

     ‘Yeah.  I am.’

     ‘You know it’s against the law.’

     ‘No, I didn’t know that.  You see so many guys hitchhiking.’

     ‘Yeah.  Well, it is.’

     Mel stuck his head out of the door:  ‘That’s him officer, that’s him.  Arrest him.’

     In point of law, which is irrelevant to the CWBs, Dewey was outside the Bakersfield city limits and hence beyond the jurisdiction of the CWB.   The cop looked at the civilian  who hadn’t taken his eyes off Dewey:  ‘Is that him?’

     The boy solemnly shook his head no.

     ‘I’m not going to take you in this time, Sailor, but you better be gone if I come back.’

     ‘I certainly hope to be.’  Dewey smiled.

     ‘Arrest him.  Arrest him.’  Mel screamed.  ‘That’s him.’

     The CWB waved Mel off.  Mel in his hysterical fear locked his door causing problems with people who wanted out and preventing people from entering.

     Dewey was looking at him shaking his head whan a car stopped in front of him.

     ‘Get in man.’  Came a voice with an unmistakable Mexican accent.

page 1345.

     Dewey turned to find a ’56 Chevy with five Mexicans in it looking aggressive.  Dewey may have had to get away from that spot in a hurry but not that big a hurry.  He’d rather take his chances with the CWBs.

     ‘I’m going all the way to Oakland.  You’re just going up ahead a ways, right?’

     ‘Yeah.  That’s right man.  Get in, man, we give you a ride anyway.’

     ‘That’s alright.  I’ll wait for a longer hop.’

     ‘Get in the middle.’  The guy on the right back said holding the door open for him.

     A very dangerous situation it was.  Shotgun in front was cleaning his nails with a stileto.  The other guy in back had his hand on the door ready to leap out.  The restaurant was locked.  It would take five guys with knives about thirty seconds to finish him.  Dewey decided to trust to his charm as limited as that was, he got in the middle in the back.

     Martin Luther King the apostle of non-violent resistance was heading for his mountain top from whence he proclaimed that White Americans were bred in the bone racists.  Black Folk claim that King was the greatest man America ever produced but he was nothing but a back country screeching pastor of a patriarchal consciousness thing.  True, the cause was just; true, there were egregious wrongs that had to be corrected but King himself was a weak reed who left his wife at home while he panted after White women in the pursuit of his notion of justice.  That he was any kind of spokesman for the cause at all was an accident of fate.  Even his own people were beginning to repudiate him before he died.

1436.

     The overblown rhetoric of his speeches would have been laughed at in the mouth of the most respectable White preacher.  ‘I have been to the mountaintop’ spoken seriously is such pompous nonsense that Whites should be ashamed of themselves for even pretending to revere such bull roar.

     However King was the harbinger of the emerging Black Revolution.  A Revolution which would do the inevitable of dividing Americans into a group of more or less autonomous peoples held loosely together by economics.  Just as the Black gangs which coalesced from the riots of ’67 into an incipient form of Black government by the end of the century so these Mexicans flooding across the border could have a complete disregard for the United States that meant nothing more to them than hot Chevy cars, money and a more affluent style of living than was possible for them to create for themselves South of the Border down Mexico way.  Heck, it was even bad form to call  them Mexicans in the United States, their nationality being a form of insult to them on this side of the border; one had to call them ‘Hispanics.’  They might ridicule Americans and Gringos but they were nothing but a joke closely resembling the caricatures of themselves that appeared in US magazines and newspapers.

     Now Dewey sat between two giggling Mexicans while the Shotgun sneered at him over the seat:  ‘Hey may, we give you a ride you never forget.’

page 1437.

     ‘Oh yeah?  I remember every kindness never done to me.’  Dewey replied sarcastically to show he was in control with a forced smile that he hoped looked fearless.

     The car went down 99 about ten miles then the driver turned left towards the coast range onto a dirt road.  The car began to lurch through the dusty fields.

     ‘Better let me out here.  I’m going North.’

     ‘Hey, Gringo, you going where we want you to go.  We let you out when we want to let you out, man.  Only then and not before.  Sabe?  We goin’ to have some fun withchu.  Whatchu think of this stinking America, man.  I think it smells very bad, whatchu think?’

     ‘Seems to be good to you.’  Dewey returned feebly slowly putting both his hands in his pockets to disguise that he was reaching for his long thin Japanese pocket knife.

     ‘Good for us, man, you fool.  What we doin’, we workin’ for the man plantin’ and harvestin’ his potatoes while he  driving around in his El Dorado Cadillac.  You call that good.’

     ‘I see what you mean.  America does suck.’  Dewey agreed adding sotto voce:  ‘…to allow dicks like you in this country.’

     ‘That uniform you wearing, man, it only makes you look stupid.  Your Navy sucks, too, man.’

     ‘I agree with you wholeheartedly there ,man.’  Dewey said with true sincerity.  ‘But I want out now.’

      So saying he pulled his knife out flipping the loosely hinged blade out and clapping it to the throat of the driver.

page 1438.

     ‘Stop the car.’

      The Mexicans had been taken by surprise as Dewey’s apparent resignation had implied no resistance.  The driver didn’t think about it, he just brought the car to a smooth stop trying to avoid the potholes.

     ‘Open the door and let me out.’  Dewey told the Mex on his left.

     Dewey reversed the blade drawing the blunt edge across the driver’s neck as a warning as he brought the point to bear on the Mex standing in the door.  He backing up as Dewey pushed the knife forward as he got out.

     ‘Fuck Pancho Villa.’  Dewey snarled as he moved back toward the highway.

     ‘Puto.’  The Mex spat out.

     ‘Dildo.’  Dewey called over his shoulder.

     Dewey didn’t know what puto meant and the Mexican didn’t know what dildo meant so they were even on that score.

     Dewey thought they might try to run him down but they drove off through a cloud of dust.

     The highway was a good mile and a half distant which was a long walk through what was now blazing heat in his heavy woolen blues.  Dewey slowed his brisk walk into a leisurely stroll so as not to soak his uniform through giving him a heck of a stench.

     White guilt prejudice prevented Dewey from correctly analyzing his encounter with the Mexicans.  It was considered bad for Whites to see racial matters in their true light.  Thus even though these Mexicans did not consider themselves Americans or have any respect for the country they sucked off, White prejudice required Dewey to dismiss the true situation from his mind replacing it with the fiction that these were oppressed people who had fled despotic conditions for a better life in an America Whites had created.

     What bullroar.

     They were just grubbers who realized that Mexico would never amount to anything in the hands of Mexicans while the good life worth sponging off lay across the border with the despised Gringos.

     Twenty minutes later Dewey was back by the side of the road warm but not sweating;  He’d managed to walk in some style.  The thermometer was edging over a hundred.  The sun rays crashed down on him in unrelenting bombardment.  Dewey’s mind began to drift.

     There were many stories of aliens abducting people in their flying saucers at the time.  While Dewey refused to believe them his disbelief was not so strong that he ruled out the possibility.  He did watch the night sky for unidentified flying objects.

     As he looked up into the dazzling blue glare he thought this might be a good time to be abducted.  He was ready to volunteer.  He could imagine a saucer hovering above him shooting down a ray of light separating his molecules into a vapor to beam him aboard.

     ‘They might even serve me some cosmic cookies and a glass of intergalactic mile.’  He was musing as a car slowed to a stop just ahead of him.

page 1440.

      ‘Ah, air conditioning.’  He smiled as he slid into the shotgun of a ’58 Buick Roadmaster.  ‘Better than a flying saucer.’

     ‘Have you had an experience?’  Wally Reid, the driver, asked as he slipped back into traffic. 

     ‘I’m heading for Oakland.’  Dewey said.

     ‘Uh huh.  I’m going to Sacramento.  Drop you off at the Manteca cutoff.  How’s that?’

     ‘Couldn’t be better.’

     ‘What’s this about a flying saucer?’

     ‘Oh nothing.  I was just fantasizing about being beamed up and given cookies and milk.’

     ‘Strange you should say that.  That’s happened.’  Reid began taking the comment at face value.  ‘My sister-in-law had a terrible experience with a flying saucer.’

     ‘Your sister-in-law was abducted?’  Dewey said in astonishment.

     ‘Word of honor.  She wouldn’t lie to me or Chuck, my brother.’

     ‘No.  What happened?’

     ‘This happened just a couple weeks ago.  They kept her for two whole days.  She was driving home from work, worked late, when a saucer zoomed over her and beamed her up like inside a giant flashlight beam, car and all.’

     ‘No!’

     ‘Oh yea.  There were about fifteen of them.  Zoomed back out into space.  You should hear her description of what Earth looks like from out there.  A big blue marble.  They wanted to know how Earthlings have sex.  So she says that for two days they worked her over.  They poked and fondled and did her up.  Felt her tits all over.  She says they were really mystified by the nipples.  She had to explain everything to them.  They had this device they put in her mouth that translated everything she said into their language.

page 1441.

     Once they understood how to put it in after she explained it to them she says each guy took a turn or two on her.  They weren’t gentle either, probably because they didn’t have any experience with screwing Earth style.’

     ‘Jeez.  What did they look like?’

      ‘Just like you’d expect.  Green with these giant heads and bulging eyes.  You know, like they don’t do any physical work, just cerebral stuff, so they’re all brain and no brawn, muscles just withered away, opposite of us.’   Wally said with unintended humor which was nevertheless caught by Trueman who suppressed a smile.  ‘Skinny thin bodies and arms with long thin peckers, twice as long as ours but she says they felt like worms, you know,  they could bend and twist like corkscrews.  Kept at her for two whole days.’

     ‘Wow.  Did they give her any cosmic cookies or intergalactic milk?’

     ‘No.  They fed her with tubes.  She’s still got some needle marks on the inside of her arms.  Then after they finished with her they beamed her back down but they weren’t too careful about it either.  They bashed the car up pretty bad.  Bonnie didn’t look too good either.’

page 1442.

     ‘How’s that?’

     ‘Well, they were aliens so I guess they did weird things.  They chopped her hair up something terrible.  They could have at least cut it off even but they cut it short in uneven lengths and cut clumps out here and there.  Not only was her hair a mess but she was black and blue all over from the rough treatment plus those puncture marks on her arms.

     Wasn’t all bad though.’

     ‘No?  What was good?’

     ‘Heck, can you imagine what it will look like?  This kid’s going to be a real freak, half human, half alien.  Chuck and me figure our fortune is made.  We’ll be able to exhibit it for millions.  Everybody will want to see it, don’t you think?  Wouldn’t you?’

     ‘I sure do.  I’d like to see it I’m sure of that.’

     Trueman and Reid chatted away merrily in this vein through Modesto to the Manteca cutoff.

     ‘So long, Dewey.’

     ‘So long, Wally.  Thanks for the ride.  Good luck with the alien baby.’

     Dewey crossed the highway to take up a position on the cutoff.  He got his thumb out and then broke down in laughter.    It was good rich deep throated laughter, straight from the belly.

 page 1443.

     ‘Those guys actually believe Bonnie’s going to have an alien baby.  Ha ha.  Cracked the car up when they carelessly beamed the car down.  Ha ha ha.  Boy, that Bonnie must have the gift of gab.  Wonder what they’ll do when the alien baby looks just like some guy Bonnie knows.’

     Dewey struggled to control his laughter as he got funny looks from a couple of drivers.  He still had a big smile on his face when a ’56 Ford Fairlane with two men and two women motioned for him to hop in.

     The back door opened so Dewey got in the back; safer when there was someone in the back seat anyway.  If the Mexicans had made him get in the front Dewey might not have been able to control the situation.

     ‘You look as happy as though you’ve embraced the spirit of Jesus.’  John Ahrens, the driver, said in the sepulchral tones of the lay preacher.

      That took the smile off Dewey’s face.  The next largest group after the homos in the habit of picking up hitchhikers were the religious nuts.  In a lot of ways they were worse and actually more dangerous than the homos.

     Dewey forced a laugh out of his throat:  ‘That too; but my last ride was telling me about how his sister-in-law was abducted by flying saucer aliens…’

     ‘That happened to her too.’  Susan Strable exclaimed from the front seat.

     A smile flickered out on Dewey’s face.  ‘Happened to you too, hey?’

page 1444

     ‘No.  But it happened to Jack.’  She said indicating Ahrens.  ‘They flew away at tremendous speeds and took him to seventh heaven and he had a long talk with Jesus and Jesus sent him back to establish the true church of God.’

     Four very serious, very critical sets of eyes fixed themselves on Dewey watching his reaction.  Dewey sobered up immediately.  This was no laughing matter; he was in with religious nuts.

     ‘I heard somebody else did that too.  Let me think.  Oh yeah, a while back a guy name Mohammed flew up to Seventh Heaven on a horse.  I forget the horse’s name.’

     ‘In Greek it was Arion.’  Ahrens extolled who didn’t know the name of Mohammed’s horse either but rather than admit it resorted to a circumlocution that nobody could check or deny.

     That had Dewey stumped since he couldn’t remember the Arab name he was in no position to question Ahren’s assertion.  Ahrens was quick and plausible.  He hadn’t flunked out of the seminary for nothing.  He hadn’t so much as flunked out as been thrown out.  His answers may have sounded plausible but they were invariably wrong.  Nevertheless Ahrens would defend them with violence if necessary.

     Rather than tolerate his madness he had been thrown out.  He hadn’t taken that well either.  He had been on his way back to the President’s office with a 12 gauge under his arm when he had been intercepted by the police.  With the certitude of the righteous Ahrens had been marching down the middle of the street like Gary Cooper at high noon.

page 1445.

     The Christian gentlemen of Mt. Larynx Theological Seminary declined to press charges on condition that Ahrens to far away and stay there.  Oakland was some distance from St. Larynx.

     ‘But the Moslems are full of baloney.’  Susan Strable continued.  ‘No horse can fly as fast as a flying saucer.’  Dewey nodded in agreement.  ‘Besides Jesus told Jack that Mohammed was just a big fibber and wasn’t even there.  At least he didn’t talk to Jesus.’

      ‘Oh well, Mohammed went to talk to a different god, Allah.  Maybe Jesus was out to lunch at the time.’

      ‘There is only one god, the Moslems got that right, but his name isn’t Allah.  The real name of God is too sacred to repeat to the profane so you’re not going to hear it from me.  Suffice it to say, the truth resides in me.’  John Ahrens intoned majestically.

     ‘Boy, that’s for sure.’  Susan affirmed.  ‘But Jack found out for sure that those athiests are all nasty liars.  God isn’t dead.  And the reason people can’t see heaven anymore now that we’ve had our own space things, sputniks or whatever, heaven is retreating from earth at one second less than the speed of light each year.  So while it’s sure going to be hard to get there you can make it if you try.’

     ‘Amen, Susan.’  Ahrens said approvingly.

     ‘So now Jack’s the head and founder of the Intergalactic Church of Christ Immersed In The Extraterrestrial Blood.  We’re going to be bigger than the Catholics and Billy Graham put together.  What do you think of that?’

page 1446.

     ‘Where are you based?’

     ‘Oakland, California.’

     The car had exited the Manteca cutoff entering Highway 80 for the run across the Altamont.  Dewey was beginning to get uncomfortable.  the thought of any church being Immersed In Extraterrestrial Blood, whatever that was, threw the fear of God into him.  Space traveler or not Dewey knew that the Intergalactic Church was rooted in the viciousness of Genesis as they all were.  Judaism was the religion of blood.

     ‘Well, I certainly wish you luck in overtaking the Pope and Billy.  I think you’ve got a long haul in front of you though.’

     ‘We were hoping you’d join us.’  Ahrens sort of commanded.

     ‘No-o-o.  I’m in the Navy.  Can’t do that.’

     ‘Why not?  You must be based in the Bay Area.  You’re returning now.’

     It was getting to close to 5:00 PM on Saturday night so Ahrens wasn’t completely out of line in his surmise.

    ‘No. I’m from San Diego.  Have to be back tomorrow.’

     ‘Humph.’  Ahrens ejaculated, thinking to himself that Dewey was a liar.  ‘That’s not very probable.  You may not even be in the Navy.  I’ll bet you’re just using that uniform to make it easy to get rides.

     ‘You better come along.’  Susan said.  ‘You don’t want to get Jack mad.’

     ‘I suppose not.’  Dewey sighed.  ‘But, I’m not going along anyway.  Let me out at the MacArthur overpass.’

page 1447.

     ‘I think he’s OK.’  The other man spoke confidentially to the back of Ahren’s head.

     ‘We’re not letting you out.’  Ahrens said with a nod.  ‘You’re coming with us.’

     ‘Ooh.’  Susan cooed, seizing Dewey’s hand.  ‘What an honor.  They’re going to sacrifice you.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Right on.  Just let me out.’

     Susan’s head bobbed up and down affirmatively as she tucked her lower lip into her mouth.  ‘Jesus needs blood to keep the world on its axis, he told Jack.  So far we’ve only used the blood of the neighbor’s cats and dogs.  But now we’re going to move up to people because dog and cat blood isn’t keeping the axis too steady.’

     ‘You let me out.  Now! Or you’ve got big trouble Jack.  Screw you and your Intergalactic Church.’

     Ahrens cast an angry glance back at Dewey but the determined look on Dewey’s face made him think twice.  He slammed on his brakes skidding up over the curb with a jolt:  ‘You’ve got five seconds.’  He commanded.

     Dewey didn’t waste any of them.  If he hadn’t had to bend down to pick up his bag he would have made it.  Ahrens squealed back on the highway throwing Dewey into the ivy.  Dewey got up.  He was half a mile from the MacArthur off ramp.  He decided to walk it.  Hitchhiking in what he now considered his hometown was repugnant to him so he walked down to 86th which was a considerable hike.  By the time he reached Da Costa’s, Roque and McLean had already gone out for the night taking Terry with them.

page 1448.

     Pete Da Costa refused admittance to the house.  Not knowing what else to do Dewey sat down on the porch step to wait.  Luck was with him.  Roque came back to pick up an item Terry had forgotten.

     ‘What took you so long?’

     ‘I’ll tell you when we have the time.’

     ‘OK. Come on along.’

      Da costa was none too happy with Trueman.  He felt, quite reasonably that Trueman had attempted to use him throwing himself over for Torbrick.  Trueman’s story was different and right also but it would have taken a demon judge to find for him.

     Terry’s friends were throwing a party.  Thus Trueman was introduced into a circle of high school seniors.  It was there he met Louise Tricka.  Louise was another who was drawn to the misfits.  She liked Trueman a lot, possibly because she too was a square peg in a round hole.

     But for tonight Dewey returned with Da Costa, McLean and Terry.  McLean whose hatred for Trueman since Guam had grown not abated had moved into his place quietly defaming him to Da Costa.  Terry had now cast her net for McLean but he wasn’t anymore interested than Trueman.

     ‘I don’t know how to tell you this Dewey, but my father doesn’t want you in the house.’

     ‘Yeah, he already told me, Roque, but I don’t have any place to stay.  I could sleep in the car, couldn’t I?’

page 1449.

     ‘Yeah, I suppose you could do that.’

     McLean snickered shrugging his shoulders with a broad smile.

      Dewey who saw more sunrises than he cared to remember pulled himself erect with the rising sun.  Unshaven and feeling grungy he sat glowering into the rear view mirror until McLean and Da Costa showed on the porch at 9:30.

     Da Costa suggested they go down and look at the grocery store he worked at.  Trueman didn’t care to meet anyone in his condition so he was all for it.

     Under the law your employer had to guarantee a reservist his job when he was discharged so Roque was technically still employed by Lucky Stores as a check out clerk.

     He worked for a nice store down in the Lake Grove district.  Trueman and McLean were properly appreciative.

     Considering that it had taken Trueman a full twenty-four hours to get to Oakland it might seem that he was overly optimistic in leaving for San Diego at 4:00 Sunday afternoon.  In fact, if things didn’t go completely wrong there was just enough time to make it back, if not for reveille, at least for muster.  Trueman cut it close but he always cut it as a hitchhiker.

      Da Costa and Mclean had flown up so Trueman got Roque to drive him up to the Altamont from which he always commenced his return journey.

     Yes, it’s the same Altamont Pass where the Rolling Stones had their disastrous concert which brought the psychedelic era to an end in 1969.  The Pass is a low hill a few hundred feet high leading into the San Joaquin past Tracy into Stockton.

page 1450.

     There was a certain amount of apprehension in Trueman’s mind.  He was taking the word of someone he couldn’t remember that this was possible.  At this point he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t crazy.

     Life is full of delights…and subsequent disappointments.  Dewey hadn’t been standing on the Altamont long before a green ’58 Plymouth pulled to a stop.  The Plymouth hadn’t yet been nudged out of the low price race with Chevy and Ford but it was fading fast.
     ‘Goin’ to Anaheim.’  The driver Jake Rawlins said.  ‘How far you goin’?’

     Dewey’s heart leapt to this throat as his face broke out into a big smile; maybe there was a god in heaven after all.

      ‘Alright.’  Dewey chirped.  ‘Luck is a lady tonight.  I gotta get back to San Diego.  Thanks for the ride.’

     Dewey bounced against the back of the seat a couple times in delight.  As Jake Accelerated to seventy per Dewey figured he’d be in Anaheim in at least six hours.

     Jake was a real nice guy.  Like most normal people he was only almost normal, not quite there.  Unless you’re in an environment like the Navy which requires apparent rigid conformity everyone has their ways.  Jake’s eccentricity was that he was an advocate of steam powered cars.  In fact, he was an expert, a foremost world-wide authority on steam, so he said.  He communicated with other experts on steam power in autos all over the world, especially in Australia.

page 1451.

     The rest of society wasn’t too interested in steam as compared to the internal combustion gasoline engine so Jake was used to a lot of ridicule.  But like all compulsives he had to talk about his fetish.

     Dewey would have laughed but as he was getting a plum of a ride for free, you could tell Jake wasn’t going to ask for anything but an audience, he displayed reasonably good manners.

     ‘Well.’  Dewey said amiably.  ‘Alright.  So why does your Plymouth have an internal combustion engine?’

     Jake was coughing around an answer about corresponding with his contact in Australia about a particularly difficult problem when he spotted another hitchhiker.  It was a Second Class Gunner’s Mate with three hashmarks on his sleeve.

     ‘Career man.’  Dewey thought.  ‘All those guys are pricks.’

     ‘You’ll be sorry if you pick him up.’  Dewey objected.  ‘All those career guys are arrogant.’

     But nice guys always trip over their own nicety; it goes with the territory.  Jake pulled over.  Dewey tried to get out to let Lee Nelson, the Gunner’s Mate, into the middle but Nelson really wanted the end, he kept pushing Dewey back in.  Unable to win that way Dewey said:  ‘I’ll get in the back.’

     ‘No.’  Jake said.  ‘Stay in front.’

     Dewey groaned to himself at Nelson’s triumphant smile.  He knew there was trouble ahead but he just didn’t know what.

     Nelson turned out to be just as arrogant as Dewey expected.  As Jake continued to rattle on about steam power Nelson guffawed at the very notion of steam power ever becoming popular.  There was no question that he was right but he was betraying Rawlins’ generosity.  As Rawlins continued on in his dotty way Nelson began to become abusive.  You never knew when one of these guys might explode.

     ‘Hey, man, be a little more polite.  You’re riding for free.’  Trueman exhorted.

     ‘You don’t believe this dipshit and his steam power crap do you, you simp?’

     Dewey was thrown on his most tactful approach:  ‘Steam powered cars are an accomplished fact.  The Stanley Steamer is a very famous car.  Everything he says about steam is a fact.  Who knows but they may be able to replace the internal combustion engine with steam if it’s improved.’

      ‘You don’t really believe steam is going to replace gas?’

     ‘Perhaps not in my lifetime but I say that it’s an open question that Jake knows a lot more about than you or me.’

     ‘Shee, you’re as dotty as he is.’

     Nelson at least shut up saying nothing further.  Jake and Dewey carried on the conversation or, rather, Jake rattled away.

     Jake was no slouch behind an internal combustion engine.  He sped through the turns of the cutoff slowing down to pass through Modesto.  Modesto was the story of the law in America, the triumph of pragmatism.  The posted speed limit was twenty-five.  But in order to facilitate passage through town signs proclaimed that the stop lights were timed for thirty-two miles an hour so you were encouraged to speed through town to catch all the lights.  Good laughs were had over that one.

page 1453.

     Outside Modesto Jake really barreled.  He kept the plunger in for ninety per.  The old Plymouth was barely making contact with the road.

     Ninety-nine was not a freeway but a limited access highway.  That meant that there were periodic crossings.  The wide meridian made it difficult for drivers to dart across; you needed a little space to make it.

     Just North of Fresno there was a dangerous crossing.  There were no lights and as the East side of the highway was about ten feet higher a car’s headlights shone down rather than across the highway.  The crossing was one of the most dangerous spots on the highway.

     About a mile away Dewey, whose night and distance vision was exceptional spotted an old double front ended Studebaker sitting on the meridian sloping down from the Northbound lane.  Call it deja vu, call it paranoia, call it prescience but the driver’s obvious indecision made it clear that trouble lay ahead.

     ‘Watch that guy up there, Jake.  Watch that guy, change lanes, slow down, this guy’s dangerous.’

     Nelson was one of those loud mouthed First Division jerks:  ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake, relax.’  He said outshouting Dewey.  It was one of those times when all the world seemed to conspire against one’s better judgement.

     The Studebaker just sat there like a spider waiting for the fly.  Then about a third of a mile away it seemed that the driver just took his foot off the brake and slowly coasted out into the fast lane.  If Dewey had gotten Jake to change lanes they would have missed him.  A quarter mile away Jake jammed his foot on the brake.  The Plymouth which now would never know steam turned into a rocket sled but it slid straight down the highway.

page 1454.

     ‘Goddamn you, Nelson.’  Dewey shouted as the distance closed.  By that Dewey meant that if it hadn’t been for picking up Nelson they would have been beyond the crossing by then and Dewey wouldn’t be stuck in the middle with nothing to hold on to, nor would he have been crazy enough to needle a very excitable driver.  Dewey laid off the whole blame on Nelson although Nelson was too stupid and self-centered to understand his complicity.

     Dewey saw certain death before him.  He went limp as a ragdoll and hoped for the best but he saw his broken crushed body on the highway.  The Plymouth slid into the Studebaker at seventy per midway between the bumper and the cab.

     The collision drove the Studebaker fifty feet down the highway where it sat in the middle of the fast lane pointing South.  The Plymouth was totaled.  Dewey bounced around the seat, first against Jake, then his head caromed off the windshield which miraculously didn’t break, then he slammed against Nelson finally sprawled over both.

      Incredibly no one was hurt.  Dewey sat quietly panting.  He reached up to touch his head where it banged into the windshield.  He didn’t even have a bruise.

     The driver of the Studebaker, an old man of ninety years paced the highway between the two cars dazed, a trickle of blood oozing down from his left temple.

page 1456.

     ‘Look at that old fart.’  Jake cried.  ‘He probably isn’t anymore dazed now than he was before.  You guys are going to stick around to give a police statement for me, aren’t you?’

     Nelson already had his thumb out.

     ‘Give the police your own statement you dumb son-of-a-bitch.  All you had to do was change lanes to avoid the accident.  That’s what I’ll tell the police.’

     Incredibly enough a car screeched to a halt between the wreckage and the roadside to give Nelson a ride.  Nelson was either generous enough or guilty enough to motion Dewey to get in but Dewey wasn’t about to ride the middle with Nelson again.  He was shaken up enough to feel bad.  He passed.

     The two thirty year old men who had been in the Studebaker with the ninety year old driver rushed up to Jake demanding his insurance agent.  The accident was nothing less than an insurance scam.  It had been planned that way.

     The police were slow in arriving.

     ‘Hey Jake, I really gotta go or I’m going to miss muster.’   If Dewey had been thinking flexibly, as Van Wye would have done, he would have had himself taken to the hospital, phoned in and had himself a couple days off.

     ‘No, wait.  You’ve got to give me a statement.’

     As he was pleading the CHP drove up.

     Dewey wrote a statement which the CWB didn’t seem to care about snickering like something was going on and he knew what it was.  Dewey flipped his statement to him then stuck out his thumb.

      Luck, as it were, was still with him, a Ford truck pulled over.  Dewey leaped in.  After the obligatory explanation of what had had happened the driver introduced himself.

     ‘Hi, podna, I’m Clint Hartung, known as the Hondo Hurricane.  I’m originally from Hondo, Texas.  How far you goin’?’

      Dewey eyed Clint over.  Clint was a big man, maybe six-four or six-five, built like the proverbial brick outhouse.  Gentle looking though.  He was dressed in some sort of quasi-western fashion.  A big hat, buckskin jacket with fringes, even before the mid to late sixties.  Kind of a checkered cowboy shirt with pearl buttons and black Can’t Bust ‘Ems over engineer boots.  Dewey figured he was going to be stranger than Jake which he was but in a good kind of way.

     Just by way of making conversation Clint started talking movies.  He was a big Western fan which came as no surprise.  Matt Dillon ran through Dewey’s mind as he looked at Clint and listened to him speak.  He had that slow deliberate way of talking that is supposed to indicate no-nonsense manhood.  Pretty good job too.

     As might be expected John Wayne was Clint’s hero. 

     ‘Really, John Wayne, hmm?’  Dewey mused.

     ‘Sure, he’s the greatest living American. You don’t think so?’

      ‘Wayne?  Hmm.  Well I thought you resembled say James Arness,Matt Dillon, more or maybe the wagon master, Ward Bond, more along those lines rather than Wayne.’

     Clint was flattered at the comparison, especially the Arness bit as that was a major part of the persona he had adopted.

     ‘Yeah, those guys are good but John Wayne he just captures the essence of what an American is don’t you think?’

      Dewey didn’t like John Wayne at all even though he was the number one male hero for nearly every man in America.  But, he was used to giving his opinion when asked for it.

     ‘Well, I’m not a big fan of Wayne.  Seen him in lots of movies of course but he always comes across to me like a card board cut out.  It not so much that he portrays the idea of a man but imitates it.  He doesn’t seem natural.  They try to make him too big putting him on small horses so that his feet drag and give him that small rifle that looks like a toy gun in his hand.   Like in Hondo, speaking of the Hondo Hurricane, he seems to be too much bigger than life to be real.’  Dewey almost said that Wayne appeared to him as a fag but then thought better of accusing the guy considered the most manly man in America of being gay.  Still the guy could have played himself in the Village People with that mincing hip twisting walk.  Especially the one he used in Hondo.

     ‘Yeah, I liked Hondo a lot better than Shane although Shane was another good book ruined by the movie.’

     ‘I thought Audie Murphy made a good Shane.’ 

     ‘I thought maybe that was Alan Ladd rather than Audie Murphy.’

     ‘Um, yeah, I guess you’re right.  For me he was too jumpy, nervous and in drawn.  I though Shane was a lot more confident than that.  Besides that bit at the end when he rode off wounded into the sunset and the kid calls out ‘Mom wants you, Shane, Dad wants you and I want you too.’ was too much.  I nearly laughed myself to death.  Hondo was the real thing.  Louis L’Amour could turn out to be a heck of a writer.  I read a couple other of his things but they weren’t anywhere near Hondo.’

      ‘Well, I really like your tastes in literature but I’m not too sure of your interpretation.’  Clint replied ponderously.  The guy was like an elephant walking off a heavy dinner.

     ‘By the way, I’m Dewey Trueman.  Uh, The Michigan Kid.’  Dewey said in a lame attempt to match the Hondo Hurricane.  ‘How far are you going?’

     ‘I’m on my way to Superstition Mountain.  Ever heard of that?’

     ‘Oh yeah.  Sure. Of course.  Dutchman’s gold.  there’s supposed to be a lost gold mine.  Flying Dutchman or something like that.  Guy had it, went down the mountain and couldn’t find it again, right?’

     ‘That’s close, Kid.  I’m a goldminer.  Got my sluice and pans in back.’

     ‘Right.  Where are your claims and mines.’

     ‘I don’t mine properly speaking.  I pan for it or set up my sluice and wash the gravel.  I been up on 49 around Placerville working the streams around there.’

     ‘I thought that was all played out.’

     ‘Sure ain’t like it was in forty-nine but you never know when you might find a crack or crevice that’s loaded.  No luck of that kind yet but I’m always hopin’.’

      Why do you do it if you don’t find gold?’

     ‘Oh, I find plenty of gold, just not a big cache yet.’  Clint groaned out like a Henry Kissinger in slow motion.  He produced a prescription plastic container half filled with gold.

      ‘That’s gold.’  He said with satisfaction flipping it to Dewey.  Dewey looked at the sand and small nuggets with fascination.  He was disappointed.  Somehow he expected ‘gold’ to be more.  This may have been gold alright but without the capital G.  It was just sort of gold and not a lot of it.

     ‘How long did it take you to pan this out?’

     ‘That’s about three-four weekends worth.’

     ‘Where did it come from?’

     ‘That’s from up on the Tuolmne but I’ve been everywhere for gold.  Alaska, the Yukon, haven’t been to the Australian fields yet but I’m on my to Superstition Mountain now.’

page 1458

     Dewey was so impressed with the Hondo Hurricane that he dropped his usual sarcastic manner.

     ‘Wow, this old pickup really flies along I wouldn’t think it could go so fast for so long.’

     ‘My old Ford here?  I put a ’58 Chevy V8 in it.  Now it’s an all American car.  Best both Ford and Chevy have to offer.  Never know when you’ll need the power when you’re a gold prospector.  Lot of claim jumpers out there and of course you never know when you’re trespassin’ on someone else’s claim until it’s too late.’

     Dewey laughed merrily as the eclectic Ford-Chevy truck raced the moon across the Grapevine through the starry starry night.

     Dewey had assumed that Clint would be passing through San Diego on his way to Superstition Mountain so he was both surprised and disappointed when Clint Hartung pulled over to the side to let him out.

     ‘I take the Lancaster turn off here and take the desert route from here, Kid.  You’re welcome to come along if you like but I hate big cities, always avoid ’em when I can.’

     ‘Well, I think I’m better off where there’s lots of traffic so I have to stay on this road.  Thanks for the ride Hondo, and good luck on Superstition Mountain.’

     Clint was flattered to be called Hondo.  He gave the Kid, er…Dewey, a desert hat salute and roared off honking his horn a couple times in acknowledgment of Dewey’s compliment.  Needless to say he didn’t have any luck on Superstition Mountain or anywhere else gold might be found but he lived the kind of life so many men only dream about.  Maybe he’s updated his old Ford truck with a newer engine by now and is still out there gunning the engine for the vanishing point.  I sure hope so.

page 1459.

     One uneventful ride dropped Dewey off at the head of Lankersheim Blvd.  Cruising was still in progress on Sunday night.  Dewey had made good time notwithstanding the wreck on the highway.  At midnight the cruisers had thinned out but were still plentiful.  Three fruits and two fundamentalists brought Dewey to the on ramp of the Hollywood Freeway which was the way he ought to have come if the Marine, Bill Baird, hadn’t driven him astray.

     A red and white ’56 Chevy pulled over for him.

     ‘Going back to the base, I suppose.’  the driver, Al Pscholka mused.

     ‘Yep.’

     ‘Where might that be, if I might be so rude to ask?’

     ‘I’m based in San Diego.  How far are you going?’

     ‘I could be going not too far; or, on the other hand, I could drop you off at the gate in San Diego.  The choice is yours.’

     ‘O-o-oh.  No kidding.’  Dewey replied grasping the situation.

     Acquiring the rudiments of the road doesn’t require long and patient study, especially as your attention is so concentrated.  Dewey was also grasping the concept of keeping them talking as long as possible without getting to the point.

page 1460.

     ‘You must be a traveling salesman or something.’ He volunteered.

     ‘No.  I’m an accountant.  I add up figures.  I know the score.’  Pscholka said with knowing double entendre.

     He was a good looking fellow of about six-two, slender but muscular.  There was a vicious mean spirited look to him.  His shame at his homosexuality made him fairly brutal toward his conquests.  Otherwise he had a mean derogatory attitude.

     ‘Accounting huh?  That must be interesting.’

     ‘Cut the crap.  You know what I want.’

     ‘Who me?  No, I’m not sure I do.’

     ‘You going to give it up or not?’

     ‘I’m not queer if that’s what you mean.’

     ‘I don’t care if you’re queer or not.  I am.  What I’m saying is we can go somewhere and have a good time and I’ll get you back to the base for muster or you can take your chances on the highway.’

     ‘Pull over and let me out then.’

     ‘Did you hear what I said?’

     ‘Only too well.  Did you hear what I said?’

     At this time they were going through the Stack.  There is a hill in LA where five freeways are stacked one above the other.  This is a very impressive sight.  Dewey was trying to take it in with awestruck eyes while still trying to deal with Al Pscholka.

     Pscholka started to edge over when a light went on behind his eyes.  ‘It wouldn’t be right to let you out here just because you won’t suck my dick.  I’m a nicer guy than that.  I’ll take you to a better place.’

page 1461.

     ‘If it’s a question of right or wrong, in my opinion it would be right to let me out here.  I don’t want to inconvenience you any further.’

     ‘No inconvenience, buddy.  Sit tight.’

     At seventy per Dewey had no choice but to sit tight.  At this point he thought that Pscholka was going to drive him off somewhere that he would have no idea where he was or how to get back.  Pscholka didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon so Dewey had full confidence in his Japanese pocket knife.

     But Pscholka was both much more devious and malicious, devious, malicious and knowledgeable at that.  He haunted these roads every Sunday night.  Since he actually would drop sailors off at the gate his shtick had enough appeal to be successful quite often.

     Still, Dewey was astonished when he made the turn down to Anaheim and kept on going toward the Disney towers.  Somewhere along the way Dewey began to notice a very long line of sailors.  Miles of them spaced one to a hundred feet.  Dark blue blobs with white hats topmost merging with the night under the streetlights.

     ‘God, how are they all going to get rides?’  Dewey mused out loud.

     ‘Yes.  How are they?’  Pscholka laughed quietly pulling over to let Dewey out.  ‘Last chance.  This or the gate?’  He leered. 

     Dewey got out.

     He looked to the right horizon to see hundreds of sailors strung out as far as the eye could see.   He looked to the left to see the same sight.  He looked at the sailor in front of him with a quizzical look on his face.

page 1462.

     ‘I know, man.  Just walk down the highway between me and the next guy and put your thumb out.’

     Dewey walked down and stepped in line.  As he did so the sailor on either side stepped away until they were about one hundred feet apart.  Those adjacent to them did the same until a giant wave effect rippled through the line of sailors for miles and miles.  This happened repeatedly for the two hours Dewey was there.  As a sailor dropped off the ripple kept eddying back and forth.  Dewey moved to and fro as though tossed by an invisible current.

     Trueman lost all anxiety as he pondered the situation.  It seemed hopeless.  There didn’t seem to be enough cars on the road to accommodate this portion of the fleet let alone drivers to pick them up.  There wasn’t even any reason to put your thumb out.

     ‘Probably if you do get picked up.’  He thought.  ‘It will be another queer trying to cut a deal or else.’

     He watched the cars pass with drooping spirits.  Suddenly a car traveling the fast lane at a terrific clip caught everyone’s attention from a mile away.  It was a red and white ’55 Chevy.  While everyone had their attention riveted on the car the driver whipped almost at a right turn across all three lanes of traffic to screech to a stop in front of Dewey Trueman.

     Dewey was astonished beyond belief as adjacent sailors looked in envy.  ‘Why me?’  Dewey thought.  ‘What signals am I transmitting, what criteria were those guys using to select me?’

page 1463.

     The door flew open.  ‘Hop in.’  Said the guy in the passenger’s seat getting out.  ‘Ride the middle.’

     It was a messy car.  The back seat was jammed with clothes and household goods.  A Louisville Slugger lay conspicuously in the space between the front and back seats atop some junk with the brand name up.  Dewey looked across at the driver.  Both guys were lean and wiry, probably not queer, but either high or jacked up on some emotion.  They were obviously out joy riding.  Dewey tried to opt out.

     ‘Hey, thanks for stopping guys but I think I’ll pass.  Wait for something else.  Thanks anyway.’

     ‘Aw, hey now, man, you definitely do not want to hurt our feelings.’

     Dewey followed his gaze down to the Louisville Slugger.  He looked behind him out across the plowed fields that would be houses the next time he passed by.  He wasn’t a fast runner anyway.  The guy could bring him down from behind with the baseball bat as he ran.

     ‘Well.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘Maybe I can talk faster than they can.’

      ‘Hurt your feelings?  Aw, no man,  I didn’t realize it was like that.  But, hey, since I’ll be getting out first why don’t I sit on the outside?  Save you some trouble down the road.’

     ‘No, I’m athletic.  Get in the middle.’

page 1464.

     Dewey slid in.  The door slammed shut; the driver accelerated to the fast lane.  The driver, Dave, who did not introduce himself, got right to the point.

     ‘We need your opinion, man.  I got a real difficult situation here.’

     Dewey didn’t like the depth of that quagmire.  ‘Oh yeah?  My opinion wouldn’t be worth much.  Gee, I just turned twenty.  I don’t have much experience at all.’

     ‘You got enough for me, man.  Here’s the problem.’

     All the time Dave spoke the car was going eighty miles an hour.  The seemingly endless line of sailors to the right ebbed and flowed and danced to the right and left like some giant conga line.  The phenomenon was surely one of the most spectacular sights the world had to offer.  By daylight all those sailors would be gone.  Nearly all of them would make it back in time for muster.  This phenomenon happened every single Sunday night for those who had eyes to see and the intellect to understand.

      ‘Ya see, it’s like this.  I used to be married to this woman, beautiful woman, high school sweetheart.  We were very happy but I wasn’t making much money.  Then this guy comes along.  A coal miner.’

     ‘Coal miner?  In LA?’

     ‘Yeah.  So this guy is making a lot of money; coal miners get paid real good.’

     ‘They do?’

     ‘Sure.  They gotta work underground where the coal is which is real dangerous work.  You wouldn’t do it for the minimum wage would you?’

page 1465

     ‘I wouldn’t do it for a lot of money but there aren’t any coal mines in LA.’

     ‘Shut up and listen.  So my high school sweetheart and wife falls for this guy’s bucks.  That’s all she could see was his money, divorces me and goes to him.   This was a couple years ago.  So I become very distraught.  I don’t know what to do, so I join the Army.  While I am in the Army now I meet this very wonderful girl who loves me only for myself, she doesn’t care whether I have money or not.  I married her last month.’

     ‘Where is there an Army base in LA?’

     ‘There is one.  I’m stationed there, OK?  I know.  Now shut up and listen.  So right after I marry my present wife there is a terrible cave in at the mine and my wife’s new husband is killed.’

     ‘Boy, I never heard about that.  Where are those coal mines in LA?’

     ‘Listen, they have steel mills in LA, don’t they?’

     ‘Maybe.  OK.’  Dewey didn’t know but they did.

     ‘Well, you need coal to make steel don’t you?’

     ‘Coke.’  Dewey corrected.

     ‘Coke?’

     ‘Yah.  Coke.  You coke the coal and use the coke.  It burns hotter.’

     ‘What, are you a wise guy?  So you coke the coal, the point is you need coal to make steel, don’t you.  So where there’s steel mills there must be coal mines.  Get it?’

page 1466.

     ‘Boy.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘There’s a stretch in logic.’  But it wasn’t his car and he was in the middle.

     ‘So the mine roof drops on this guy’s melon and he’s got accidental double indemnity life insurance for twenty-five thousand dollars.  So now my ex is got twenty-five thousand dollars and no husband to spend it with.  So now after I’m married to my current wife my ex wants me to come back to her and the twenty-five grand.  What would you do?’

     So this was the trick.  Dewey thought that if he answered one way they would beat him to death with the baseball bat; if he answered the other way they might let him go.  He wasn’t sure what kind of guys they were.  Dave sounded like he was more interested in the twenty-five Gs than in a good woman but it could be a trick.

     ‘Gosh.’  Dewey tried to equivocate.  ‘That’s a tough one; I don’t know how to call it.’

     ‘Call it anyway.  I gotta know because whatever you say determines what I will do.’ 

     That was what worried Dewey.

     He looked right at Dave’s partner, Jack, who was looking at him expectantly, then back at Dave who was urgently demanding an answer.

     Dewey desperately wanted to give the right answer but he was having a hard time reading Dave.

     ‘Funny I didn’t hear about this coal mine cave in.’  He countered.  ‘You think it would have been on the news.’

     ‘Forget the cave in; you were out at sea.  It happened.  Give me your decision.’

page 1467.

     Dewey grasped that how he answered would determine how he was to be disposed of.  Unable to read Dave he decided to go with his own morality and trust to his luck.

     ‘Umm.  I’d stay with your current wife who loves you for what you are, whatever that may be, and is true to you even in the Army which is really saying something.’

     ‘Really?  Yeah, but my ex is a better looker.  Lots better than my current wife.’

     ‘Well, looks are transient and only skin deep.  Fidelity is worth lots more.’

     ‘Sure.  But what about the twenty-five thousand dollars?  That’s a lot of money.’

     Dewey could nearly count the number of twenty dollar bills he’d seen in his life.  If you laid them all out in a row they wouldn’t reach across the dash board.  He had no concept of money but even in the late fifties it was becoming common to speak in terms of millions of dollars so 25,000 didn’t sound like much,  except maybe to a banker calling a loan.  Dewey could see himself spending it in no time.

     ‘Well, she’s left you once for money and twenty-five thousand won’t last long.  Once it’s gone she’ll probably leave you again.  This is Hollywood.  There’s lots of guys with lots of money, lot more than twenty-five thousand.  If she’s that good looking she’s liable to get some taste and get one of those.’

     The unconscious insult slipped past Dave.

page 1468.

     ‘Say, you know, I think you’re right.  You’ve helped out a lot.  I think I’ll stay with my current wife.’  So saying Dave whipped over to the side of the road, shoved Dewey out and sped off.

      ‘Wow.  That was a close one.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘I thought I was going to die for sure.  Coal mines in LA!’

     Dave had dropped him off way at the end of the line of sailors just where 101 jogged off the freeway through San Juan Capistrano.  A couple of disconsolate sailors were standing in front of the rich black loam of the plowed fields.  They were soon picked up leaving Dewey alone.  His anxiety increased as it was getting late.

     A car pulled over.

     ‘Listen, I’ve been driving all day and I’m bushed.  If you can drive and let me sleep, OK.  Otherwise no ride.’

     ‘Of course I can drive.’  Dewey said who had only been behind the wheel once in his life.

     ‘Do you have a license.’

     ‘Are you kidding?  I’ve been around cars all my life.’  Dewey said, artfully avoiding lieing.

     ‘OK.  But I’m really tired and need to sleep.  Get in on the driver’s side.’

     Dewey ran over to the driver’s side and hopped in.  As he got behind the wheel he realized that he was somewhat hazy about shifting.  Fortunately the car was an automatic.

     ‘Do you usually drive your car in D1 or D2.’  He asked what he hoped would be taken as a polite question and not a betrayal of his ignorance.

page 1469.

     ‘I put it in Drive, of course.  Say, do you really have a license?’

      ‘Does Carter have little liver pills?’  Dewey slipped it into D1 and lurched off.

     ‘You can go to sleep now.’  He announced.

     ‘I’m going to watch you a little, make sure you know how to drive first.’  But he drifted off to sleep immediately.

     The night was very dark.  Dewey was driving very tentatively.  He didn’t always see the Stop signs in San Juan in time to stop, driving through them.  There were no other cars on  the road so that didn’t matter.  Past San Juan he was driving very tentatively, barely fifty miles an hours.  He was not only timid himself but emotionally exhausted by a most adventurous trip thus he wandered over onto the shoulder for a moment.  The driver awakened immediately.

     ‘Jesus Christ!  What’s happening?’

     ‘Nothing. I just ran over a narrow part of the road.’

      ‘Narrow part of the road!  Say, you don’t have a license do you?’

     ‘I know how to drive.  They just didn’t make this part of the road very wide, that’s all.’

     ‘Answer my question directly.  Do you have a driver’s license?’

     ‘Not today.  I’m going to get one tomorrow.’

     ‘Just what I thought.  Stop the car.  Get out.’

     ‘Wait a minute.  I can at least talk to you to keep you awake.  C’mon, give me a ride into San Diego.’  Dewey said stopping the car.

page 1471

     ‘Nobody rides for free.  Can’t drive, can’t ride.  Get out.’

     The driver drove off in a frenzy leaving Dewey in the dark by the side of the road at four in the morning but it was really tight now.

     Rosy fingered dawn shone faintly on the horizon before he caught another ride.  He lamented his situation to the driver who was decent and sympathetic.

     ‘I’ll get you back in time.  It’s going to be close but I was in the service myself.  I know how it is.’

     The man did drop Dewey off at the gate.  Dewey gave him a heartfelt thanks.  Past the gate he broke into a run then raced back to the ship.  They were just about to call roll with Dewey stepped into line in full dress blues.

    ‘Trueman.’

     ‘Yo.’

     ‘You’re late, Trueman.’  Dieter glowered.

     ‘Whadya mean I’m late, Chief?  You called Trueman and I said yo.  Sounds like I’m here to me, I can hear myself talking to you, doesn’t it sound like I’m here to you?  I’m talking to ya.’

     ‘Wise ass.  Don’t push your luck with me.  You’re not in dungarees.  You work in that uniform and you go over the side to paint the fo’c’sle.  Get moving.’

     Dewey wasn’t happy about that trying to find a way around it.  On the fo’c’sle he took off his middie folding it up on deck in what he hoped was a secure place.  There was nothing he could do with his pants but he hoped to dink around all morning so he wouldn’t get paint on them.

page 1471.

     Dieter showed up on the fo’c’sle to torment him followed by Blaise Pardon.

     ‘You’re out of uniform, Trueman.  Put that middie back on.’

     ‘Go down and change, Trueman.’  Pardon countermanded.

     Dieter gave him a dirty look but let the matter slide walking aft.  That was one the reason the old salts had no use for Pardon;  he was too reasonable.

Dazed And Confused

     Life moved along at a pace that was beyond bewildering.  There was no time to ingest the stream of happenings let alone digest their significance.  Dewey experienced life like a leaf blown by a storm, every touch down was too brief and fleeting to leave a sense of meaning.  Whatever understanding he had took place on the subliminal level.  He was way too busy just staying alive; catching his breath was out of the question.

     His nervous excitement was such that he was unaware that he wasn’t even getting enough sleep.  On the weekends he got no more than six hours.  During the week he got not much more.

     His agony was such that he preferred to be away from the Navy as much as possible at whatever cost.  Two weekends a month was not enough; he wanted all four.  The only chance he had to do this was to find a stand-in.  In this he was in luck.  The ET who replaced Dart Craddock was called Corey Wells.  His situation was that he wanted liberty on all weekdays while the weekends meant nothing to him.  He was willing to swap the one for the other.

page 1472.

     The two sailors were brought together and an agreement was struck.  The question remained whether both men would honor the terms.  Even on such a small ship as the Teufelsdreck where one would think it rash to incur enmity the men betrayed each other without a second thought.  No one seemed to worry about their reputation.

     It was always possible that either man would refuse to honor his obligation.  If that happened the other was AWOL and not available for his watch.  Thus, initially at least, it was necessary for Trueman to have a backup.  Trueman took Wells’ duty first so Wells had a friend in reserve which proved unnecessary as Trueman always kept his word.  Trueman, whose friends were all leaving for the same weekend, agreed to pay Laddybuck two dollars a day to stand his watches in addition to Laddybuck’s own, who had duty, if Wells defaulted.  Trueman and Wells were grateful to find someone who was honest and whose needs were complementary.  Thus Trueman had every weekend free for the next several months.

     Kanary tried to interfere by shifting watch times but he found he was messing with more than Trueman being compelled thereby to keep his hands off.

     Trueman’s other problem was eating.  Navy food as prepared by Bocuse was intolerable to him.  He could eat only one out of three breakfasts so he filled up on toast.  Lunches were tolerable but the soggy green beans that accompanied every other dinner meant that he ate sparingly.  On the weekends he ate little if at all.  Needless to say a toothpick cast a bigger shadow than he did.

page 1473.

     Nervous excitement masked any sleep or nutritional defects Trueman might have had.  He had a strong consititution.  However the general trend of events was very unsettling to his mind.  The question of who had tried to commit him to the mental institution was worrisome.  That Tory Torbrick was the agent of someone was obvious but it seemed impossible that the Navy should have assigned him to the Teufelsdreck with that object in mind and he had known who Dewey was when he came aboard.

     Without knowledge of Yisraeli Trueman was mystified.  He indirectly associated the attempt with Kanary from whom he felt the pressure of discrimination but he could assign no cause.  He ruled out Captain Ratches and he refused to give Dieter the credit of enough intelligence to conceive or execute such a plan.

     However his suspicions seemed confirmed during the year’s K-gun exercizes.  On the day the U.S. Marines went ashore in Lebanon the squadron took to sea to further the Navy’s apparent attempt to rid the sea of tuna fish or any other living matter.

     First Division gathered around the Depth Charge racks and K-guns to perpetuate their skill at sowing the seas with high explosives.  Trueman took his former position at the second starboard mortar.  Dieter stood looking at him as the bile rose to his face to give him that liverish complexion.

     His mind roved longingly back to his attempted entombment of Trueman in the Depth Charge locker.  Snarling inwardly he ordered Trueman to go below during the exercizes.  Trueman was in no position to debate or disobey so he stepped down the after hatch to First.

page 1474.

     Dieter walked over and dropped the hatch on him.  As Trueman sat alone in the compartment his ubiquitous nemesis the queer Kanary dogged down the port hatch then crossing over to starboard, glowering menacingly as though he were actually executing Trueman, he dogged the starboard hatch.

     The fantastic Dieter having failed to destroy Trueman in the Depth Charge locker now dreamed that he was blowing Trueman up in First.  The aft charges were exploded with little more than a distant rumble.  But then the K-gun charges fired to the side began to report.  The first charges were deep but you could still hear the displaced water rushing up to the side of the ship followed by a dull thud as the pressure hit the side.

     The mad Bos’n’s Mate was nearly insane with rage at Trueman’s lack of reverence or interest in his exploits as the Hero of Saipan.  As the exercise progressed the charges were set for shallower and shallower depths.  The thuds became clangs as the displaced water crashed against the hull followed by the plate rattling concussion.

     Becoming more enraged as the charges become shallower Dieter ordered the next at sixty feet down two hundred feet out.  The force increased considerably.  The plates not only clanged but rattled as the sound reverberted up and down the hull.  The force rocked the ship a little but it didn’t heave out of the water as it had the previous year.

page 1475.

     Dieter slipped into another world.  He was about to order the next charge at the shallowest and closest in.  The charge at that speed,depth and distance might have burst the plates.  Dieter was so far gone in his chagrin as to sink his ship in an attempt to trap Trueman below.  From Saipan to sinking his own ship.

     However the last charge had brought the Captain to his feet.  Standing in the starboard lookout with his glasses trained on Dieter he had the bridge talker call Dieter to the phone.

     ‘That’s enough for today, Chief.  Pack it in and clean it up.’

     ‘Yes, Sir.’  Dieter replied as his mind slowly returned from its nether regions.

     The sailors who had it figured out blew out a sigh of relief.  The Mad Chief was derailed from committing a crime of the first magnitude.

     The after hatch was propped up as the Gunner’s came down to replenish their Depth Charges.  Dieter followed them down to gaze first lovingly into the hold he had wanted to place his nemesis and then over at Trueman as though he wished him there.

     Trueman did not consciously process the information entering his brain.  It went directly into his subconscious where it worked like yeast in bread.  He had a little over a year to go; he knew he must be very wary.

     His mental malaise was exacerbated by the subsequent discharge of the men of low I.Q.  As in Guam over fifty men left the ship at one time.  They received their orders on the same day streaming off the Teufelsdreck at a happy gallop.  As Trueman looked at Dieter he thought ruefully that the fat mad Chief should join them.  Trueman was wrong though, Dieter wasn’t that dumb he was the proud possessor of a score of thirty-three.

page 1476.

     As the ship had never been fully replenished after Guam in addition to the departure of the Black sailors the crew was very depleted.  First was nearly half empty as a couple dozen bunks were left unused.  Trueman who had been spitefully moved from his favorite bunk to a middle bunk in the starboard center tier now took the opportunity to move back to his former bunk announcing that anyone who didn’t like it could kiss his ass.  As no dissenting voices were raised it may be assumed that all were unpleased with the opportunity to kiss Trueman’s ass.

     The pleasure of the unwonted roominess was destroyed as the replacements began to come aboard.  The amazing thing was that the low I.Q. sailors had been the most objectionable men on board.  However the replacements, if of a higher I.Q., were even worse but in different ways.

     These were all men of the high school class of ’57.  Now it is a fact that the class of ’56 had the highest ever scores on the scholastic aptitude tests.  Beginning in ’57 the scores began a long decline that to my knowledge hasn’t ended yet.

     The causes of the decline in the way of society are debated with no results but it must be true that years subsequent to ’56 did not digest the material if they received it.

     This fact was evident to the perplexed members of the crew.  The new men’s reactions to Navy discipline were even more deplorable than those arriving with Dewey.  The new men even made Frenchey seem like a stellar performer.  Frenchey had always gone through the paces but the new men refused even to do that.  Worse, they even seemed incapable.

page 1477.

     The class of ’56 seemed to be different than earlier years but intermediate between those and subsequent years.  Somehow they were neither of the Depression mentality or the Affluent mentality.  They were neither as solemn and dutiful as the earlier years nor as flighty and irresponsible as the subsequent years.

     The education and expectations of the younger men seemed entirely different from what had gone before.

     The difference of a single year had changed their expectation toward affluence.  Born in ’39  they had come to an age of awareness in the post-war years.  Too young to have a memory of the Depression or War years they knew only the boom years of the late forties and fifties.

     Having begun high school in ’55 and ’56 they were all of the Rock and Roll generation.  The class of ’55  had missed the Rock and Roll influence completely.  In that respect their tastes were those of the preceding generation.  The class of ’56 had been mixed in its influence.  Half had rejected Rock and Roll completely while a quarter accepted it as part of what was happening; another quarter, to which Dewey belonged, had embraced the music wholeheartedly.  Still, Dewey had little in common with the new men on that score.

      In addition the new men, while not of the TV generation, had grown up with it during their teen years thus identifying completely with the tube while Dewey had only known TV for about three years before leaving high school.  It is to be assumed that the classes before ’56 had less TV time than that or none.  So that while the new men had been absorbed into the TV phenomenon, earlier men saw TV as a phenomenon not part of their psychic organization.

page 1478.

     Howdy Doody, Kukla Fran and Ollie and the Mickey Mouse Club were alien to the older men.  The importance of the Mickey Mouse Club especially should not be under estimated.  The World War II vets like Dieter had no inkling of the emerging consciousness.

     In addition and most importantly the new men had attended high school while the civil rights movement was gearing into full swing.  The resultant uproar was very disquieting as the schools began to move from educational institution into Thought Management systems.  Learning became subsidiary to attitude formation.

     Black-White relations were managed by a small percentage of Whites concentrated in the universities, the press, publishing, entertainment and like influential areas.  They were and are a self-righteous group of people who will use any excuse to belittle others and magnify themselves.  They consider their opinion paramount to the law or perhaps more accurately they equate their opinion with the law.  They have been in control from the times of Reconstruction to the present.  They assume that they are pure and all others are foul and evil.

     They assumed that all other Whites were and are incurable bigots.  They assumed that all others had to be tightly controlled and beaten into submission.  They moved from individualism into collectivism.  They were censorious; they would tolerate no discussion of the problems and difficulties except on their own terms.  Hence, while claiming to be pure democrats they imposed an authoritarian system not less severe than Hitler or Stalin punishing by expulsion from the community of anyone who dissented from their explicit viewpoint for any reason.

page 1479.

     Small violations were met with draconian punishments.  A sportscaster using the word ‘nigger’ in private conversation would be stripped of not only his livelihood but his self-respect.  These criminal demons would actually equate such a person with Hitler.  In a word they had been driven insane by their self-righteousness.

     In their efforts to punish other Whites by making them consort with Negroes they wantonly insulted Black Folk by denying that they were capable of educating themselves.  They completely destroyed the Black educational infrastructure turning an entire cadre of educators out on their ears from satisfying and rewarding careers to menial tasks.  These Whites didn’t look forward and they didn’t look back.  They weighed and evaluated nothing they merely acted out of their self-righteousness.

     No consideration was taken of either the Negro intellect or the White intellect.  No attempt at psychology was made.  Thus with no preparation of either Blacks or Whites, Blacks were thrown into what Blacks considered a hostile environment.

      Now, the image of this little Black girl in her cute little pink dress being escorted down the walk by the Army in Little Rock is a very effective piece of propaganda but cute little Black girls would never be the problem.  Big Black boys with knives and razors bent on vengeance would be.

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A Short Story

In Darkest America

by

R.E. Prindle

 

‘O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be?’

‘Some ship in distress, that cannot live

In such an angry sea!’

– Longfellow

 Yo’ doan miss yo’ watta’ till the well runs dry.

-Trad.

 

     As the bus sped down the spine of Illinois toward Memphis Dewey’s mind was dark with swarming visions.  All the indignities and injustices he had endured, and the frustrations and thwartings formed the matrix of the cogitations.  His own failures in meeting the Challenges he had faced worried his conscious mind.  The hurts and evils were transfigured away from the personal and projected into the great swirl of events going on around him that determined the decisions he had to make to go on living.

     This was the period of life of the great inflow when impressions entered his mind faster than he could organize and interpret them.  All around the boy forces, movements and people that would influence his life were dropping into place or preparing to affect him.

     As the bus whizzed down the highway past St. Louis off to the West there was a young fellow by the name of San Martin Sobibor about to obtain his MD in Psychiatry from Washington University.  In the Spring of ’59 Sobibor would depart for the mecca of sexual perversion, San Francisco, where , as he put it, he could be at home.  From there he would migrate to Portland Oregon because, while he was ready for San Francisco, Baghdad By The Bay wasn’t ready for him.  Hard to believe but true.  In Portland the paths of Dewey Trueman and Marty Sobibor would intersect with results to be shown.

     For now, concerned solely with the moment, Dewey’s mind darkened with the deepening shades of evening.  He would be dozing when the bus, after an hours delay in Memphis, turned West across the Mississippi into Arkansas.  In the gloom of the night Dewey lost the opportunity of sighting the Congo of America from the deck of the Mississippi Bridge made famous by Chuck Berry’s seminal song, ‘Memphis, Tennessee.’

     Arkansas.  Dewey would wake to see some of the swamps and bottomlands before the bus passed  through Little Rock.  Little Rock.  It had been only two years before that Eisenhower had called the Army out to excort a cute little Negro girl in a pink pinafore into desegregated Central High.

     A hundred years before the Sons of Dixie would have gone to battle over less but now the fight was gone out of them.  These were different times; the Great Cause had been lost way back when.  Little could be done now to win back the South’s pride.  Just as their defeat a hundred years before had driven Dixie down, this defeat a hundred years after would have as profound an affect on the whole of America. 

      The Army  in Little Rock, tanks in Prague and Waco.

     Little Rock.  Central High.  Memories of the scene in the hallway before Mrs. Hicks’ class at Melville the week before came flooding back through Dewey’s half glazed mind.  How right was desegregation? was his thought.  What could be gained by destroying one people for the benefit of another people, the former much more highly evolved, developed and advanced than the latter.

     Actually nothing good came of desegregating schools in the South.  The truth about integrated schools could be seen right then in the North where desegregation had been a fact for over a hundred years.  Truth was less important than fantasy in Disney America.

     Over the next several decades the hopelessness of forcing Black Folks on White Folks was such that even responsible Black Folk rebelled at the chaos integration had produced.  By the twenty-first century in an effort to get away from desegregated schools society, unable to face the situation squarely, enacted voucher systems in which the government paid the tuition of students so parents could avoid sending their kids to the same hell holes to which they had been bused.

     Who wished to escape the hell holes they had carved out of order and organization the most.  Whites?  No.  They were too embarrassed to keep their kids from attending Black gang dominated classes.  Blacks leapt at the chance to get their Black kids away from the Black dominated high schools so their tots could get a ‘good’ education.  It remains to be seen whether academic standards will be demolished in their new schools.  Probably.

     Well, it’s not like the Conservatives didn’t see it coming.

     Liberal fanatics saw the uplifting of Blacks when they received the same education as Priviliged White Skins.  What Liberals didn’t foresee was that the racial tension and strife would be so intense that rather than Blacks getting the education of White kids the education of White kids would be brought down to the level of Blacks.  Standards would be lowered by Blacks rather than Blacks raised to the higher White standards that they could not meet.  Liberals couldn’t or wouldn’t foresee the results nor do they care today if the result was the brutilization of White kids.  So they give the Blacks a fifteen point handicap and say both are equal.

     Well, no matter.  Civilization can take any amount of punishment without lapsing into a dark age, can’t it?  There’s still water in the well, isn’t there?  The level is way down there now but, you know, you don’t miss your water till the well runs dry.

     Then judged by thoughts of Little Rock’s Central High Dewey’s thoughts reverted back a hundred years to the Civil War when hundred of thousands of the flower of the White species were destroyed for the benefit of Black savages most of whom were fresh from the jungles.

     Black savages? you say.  Yes.  Black savages, if you only look at the facts.  To say that Dewey had all this worked out would not be true.  His mind contained the thoughts only in embryo like the oak is prefigured by the acorn.  Thus, while his thoughts were not as detailed as the following, just as when the acorn bursts it bonds and begins to grow into the oak so all of Dewey’s later development was contained in the nebulous forms of his understanding at this time.  It is axiomatic that you can’t learn what you don’t already know.

     As Dewey might have said then had he known the details that he would later learn he might have acted more strenuously.  Let us consider the set and setting.

     The Civil War was fought from 1860 to 1865.  Western technology and science was already far ahead of any other people or area of the world.  Western science, even at the time, made White people a distinct evolutionary stage of development.  If you are going to claim to be scientific you have to face these facts.  The fantastic advances in scientific knowledge that occurred after the Civil War were so far ahead of Asia and Africa as to strain credulity.  It was as though the super bowl champion football team was playing a bunch of high schoolers.  Gods walked the earth.

       Electricity alone was a quantum leap ahead of the past and all other civilizations.  Except for Euroamerica electricity was unknown anywhere else in the world.  When Coney Island was illuminated during the gay nineties incoming Eastern and Southern Europeans out at sea were overawed by the sight of the amusement park glowing in the night.   Nowhere else on earth was such a sight possible.

     If nether Europeans were astonished imagine the effect on traditional Chinese or the Stone Age peoples of America and Africa.  Imagine how they must have responded a few years into the twentieth century when they saw White men flying airplanes above them in their skies.

     In 1865 the conquest of the American West was yet to begin in earnest.  The centenaries for the states of New Mexico and Arizona haven’t even taken place yet.  China was still a medieval society.  Africa was still an unknown continent.  No area with the exception of South Africa had been brought under European dominion as yet.  Large areas were still shown as a blank spot on the map indicating territory unknown to Whites.  In reality most of Africa had not been trod by a booted foot.

      The Africans lived in a state of stone age nature that had been virtually undisturbed for a hundred fifty thousand years since the first Homo Sapiens sneered at his predecessor hominid.  Mental traits and habits still existed untouched by abstract thought.

     Even as the Civil War was being fought African tribesmen were ritually sacrificing tens of thousands of their own annually and eating them.  Slavery?  What a tragedy.  Cannibal feasts were part of the fabric of native life as they remained into the twentieth century and down to the present time.  At the time of this story cannibalism was a fact of of life in Africa.  Sekou Toure, the Big Daddy of Guinea, kept his refrigerator stocked with human flesh.  Thus modern technology improved the life of the African greatly.  When questioned about it Toure adopted the condescending tone and said:  There are some things Westerners will never understand.

     Thus this state of mind indigenous to the African continues to this day.

     In 1893 at the great Chicago Exposition the natives of Dahomey on the South Coast of the African bulge were displayed as the most primitive and savage people on earth.  This was no exaggeration.  As late as 1893 and well beyond human sacrifice and cannibalism was a characteristic trait of Dahomians.

     In the early 1870s some few years into Reconstruction in the American South after slavery had been abolished the British hacked a campaign into the bush of the Gold Coast, or what is now called Ghana, to  correct habits similar to the Dahomians practiced by the Ashanti people at the capital of Coomassie.  When the British succeeded in fighting their way through the bush to Coomassie they were horrified at what they discovered.

     Great mounds of human skulls, the result of incessant human sacrifice were piled in huge pyramids and rows along the streets of the Ashanti capitol.  Pots of cannibal stew still simmered.  H.M. Stanley who recorded the entry into Coomassie would later be criticized for his portrayal of ‘Darkest Africa’ but how much darker could Africa be than this?

     Depends on what you call darker.  Even as White Men were falling in their myriads in America for the liberation of a people who could never appreciate  it, East Africa was actually being depopulated by Arab slavers who delivered their product to the Middle East and India.

     British policy and the American Civil War only succeeded in ending slave trading from the West of Africa.  Arab slavers had been raiding East Africa for slaves for at least two millennia.

     Even as White Men murdered each other in America for the benefit of West African slave trading cannibals, thousand person lines of slaves yoked together moved down out of the highlands of East Africa for Arab ports.  Accounts differ but perhaps only three of ten made it from point of origin to the final destination.  This Arab Slave trade was to continue unabated still for decades until it was driven underground by the British where it continues functioning to this day.

     When the US allowed Arabs into this country after 1965 they brought their slaves with them.  Thus one hundred fifty years after brave White Men died for the sins of Black Africa slavery was reintroduced into America.

     What area of Africa did the American Negro slaves come from?  Ashanti chiefs supplied large numbers of them.  Others came from the Slave Coast further East on the coasts of Dahomey and Nigeria.

     Today American Blacks benefit from the notion that they are as early in America as the earliest British.  True, some Blacks date back to the seventeenth century when the first cargoes were landed but by far the largest number date from after 1776.

     Even after the British, having learned their error rather quickly, tried to destroy the Afro-American slave trade late in the eighteenth century and American law illegalized the trade in 1807 still the now illegal trade continued uninterrupted until the Civil War.  Thus a very large proportion of Blacks were transported between 1830 and 1860.

     The level of civilization of these Black Folk may be gauged by that of the Ashantis and Dahomians.  In other words they had been death worshipping cannibals until their Daddys or Chiefs sold them West.  As of 1959 this was only a hundred years previously.  These savages had been forcefully taught to change their diet from human flesh to beef only three or four generations earlier.

     Cannibalism was a sore point with the Afro-Americans of 1959.  The pop group Cannibal And The Headhunters was meant to disparage this obvious truth.  The intent was to make the notion appear as a White Man’s fabrication.  It worked pretty well too.

     Now, as I stated before just because you step on the soil of the New World does not mean that your inbred mental arrangement is modified in any way;  only your subsequent mental condition can be altered.   The mind is not so elastic that the past loses its influence.  It only manifests itself in different ways.  It adapts its manners and customs to the new conditions; this is to say that no one forgets his antecedents and grudges.

     Let us now direct our attention from the Africans to the English immigrants.  Let us put them into perspective so we can understand the development of democracy in the United States.

      The English discovery of America happened at a most propitious time in English history.  In conventional terms the English Commons was about to supplant the English Crown.

     Political events are always based on personal animosities.  In the fifteenth century Henry the VIII had discarded the hated Catholic Church.  Henry’s daughter Elizabeth I continued Henry’s religious policies.

     At the beginning of the seventeenth century, Elizabeth having died without progeny the crown was offered to the Scottish Catholic James who was already James the VI of Scotland and now became James I of England.

      The Scots were not particularly well thought of by the English while the fear of Catholicism being reestablished created a panic.  The seeds of discontent had been sown.

     At the end of the fifteenth century Gutenburg had invented movable type inaugurating the age of print.  Printing was much cheaper than hand copied manuscripts.  The first book was printed.  Naturally  it was the Bible.  Bibles were now available at a reasonable cost.  The Bible was widely disseminated in the area of England known as East Anglia after its conquerors the Angles.  East Anglia is formed by the three shires of the bulge East of London plus Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire.  Animosity existed between east Anglians and the Southern shires that formed the heart of the Norman conquest of 1066.

      When the Normans conquered England they enslaved the Anglo-Saxons.  Thus Gurth in Walter Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe’ is an Anglo-Saxon slave.  Slavery is said to have existed in the Norman shires to a period c. 1500.

     The Anglians resented this fact of their having been enslaved very much, as they had previously been conquerors and exterminators.  Their grudge against the Normans simmered along without focus until Gutenburg delivered the Bible into their hands.  Perusing the Old Testament very carefully they formed an identity with the Hebrews who had been enslaved in Egyptland.  Where the Anglians had lacked direction formerly their identification with the Hebrews pointed the way for them.

     Disturbing under Elizabeth, the Anglians now alternatively known as Puritans from their identification with the Hebrews 0f the Bible became troublesome under the Scottish Catholic James but progressed to rebellion under James’ son, Charles I.

     Charles was called upon to exert repressive measures to protect his throne.  During this period the East Anglians boarded ships to flee to the newly discovered coast of North America.  Landing in the North the Anglian cum Puritan State of New England or New Anglia came into existence.

     They did not forget their past but continued to nurse their grudges against crown, Catholics, Scots and Normans.  They didn’t like the Irish too much either.

     In England the Anglians revolted, captured the crown and installing Oliver Cromwell as the Protector attempted to root out and destroy Norman influences.

     The Anglian Puritans were called Roundheads while the Norman troups of Charles were called Cavaliers.  When Cromwell and the Anglian Puritans ruled it was the turn of the Norman Cavaliers to flee to America.  New England having been pre-empted by the Anglians the Cavaliers set up their characteristic social institutions in what was to become the State of Virginia.  The two arch enemies were separated by a few hundred miles which was a sufficient buffer to prevent hostilities at that time.

     In England the manners of the Anglians were so unpalatable that to continue their hegemony would have meant establishing a totalitarian state, not unlike that in the United States today,  which they didn’t have the power to do.

     Thus the Stuarts in the person of Charles II were invited back.  They proved unpopular so in 1688 in the revolution known as Glorious in contrast to the earlier Anglian Puritan revolution William and Mary began the Protestant Succession which was firmly established in 1717 with the introduction of the Hanoverian line from German that continues to this day under the assumed name of Windsor.

     The Anglians retired into their Eastern shires where they have remained fiercely isolationist.  The Author toured East Anglia a couple times in the 1970s where he was amazed at the continuing hostility of East Anglians to outsiders and their unwarranted sense of superiority.  The spirit of the Puritans is alive today in the East Anglian heartland.

     Thus, whereas by 1776 the conflict between the English factions was more or less resolved in England the conflict had not yet been formulated on American shores.

     The Norman Cavaliers had enslved Anglians and Saxons in England until fairly recent times; now the Anglians thought their descendants in America were up to their old tricks.  The notion of indentured White laborers that were in effect slaves for a limited period had been part and parcel of Norman Virginia.  As the Anglians might have noted wryly:  Old habits die hard.  The notion of innate superiority was part of the Norman as well as the Virginian character.  It should be no suprise that Virginians would keep Black slaves while condemning them to racial inferiority.

     Any excuse will do if you really want to pick a fight.  The Anglians of New Anglia or England hating the slave owning Cavaliers of Virginia chose slavery as the issue over which to renew the war of the Anglian revolution in England.  This time the war would be a fight to the finish that would involve the total destruction and extermination of their old enemies.

     There is no question that slavery was an evil that had to be discontinued and was being discouraged in a diplomatic manner in Africa and those same diplomatic heads that were interested in right and less interested in revenge should have prevailed in America.

     Now, the Anglian vision of history which we are taught in school is that freedom of religion was the issue that caused Purtian immigration.  This is nonsense.  The issue was one between Anglians and Normans that was brought into focus under a religious disguise.

     Religion is little more than a psychic projection of the hopes and fears of a people.  The model on which the Anglians formulated their angst was that of the Hebrew Bible.  The Hebrews or Jews formulated their religious response because of their own defeat and humiliation at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.  In an access of pride, rather than admit to being defeated, they formulated the notion that they were a Chosen People of their God destined to rule the world.  Their present state then was not one of defeat but of being chastised for not having followed the precepts of their God to the tittle.  The Puritans or Anglians found the  Hebrew model an answer to their psychic needs.

     The Nazis of German in the same way and using once again the Jewish model elected themselves a chosen people in response to their betrayal and defeat in the First World War.

     The Communists who are also based on the Jewish model are merely the unproductive members of society who either will not or cannot so they merely say they will expropriate the producers but the idea of an elect or chosen people of ‘laborers’ is the same.

     Once the notion has become part of the psychology of a people the notion is refined and grows and grows.  The end result is that reason is discarded and Anglians, Jews, Nazis, Liberals and Communists become intense bigots because as their dogma is based on a falsehood it will fall to the ground upon examination.  Therefore they must censor all speech and writing and even function as thought police.  In other words, the Emperor has no clothes.

     The Civil War having been fought and ended the antagonism between the Anglian Puritans and Norman Cavaliers remained.  The financier J.P. Morgan once said that every man has two reasons for whatever he does:  A good reason and the real reason.  The good reason the Anglians had for provoking the Civil War was their ostensible opposition to the bonafide evil of slavery.  The real reason was the age old British quarrel between the Roundheads and the Cavaliers.

     The great tragedy of the European conquest of the world was the dependence on African slaves for manual labor.  What a fine country the US would have been if the African savages had been left in Africa to pile their heaps of skulls in the jungle.  For, you see, contrary to popular opinion the White man has a conscience that is lacking in all other peoples.  The Blacks had been amassing mountains of skulls for centuries without one thought of conscience.  There wasn’t even a word for conscience in their vocabulary.

     The American Civil War ended the practice of slavery amongst the White race.  Slavery of African Blacks in Africa continues to this day.

     The Arabs must have had word about the American War and its purpose yet they too continued their slave practice unabated until the Europeans made it too difficult for them to indulge in slave raids on a massive scale.  Slavery also has continued with them until the present day.  In fact Arabs have reintroduced the practice into Europe and America.  Arabs own slaves in all the White countries.  It wouldn’t be ‘democratic’ if you denied them this right, now, would it?

     Unlike Blacks and Arabs Whites knew from the beginning that slavery was wrong.  They could never be at ease with it.  Oh, maybe there were the bestial types who didn’t worry about it, but witness the American writer Mark Twain, or to use his legal name, Samuel L. Clemens, who epitomized the split in the psyche of the White people of North America.

     Even today Clemens causes discussion among his own for the benefit of the Blacks.  Remember slaves and Blacks are two different things.   One can oppose slavery while being wary of Blacks.

     Clemens although he writes from an Anglian point of view had a Virginian for a father.  Clemens actually enlisted in the Confederate Army.  That he presented himself as a Connecticut Yankee about the time he wrote Huckleberry Finn is an interesting fact because he was far from a Yankee.

     He grew up as far North as the border of the free state of Iowa and across the river from free state of Illinois.  Hannibal, Missouri was a slave holding community.  The Widow Douglas, a Scot, who adopts Huck Finn had the owner of Nigger Jim living in her house while she herself owned slaves.

     Clemens’ attitudes toward the national components of the American nation deserve a closer study.  The person on whom the character of Huck Finn was based was an Anglo named Tom Blankenship.  Clemens changed his nationality to Irish as Finn is an Irish name.  A huckleberry was a worthless fellow so you don’t have just a White guy and a Negro floating down the river but a worthless Irishman and a Negro.

     Sawyer is an English name probably meant to be of Anglian origin.  It denotes a manual occupation.  In point of fact, sawyers cut logs to build houses while thatchers put on the rooves.  So Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher form an interesting psychological combination.  In the racial politics of the time when the Irish had a reputation for being troublesome hard drinkers, Clemens has already set up a national hierarchy with the Anglians on top, the Irish below and the Negro at the bottom.

     Huck Finn is not socially acceptable nor is he capable of being educated to it.  Although the Widow Douglas, a Scot, tries, Huck slips the bonds escaping to float down the Mississippi river on a raft with Nigger Jim.

     Now, Negro Jim as my college English teacher used to call him, is solely a comic figure.  He is the epitome of the ignorant, superstitious, eyeball rolling Darky.  He is really undifferentiated from the other Blacks who came from miles around to hear his witchcraft story.  He has no real identity beyond that of a stereotype and symbol.

Twain, in fact, has never formulated an identity for him.  He doesn’t know who Nigger Jim is.  In Twain’s mind he is just a faceless Negro who neither needs nor has a past.

     I now propose to tell the early history of Jambalaya Karate otherwise known as Nigger Jim.

The African Roots Of Nigger Jim

      Jim hadn’t always been a slave.  Back home in Ghana or the Gold Coast as it was known in those days, Jim had been born the son of a Fanti Daddy, Chief or King where he had been given the name Jambalaya Karate, which loosely translated means The Devourer of the Enemy.

     Jambalaya Karate was born in 1810 a few years after the slave trade had been abolished by the United States.  He grew up a very privileged young man who had slaves of his own.  In his youthful arrogance he was frequently unkind to them.  Cruel even.  On one cannibal occasion he bit off a slaves’s little toe to see what his reaction would be.

     In 1828 when Jambalaya Karate was eighteen his Fanti tribe was attacked by the Ashantis.  Although Jambalaya performed prodigious feats of valor, leaping at times a full five feet straight up in the air like an early model Mr. Bojangles or Michael Jordan the Fantis were defeated while Jambalaya himself was taken captive becoming the personal slave of the Ashanti king Basso Profondo, which translates voice of Thunder i.e. God.

     Jambalaya did not take well to being a slave especially as Basso took great delight in humiliating the son of his enemy Daddy.  Jambalaya remembered his royal origins but too well.  In an effort to teach him manners Basso Profondo bit off one of Jambalaya’s little toes.  While this indignity had a profound effect on the Fanti’s psyche the act nevertheless saved Jambalaya’s life.

     Some fellows were needed for sacrifice as well as to fill the stew pot.  Jambalaya himself had taken part in several cannibal feasts as, indeed, his name meant Devourer Of The Enemy, only a few months earlier.  He did not now relish becoming Fanti stew.

     Uhha!

     Only slaves without blemish were suitable for sacrifice.  Jambalaya was now missing a little toe thus removing him from eligibility.  He was still a troublesome slave  for whom Basso Profondo had no use so he was marched off to the coast in 1830 where he was sold American, placed on board a ship, ran the blockade and was transported to New Orleans where he was landed illegally.

     While Jim as he was now named, having avoided the ignominy of being named Jack or Speedoo, had dreamed of escaping back to his people while in Africa  he now realized there was no such thing as escape.  A little something died inside.  And yet, his life would be better than in Africa.

     Remember jim had already been a slave in Africa.  If one reads enough about American  slaveholders one will learn that slave holding is a most humane affair.  Arab Slavers say that slave holding by Arabs is not the cruel thing it was in Africa or America.  Africans say their slave owners get no complaints from their slaves.  Their slaves would rather be slaves than face the hazards of being free.  Americans, of course, said Blacks were treated like members of the family.  The only people who ever complained about the inhumanity of slavery were the slaves themselves and one knows how unreliable their testimony is.

     There were some salient differences between African slavery and American slavery that made Jim’s lot better in America not least of which climate and food were better.  There were fewer diseases in America.  Jim’s life span in Africa would have been no more than thirty to thirty-five years.  In fact, as he was due to become stew, much less.

     In Africa the owner had the  right of life and limb.  As we saw, Jim bit off his slave’s little toe later having his own amputated.  Had his owner killed him in a fit of pique it was his right.  According to American law owners did not have the right of life and limb.

     In Africa once you were a slave manumission was not a possibility.  Once a slave always a slave.  Thus technically all American Blacks or their descendants would still be slaves in Africa.  In America a slave could buy his freedom or be manumitted.

     Not least of the advantages to being a slave in America is that one was freed from the constant threat of tribal war.  The American Black was automatically detribalized.

     Thus when Jim was landed in New Orleans he lived a more secure and better life in America although he was still a slave.  The major disadvantage was that he was taken from a state of nature and placed among the most advanced scientific people on earth.  The passage from tribal savagery to scientific civilization must have placed an immense strain on his psyche.  No matter how he may have rebelled at the idea he must have thought he was much inferior to White people.

     One can see the effect of the passage from a tribal life to a higher civilization in the passage of the Jews from Palestine to Babylon.  Read Isaiah and Ezekial in that light and you will note some remarkable things.

     While still proud as a slave in Africa, Jim was thoroughly cowed and broken by his circumstances in America.  He became listless and useless until his owner sold him up river as a domestic where he recovered a little of the will to exist although he became the comic buffoon portrayed by Clemens.  Thus Huck, unknown to himself, floated down the Mississippi with a cannibal African prince by the name of Jambalaya Karate:  The Devourer of the Enemy.

     Even though the effectiveness of Jim’s character deepened on his being called Nigger Jim modern Liberals who apparently have no idea of Clemens’ point insist on Bowlderizing Nigger Jim to just plain Jim as though two clowns named Huck and just plain Jim floating down the river is a story.

     Even if one examines the negricity of Nigger Jim one finds the fallacy of Liberal thinking.  As a novelist Clemens seems to have had a clear idea of the pasts of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn but he had no idea of the history of Nigger Jim.  To Clemens he was just a faceless Negro who was only a symbol.

     Even then the racial distinctions of Clemens are fairly remarkable.  Published in 1885 when Clemens was fifty after slavery had been abolished and both the Civil War and Reconstruction were over while the Jim Crow era was beginning Clemens seems to have been in an analytical mood.  He seems to be standing back describing the scene as though he were a Mysterious Stranger; one who had turned coat from being a Southern Rebel to a Connecticut Yankee.

     He portrays a number of nationalities that are clearly distinguished.  Missouri was a slave State.  Slave holding was common in Huck’s town.  Yet the Sawyers and Thatchers do not own slaves.  The names Sawyer and Thatcher are obviously significant.  Sawyers cut boards to make houses while Thatchers make rooves for houses.  Having occupational names they are clearly of Anglian stock.

     If they had been Norman Virginians their names might have been Anglicized for instance from the French Beauchamps to Beecham.  Clemens may at one time have been Clements.

     Huck Finn is obviously Irish.  By 1850 the Irish were only recently a considerable part of the population.  They may not have yet made their way West in any numbers.  In 1885 they would have been conspicuous.  Pap Finn himself seems to be a caricature of the hard drinking, raggedy Irish cottager from the Old Sod.

     Clemens doesn’t seem to be an abolitionist nor does he put much that is sympathetic in Jim’s character.  He is really only the eyeball rolling Darky butt for comic relief.  Clemens himself was to enlist in the Confederate rather than the Union Army so there has to be some question as to whether this ‘Connecticut Yankee’ considered slavery immoral or wrong.

     Nor were the Anglians much disposed to fraternize with Negroes even though they abolished slavery.  It is inconceivable that an Anglian like Tom Sawyer would float downstream on a raft as a near equal of a Negro.  As Anglians equated the Irish and Negroes there is probably a subtle ironic note in the pairing.  Clemens is probably playing up to his Yankee audience.

     When Huck and Jim got to Arkansas the denizens of the swamps and bottomlands are portrayed as a rowdy, dissolute crew.  These men are the Southern descendants of the Norman Virginians and Scotch-Irish.  These are the people that the Africans in Africa and Anglians in America denoted as White Trash.  Throughout American history they have been held as beneath the Negro in status.

     Clemens holds the former cannibal and slave owner Jim up for comparison with the White Trash.  Not knowing anything of Jim’s antecedents he compares Jim favorably to these wild, boisterous Whites.

     Once again, Clemens was writing in 1885 long after the events so he may have been reflecting attitudes of the day rather than of the time.  He had to ingratiate himself with the Anglian Puritans as they controlled American society and the key to his own success as a writer.  In any event he encapsulates the modern hierarchical prejudices of Political Correctness as imposed by the Anglians after the Civil War.  That is:  Anglians, Irish, Negroes and at the bottom White Trash and anyone who disagrees with them.

     In my academic career I knew neither teacher nor student who considered Huckleberry Finn as anything but a true fable.

  Nobody considered Jim from the point of view of any African antecedents.  No one realized he might have any.  Nobody questioned Clemens’ grotesque portrayal of the Arkansans.  You know, folks, they aren’t too far from a lot of the people one sees walking around today.

     As luck would have it we do have a contrasting account of life in the Arkansas swamps and bottoms of the same period.  That account is provided by Henry M. Stanley of ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume’ fame.

     Stanley who was one of the models for Edgar Rice Burrough’s character Tarzan, was born in Wales.  While still in his mid-teens he emigrated to America arriving in New Orleans.  After an adventurous year or so he was adopted by a man named Henry Stanley, who, incredibly, was looking for a son, then gave him his name Stanley in place of  his natal John Rowlands.  In the course of events Stanley apprenticed his namesake to a merchant on the Sabine River bottomlands of Arkansas.  He lived there for a few years until the Civil War began when he was impressed into the Rebel army.

     After the war he became the famous reporter and African explorer but he had always had an eye for details.  He too portrays the Arkansans as a fairly crude bunch while not being unsympathetic to the Negroes.  As a newcomer to America with no axe to grind he takes a more broad point of view portraying a spectrum of Whites and Blacks as people not as types.  And remember that Stanley wrote his autobiography before 1905 and long after his Southern exposure and his several expeditions into Darkest Africa including the expedition into Ashantiland at Coomassie.  No one in the world had more experience with both Blacks and Whites than H.M. Stanley.

     Stanley didn’t understand the English origins of the American Civil War but he gave voice to the central problem of the war which was:  Why should White men kill each other for the benefit of a primitive African people who could never appreciate the sacrifice or could ever leap the chasm between savagery and science.

     Stanley was right but he couldn’t see that the good reason of slavery was not the real reason for the Civil War but instead national antagonism.  Nobody was really fighting for the slaves, the real reason was the fanatical hatred of the Anglian Puritans for the Norman Virginian Cavaliers and the Scotch-Irish.

     The vindictive hatred of the Anglian Puritans was clothed with the righteous religious reason of abolitionism.  No one penetrated the disguise but the disguise was necessary and successful.

     Just as the Jews having once assumed the role of the Chosen People were bound to expand and intensify the notion over the centuries so the Anglians once they had assumed their self-righteous disguise were bound to continue it after the defeat and abasement of their Norman Virginian enemies.

     Having defeated the South the Anglians deep seated, shall we say, insane rage caused them to want to punish the Virginians as seriously as they believed they had been punished by the Normans in England.

     There is no doubt that if they  had not been moderated by New York and the Middle Atlantic States who despised them as much as the Anglians despised the Virginians that that they would have enslaved the Southern Whites to the Negroes.  Failing that they still made Reconstruction one of the most punitive regimes in the history of the world.

     Reconstruction!  There’s a sigfinicant word.  What did it mean?  Reconstruction from what to what?  Civil rights were virtually denied the Whites while in some insane version of Affirmative Action men who had been slaves both in Africa and America, men who had neven known freedom or the arts of government, men who did not understand democracy were placed as governors over the Whites.

     In England Cambridge University was a creation of East Anglians while Oxford was a more national creation.  For anyone who has been there there is quite a contrast between Oxford and Cambridge.  Oxford is by far the most open or least uptight institution.

     The Anglians of New Anglia or England had created the premier educational institution in the US, Harvard University.  They even placed it in a town called Cambridge.  Now, really, you have to think about this stuff, really worry over it.  The Anglians now placed a bare foot, illiterate Negro as head of the Classics department of  a major Southern University.  As the question, why as a matter of Reconstruction would one place an illiterate in charge of the intense mental disciplines of Greek and Latin?  Only as the gravest of insults.  Only as an act of insane rage.

     The Whites of the South were not supine; they fought back.  Just as the measures used against them were extreme, they in their turn resorted to extreme measures.  What did you think would happen?

     In Scotland the calling the Clans was done by igniting fires on the mountain tops.  The Southerners, composed largely of Scotch-Irish, imitating their Scotch ancestors now formed the Ku Klux Klan.  Now when there was a fire on the mountain it meant that the Klan was riding out that night.

     Thus the Anglians created a sort of Second Civil War in the South where the Whites were pitted against the Negroes in self-defense.  The Anglians had created the era of Jim Crow.

     We’ll never know if Jim Crow could have been avoided if once slavery had been abolished a more enlightened conciliatory policy had been followed rather than the indulgence of Anglian rage.

     Nevertheless the Liberal policy of alliance with the Negroes against the ‘White Trash’ was established.  Until European immigration rose to flood tide there was a three tier ‘democratic’ classification system in America:  Liberals on top, the Negroes, then ‘White Trash.’

     The White Trash formed exlusive nativist groups like the Ku Klux Klan and the American Protective Association which reacted negatively toward the new immigrants rather than embracing at least some of them as reinforcements against the Liberals.

     The Liberals formed a coalition of the various immigrant peoples including the Jews and Italians against the various factions of Nativist ‘White Trash’ including the neo-KKK which wa reformed in response to the formation of the Anti-Defamation League and the NAACP.

     The early Liberal Coalition was formed around the policies of Woodrow Wilson and culminated in the Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

     The Civil War was the turning point in early American history.  Anglian Liberalism as a projection of Anglian angst became evil in intent.  Their rage and hatred against the Normans was institutionalized into an unreasoning ferment against any who disagreed with them.  The dichotomy of Anglian Liberalism and American Nativism became set in the Liberal/Conservative confrontation that exists today.  Time for fires on the mountain once again.

     As in Reconstruction days Liberals are still trying to raise the Negro above their Conservative antagonists in the exact manner of that bare foot Negro in charge of the Classics Department although they no longer call it Reconstruction but Affirmative Action.

     Negroes are promoted into responsible positions over more qualified Whites.  This in turn makes the Negro dependent on White people to do the job for them.  This means that the Negro has his White Man to slave for him.  Dewey would decline the role in 1961.

     It will easily be seen why American politics are so irrational.  American politics are being directed by a national group living out a character assumed at the latest in sixteenth century England but probably inherent in the psyche of the Angles before they migrated from Denmark to Britain. 

     The Anglian character didn’t change when they stepped ashore on Plymouth Rock and neither did that of the Negro when they were desembarked at their American port.

     Many of the characteristics of the Negro that are attributed to his treatment in America have nothing to do with America.  If one compares his African environment then and now with the American manifestation of the Negro one will find a continuation in an American enviroment rather than a discontinuation or new creation.  Further when one compares Africa, the Caribbean and the United States one finds the exact same traditions being carried on in three related manifestations.

     The modern American Negro does not look to White civilization for a pattern for future conduct but back to his African roots.  This is to look back to a pattern of primitive savagery, human flesh in a refrigerator, than forward to civilization.  As Jesse Jackson expressed it:  Hey, Hey, Ho , Ho, Western Civilization has got to go.  To be replaced by Africa?

     In the Big Daddy tradition of primitive Africa everyone was a slave to someone else with the exception of the Chief Big Daddy.   There is absolutely no tradition of dem0cracy.  There is no tradition of personal independence; one is a member of the tribe, one has a collective consciousness.  Thus the modern African role models combined with the residual memories of African traditions that survived in the Black community through the slave and Jim Crow periods will and are asserting themselves today.

     One may say that the role model of the pimp in American Negro society is a result of economic discrimination but upon closer examination you will find that it is an adaptation of African tradition to American possibilities.

     In Africa the man had several wives to tend to his needs.  All of these strings of prostitutes, that equate to African polygamy, shake that money maker to keep the male in style.  The prostitutes are kept in line by the use of extreme brutality and enslavement through drugs.  Slavery and polygamy are basic African traits.  Even the use of drugs can be traced back to African roots.  Africans took early to the use of marijuana and quickly adapted to opium when that drug became available in Africa.

     Thus pimping, the basic institution of the American Negro, as well as the fondness for drugs are merely adaptations of African customs.

     Now, as to the notion of democracy.  The basic political approach in Africa was that the Chief could dispose of the lives of his tribemen as he saw fit.  He could kill them all or sell them into slavery at his whim.  Thus when in East Africa the Arab slavers offered the Chief goods he wanted for his own pleasure that he couldn’t pay for in any other way he designated the persons the slavers could abduct.  This is the Big Daddy.

     This role model emerged into the light of American society as the era of Jim Crow ended and the decade of the sixties unfolded.  To use the example of the Black Panthers of Oakland.  The Panthers were by no means an educated bunch.  Huey Newton, their leader, despite his pretentions was an ingoramus.  To enforce his will on his people he resorted to the same means as his African brothers.  He bludgeonded them into submission or killed them.  The process was known as ‘correction.’

     Killing fields were established in the Santa Cruz mountains where victims were taken to be tortured and executed.  People who have been there report bones sticking up out of the ground in a scene quite reminscent of the Ashanti capitol of Coomassie.  There can be little doubt that the Oakland Negroes reverted to primitive cannibalism.  It must be.  It’s a miracle they didn’t set up piles of skulls on Oakland street corners.

     The primitive African mind has never been reconstructed in America to a higher consciousness.  This truth may be stunning but is nevertheless so.

     Listen.  The Black man will never be able to forgive the White man for having enslaved him and degraded him to the level of the apes anymore than the Anglians could forgive the Normans.  Let me repeat that:  It is psychologically impossible for the Black to accept White civilization without avenging himself.  If you need further proof the anwer is written on every wall in every bus station and subway in America.

     In society, where racial proprieties are enforced, all evidence of hatred is suppressed but in situations where normal proprieties break down racial divisions and hatreds become immediately paramount.

     In prisons there is no amicable fraternization between Whites and Blacks.  Self-segregation is rigidly enforced.  Even White pretensions become paramount in that a prison environment is the only place Aryans can openly exist.

     The closely kept secret of Viet Nam is that Blacks self segregated themselves and kept a running battle going with the Whites.  In every Army base domestic or abroad Blacks and Whites separate and are at war with each other.

     What would happen if the police power were removed in society?

     Let us take an African case in point.  Let us look at Rwanda.  When the Watutsi conquered the area several hundreds of years ago they made the indigenous Wahutu their slaves, the entire nation of Hutu.  the Watutsi waxed lordly.  They did not walk anywhere but had Hutu slaves carry them in hammocks.

     The British in the first half of the twentieth century disturbed this polity.  When the British police power was removed the Watutsi attempted to reestablish their supremacy over the Wahutu.  Over a period of time the Wahutu organized with guns and rebelled.  Their anger and rage was such, and justifiably so, that they began a policy of genocide, either killing the Watutsi or driving them out of the country.

     The Blacks in America vis-a-vis the Whites see themselves as the Wahutu of Rwanda see the Watutsi.  Only a fool believes that American Blacks do not carry the same resentment against Whites.  It therefore follows that the only thing preventing an attempted massacre of Whites by Blacks is the police power of  the State.  We have a very dangerous situation that ought to be addressed in a realistic manner rather than that of the pandering Liberals.

     The problem is that the Liberals with their roots in the Anglian angst think it would be right if the Negroes killed all Whites but themselves.  They are fatuous enough to believe the Blacks would exclude them if it came to that.  Thus there is this long standing alliance between Liberals and Blacks against what they both consider ‘White Trash.’

     No one can say what the exact course of events will be but the corruption of Western civilization by the Liberals and Blacks is reaching a dangerous point.  Western civilization as Jesse Jackson demands may go.  The social mores of the Whites have sunk very nearly to the levels of tribal Africa.

      Educational levels of Whites have declined steadily since 1956.  The maintenance of Western Civilization requires a high degree of intelligence and education.  Reflect on waste management for a few moments.

     Men like Willie Brown, the erstwhile Mayor of San Francisco, have gone far to  establish the Big Daddy principle against the democratic principle in the Bay Area.  Everywhere the trend is away from personal independence and toward the submission of the will to a Big Daddy.  Africa comes.

     Moral principles are shouldered aside by Big Daddys like Jesse Jackson who openly extort money from major corporations in a way little different than the African traditions reported by early explorers.  Liberals are not outraged by such practices but actively endorse them.  Thus White modes of democracy and honesty are corrupted as Whites change from apparently ineffective democracy to totalitarian ways.  Society inevitably drops to primitive African models.

     Racial characters do not die out, probably, ever.  The Anglians who profess to be pure and superior refuse to criticize or condemn these really heinous crimes against humanity being committed on a regular basis by their Negro pets.  They just make one incredible excuse after another for them.

      The inevitable result, and we are over halfway there, will be the complete and total corruption of the Democracy established in the heydey of the Freemasonic Enlightenment.

     The much disparaged White Big Daddy is, or was, an established fact.   Few realize that he was not an example of a White tradition but that he was acting out a role learned from Negro slaves.  Now the Big Daddy role is being emulated by Whites throughout the country which Black Big Daddys have spread from the South throughout the land.

     As in Longfellow’s poem Dewey was the child tied to the mast unable to do anything but watch as the guns of the Ship of State announced that it could not survive is such angry seas.  The well was running dry as like some Black slave in Arkansas Dewey moaned in anticipation:  You don’t miss your water till the well runs dry.

     Dewey saw the future unfolding in his dreaming visions although he only understood in embryo as the myriad impressions flitted across his dazed mind as the big wheels rolled round and round carrying him through the little State of Arkansas into the big State of Texas.

Out Of Africa

A Short Story

by

R.E. Prindle

It is an ancient mariner

And he stoppeth one of three:

‘By they long grey beard and glittering eye,

Now wherefore stoppst thou me?

Coleridge

 

     Lost in his thoughts Dewey sat silently as the bus pulled into the Lansing station.  Dewey had assumed that as on his previous cross country trip he would change buses in Chicago.  He now learned that there would be a two hour delay in Lansing instead.  This is the way life is lived, somebody tells you there is a two hour delay no one had bothered to tell you about when you bought the ticket so there is a two hour delay.  To argue and fight is counter-productive so the delay just becomes an opportunity for something else to happen.

     Dewey nevertheless stepped down from the bus with a certain amount of disgust.  As he was descending a bus from Chicago pulled in stopping across the concourse.

     Watching with a curious idle eye Dewey noted the passengers as they came round the front of the bus.  He noted a Black guy with dark blue letterman’s sweater with a big entwined ND on the front who got off tentatively like he was hoping he wouldn’t be recognized.  Rather than walking across the concourse to the terminal he elected to lounge on a bench against the wall.

     Dewey was eyeing him intently when a voice from just behind his right ear queried:  “Do you know who that is?’

     Startled Dewey replied:  ‘Ah, no.’ hoping the owner of the voice would go away.

     ‘That Darkie there used to be Webster Kirksey.  Ever heard of him?’

     Dewey was startled by two things.  The use of the term Darkie was considered derogative and not in social use.  But Dewey was non-critical; he always believed let them have their say.  The second was the reference to a living man as ‘used to be’ as though he no longer was.

     ‘Webster Kirksey?  Yeah.  I have heard of him.  He’s from my home town.  He used to play guard for Valley High.  He was hot stuff, burned up the whole Valley league.’

     The man smiled with a connoisseur’s appreciation of Dewey’s colorful language.  ‘Yes.  That’s right. From there he was recruited by Notre Dame.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  How’s he doing there?’

    ‘He’s already done it.  He used up his eligibility last year.’

     ‘No kidding.  Been that long?  Graduated last year.’

     ‘You didn’t hear me say graduated.  You heard me say he used up his eligibility.  Jungle bunnies like that don’t graduate.  They don’t have what it takes to get in school to begin with.  Look at him now.  You wouldn’t think that this time last year he was eating high on the hog served by White Roosters and tender White chicks would you?’

     ‘Well, Mister, I’m having a hard time following you.’  Dewey replied hoping to discourage this man.  His curiosity was stronger than he realized because he quickly added:  ‘Who are you anyway?’

      With a quiet deep chuckle the man replied:  ‘My name is Lamont Cranston.’

      ‘It is not!’  Dewey replied in disbelief.

     ‘As I live and breathe.’  The man chuckled.  ‘My daddy’s name was Cranston and my mama named me Lamont.’

     ‘Oh yeah?’  Dewey said still disbelieving.  ‘What do you do?’

     ‘Well, Son, for the last thirty years I’ve been a newspaperman.’

     ‘A reporter, huh?’  Dewey said admiringly.  He’d always wanted to be a reporter.

     ‘Well, yes, a reporter, newspaperman, I’ve done a lot of jobs but now my time is drawing to a close.’

     ‘Sick?’

     ‘No. No.  Liberalism.  All the kids coming up that they hire are Liberals with all these what they call socially constructive ideas.  They don’t have much tolerance for an old salt like me.  They call me a Neanderthal when they’re angry, a conservative when they’re mild.  It’s only a matter of a year or two before they force me out.  Little bigots that they are.’

     ‘Get you fired, huh?

     ‘Oh no.  They’ll just harass me until I quit.  Look at the beat I’m walking now.  Bus stations.  What’s next?  They’ll post on the bridge to interview the defeated young White women crossing over in search of nigger dick.  No.  My time’s up.  That’s OK.  I’m prepared.’

     ‘You could fight.’

     ‘No.  Wrong end of the pendulaum.  When you’re on the right end and it’s swinging left you don’t have a chance.  I know what it means to be on both ends of the stick.  Now I’m on the short end.’

     Whatever Cranston was saying passed over Dewey’s head.

     ‘Do you get many stories at bus stations?’  Dewey asked naively with knit inquisitive brow.  His inquisitiveness didn’t concern his question which Lamont Cranston understood.

     ‘I’ve got a real story across the way there but I’ll never get it in print.’

     ‘What kind of story?’  Dewey asked who saw nothing but a desolate Negro lounging on a bench.

     ‘A tale of two races.’  Cranston replied with an enigmatic smile.  ‘Across the way there is an encapsulated history of several hundred years.  You heard me use the world ‘nigger’ a moment ago but I’ll bet you don’t know what the word means.  Don’t give me any dictionary definitions either.’

     Dewey was about to dish up some simplistic definition when he was arrested by Cranston’s words.  He had a couple of hours to while away, might as well let the old greybeard loon talk.  ‘Um. No.  Just that it’s a derogatory term for Negro.’

     ‘That it is and much more.  It’s more than derogatory, much more, it’s a statement of perceived reality by both Blacks and Whites such that it can’t be used by Whites while Blacks use it in only the most offensive way.

     You probably think that it’s a term that originated in the South but it’s not.  It goes back to when the White man first encountered the Blacks of West Africa.  Have you read much of the early African adventures of the White man?  No?  Neither has anyone else.  Well, time has passed and it would be difficult to reconstruct how the unregenerate Black appeared to Whites and vice versa.  Richard Burton once made the comparison quite seriously as between Crown and Clown but that was a couple hundred years later.  However, in 1862 Burton felt justified in making that comparison.  He perceived a permanent gulf in mental development between Blacks and Whites.  Imagine therefore how it must have seemed in 1650 when the Western slave trade was beginning.

     Remember that even by then Europeans were no  longer allowed slavery within their own dominions.  It was considered wrong for one human to enslave another human, within White dominions of course.  Outside they were quite willing to enslave anyone Black or White and did.  With the Blacks though it was different.  Europeans considered Negroes to be subhuman.  Even though they considered the Chinese to be of lesser humanity than themselves they still considered them as humans and therefore could not enslave them.

     This feeling was conveyed to the Negro who felt it keenly.  He felt it even more keenly because he feared that it was true.  So, when the White man thought and said ‘nigger’ he meant someone he perceived as being completely devoid of human characteristics except in form.  At best he considered the Negro a trainable ape.

     When the Negro heard ‘nigger’ he understood its full meaning.  More importantly as he made the comparison between himself and Whites he came to the exact same conclusion.  This in turn drove the Negro mad.  You probably think the term ‘White Trash’ originated in the United States too, but it didn’t.  The West African Negro invented the term so that he could feel superior to at least a portion of White people.  When the Negro calls someone ‘White Trash’ it is meant to be as devastating as when a White calls him a ‘nigger.’

     It would be like Dorothy entering Oz except she had her own so she was treated with respect.  The Negro had nothing; he didn’t have his own.  That is part of the meaning of the Negro lament ‘God Bless the child that’s got his own’.  So when he heard Whites say ‘nigger’ he heard the absolute contempt it implied while furthermore subconsciously agreeing with it.  The term became a title of reproach within his own community.  Thus if you listen on streetcorners closely you will hear one Black refer contemptuously to another as a ‘nigger.’  If he just wants to put him in his place he refers to him as ‘Negro.’  The latter is hurtful the former is devastating.  There’s no worse name one person can call another.  To be a ‘nigger’ is the be the lowest, a subhuman form.

     In West Africa after the legal exportation of slaves from West Africa ended in about 1800 and Blacks and Whites co-existed on an equal legal basis, at least in the British colonies, for a White to call a Negro a ‘nigger’ was an actionable offence carrying a fifty pound fine.  I’ve never learned if those were British pounds but if they were that’s a five to ten thousand dollar fine in today’s dollars, fairly serious money.

     It became necessary for Whites in West Africa to disguise their feelings especially as they were tried before a Black jury and Black juries always convicted a White man and acquitted a Black. 

     In the US where Whites are in the majority rather than Blacks the term isn’t actionable yet but it is socially offensive.  I only use the word where I know it won’t offend.’

     Dewy was taken back.  ‘How do you know I’m not a Liberal and won’t be offended.’

      ‘Oh, there’s just something in a reasonable man’s face.’  Cranston said soothingly.  ‘When I said I didn’t think you’d be offended all I meant was that I thought you were intelligent enough to hear the facts and judge them.’

     ‘Oh.’  Said Dewey, allowing himself to be flattered but still suspicious of the smiling Lamont Cranston.  Still Cranston held him with his glittering eye.

      But then the flattery wore off and Dewey thought he had better assert his independence.  ‘So what’s that got to do with Webster Kirksey?’  He said with appropriate testiness.

     ‘On the unspoken level Kirksey is that nigger I’ve been discussing.  On a very real but unmentionable level Kirksey is the equivalent of a trained ape.  He can play basketball like a wizard but if he couldn’t he would never have been seen on the campus of Notre Dame.  That guy is so dumb he doesn’t understand why there’s two ends to shoes laces and he used them everyday.  There isn’t a college in the world whose academic standards are low enough to admit him, although that may be changing.

      Until just recently athletes have had to meet minimal academic standards.  Minimal is meant in kind of a philosophical sense.  But the pressure on schools to win have made them relax those standards for White students;  there never were any standards for Negroes.  They kind of make their own rules as they go along.

     But the college coaches see some oustanding Black athletes who could help them win going to waste so they pressure for academic standards to be waived.  That’s not spelled w-a-v-e-d  if you know what I mean.  The social dynamics are more complex than that but that’s how guys like Webster Kirksey get to schools like Notre Dame.

     I’m not a hard man;  Webster Kirksey has got his gripe.  Look at him over there.  He’s a lost man.  For four years big business men and beautiful White girls shouted out:  Hi, Webster, way to go man.  Now no one will recognize him although I bet half the people here know who he is.  He played against State and won every year.

     Those Big B types used to give him a new Caddie to drive every year.  On loan of course.  They took his last one from him the day after the season ended.  Kirksey dropped out the next day.

     They used to pay for weekends in Chitown; give him spending cash; send White girls, sweet and tender stuff too, around to him in his room…’

     Dewey gasped.

     ‘You don’t know the half of it.  There wasn’t anything too good for Webster Kirksey until his last game was over and then there wasn’t anything good enough.  Webster Kirksey!  Look at him.’

     Dewey looked.  He still saw nothing but a Black guy in a Notre Dame letter sweater lounging on a bench.

     ‘Uh, looks OK to me.  What am I supposed to see?’

     ‘I’m afraid you’d have to go into training to make a reporter, Son.  I guess it isn’t  as clear to you as it is to me.  I’ll tell you what you don’t see.  You didn’t see Webster Kirksey when he passed through here last Christmas.  Last year he was the star guard, the fireplug of the Notre Dame team; they couldn’t win without him.  Last year there were people standing around him gawking admiringly.  White people walked by him smiling approvingly.  White girls shouted across the concourse, a safe distance from his blackness:  Hi, Webster, or even, Webbie.  Last year he was Webster Kirksey; this year his name is mud.  No one will even look at him even though he wears his varsity sweater with that big ND with four varsity basketballs.

      Varsity!  What does that mean?  These guys are professional athletes who couldn’t get into college any other way.  They stay only as long as they play.’

     ‘I think college should be academic.’  Dewey said somewhat lamely after due reflection.  ‘But you got to admit that Black guys are better athletes.’

     Cranston looked at Dewey sharply, paused, then said acerbically:  ‘I don’t have to admit any such thing.  You obviously don’t know what’s going on.’

     Whether Dewey knew what was going on or not he wished this old greybeard, Lamont Cranston, would stop another lonesome traveler.

     ‘Most people have got no idea what is happening with Negroes.  If they had access to all the information, which Liberals will never let them have, they wouldn’t even know how to interpret it.  We’re in the midst of a Black rebellion.  Everyone pays attention to what’s going on in Alabama and Mississippi just like it’s important.  What’s important is what’s going on right here in the North and in college athletics. 

     You probably haven’t even heard of Black Muslims and this fellow calls himself Malcolm X, have you?  I thought not.  Well, this is sort of a Black secessionist movement.  It will cause trouble whether it succeeds or not.  It was started by a dumb nigger who came from Detroit, lives in Chicago now, called Elijah Muhammed.  He wasn’t going anywhere with his movement until this guy who calls himself Malcolm X got out of prison, went to Detroit where he put life in this movement.  Jerk used to live here in Lansing when he was only Malcolm Little.

    So, these Black Muslims are giving these people bad ideas.  You believe they are better athletes by which I presume you mean that a higher proportion of their population than a commensurate proportion of Whites.  This is nonsense.  They are less capable than Whites on the average but for sociological reasons Black players are allowed to be Hot Dogs where Whites aren’t.  It’s a cultural thing.  White people punish their own Hot Dogs and bring them down.  Witness Hot Rod Hundley and Bob Petit.  They’re going to run Hundley out of the pros and make life miserable for Petit.

     These are both great players in what one might call the Black mold; in other words they are not what Whites call ‘team players.’  They are what Whites call ‘ball hogs.’  In Black basketball the ball hog is a desideratum so long as he sticks it to the Whites, so long as he excels the enemie.  They would rather hot dog than win games.

     White basketball is a set game sort of like a programmed ballet; Black basketball is fluid and flowing sort of like Modern Dance.  The only way Blacks get by is by ‘slippin’ and slidin’, they slip by the guards and slide in.  That’s the way they play basketball they slip through the White set up and glide in.  They reach over the Whites by leaping high and slamming the ball in.  Whites are taught that it is a waste of energy to jump higher than is necessary to tip the ball in.

     With White’s it’s science; with Blacks it’s all show.  I’ll give you an example.  At the free throw line the most accurate way to shoot is from between your knees scooping the ball up and in.  You can sink ninety-eight, ninety-nine percent of your free throws that way.

     Blacks aren’t that smart.  Because Whites do it that way they refuse to, they reject science.  Rather than be successful they’d rather showboat it.  They balance the ball above their heads with one hand and try to lob it in.  Stupid.  They only sink fifty, sixty percent of their free throws wasting forty or more points per hundred.

     White people following the Black example are even dumber.  Even though they know a better way they think Black guys look sharper than they do shooting between the knees so they abandon a more accurate scientific way to look like dumb niggers- pardon me, Negroes, niggers isn’t appropriate in that place.

     In the broader sociological sense that is the problem with the Negro rebellion.  It is precisely because they aren’t as good as Whites that they will undermine the scientific method.  In part it is or, will be, because they can’t understand science but the main problem is that because on average they are less capable than Whites they can only excel by refusing to play by the rules or by by changing the rules faster than Whites can keep up with them.

     In the future even though Blacks make up only ten percent of the population they will make up ninety percent of the athletes, at least in basketball and football.

     This will be done in three ways:  In the first place White guilt will accord them the distinction.  Even though Whites will disallow any notion of natural superiority of intellect they will convince themselves that Blacks are genetically physically superior.

     Secondly, Blacks will change the rules of the game to suit themselves.  Basketball which is now a non-contact sport, but in the process of change, will become a limited contact sport.  If you watch closely Blacks are reaching out and touching opponents to feel which way they are going.  Soon they will hold the opponent in an attempt to direct their motion, holding them back or pushing them in a direction.  Because this is currently against the rules they will make it look lke they’re not doing it.’

     ‘Well, if it’s illegal the refs should call it.’

      ‘Perhaps.  But for sociological reasons they won’t.  If the players were White they would but because they’re Black the Negroes can scream discrimination.  Rather than face up to the Negroes and enforce the rules Whites will cave in.   Thus Whites will be playing one game while the Negroes will be playing another.  since the Negroes are calling the shots for their own benefit the game will favor the Negro style.  Whites will tolearate Negro hotshots, even applaud them, while they will still discourage White ‘exhibitionism.’

     And lastly, through a process of intimidation both on the field and in the locker room they will drive Whites from the sports.  Who needs the trouble?

     When they make the pros the whole balance of power in America will change as Negroes amass great wealth and displace Whites as role models.

     ‘Well, yeah, but don’t you think the Black character is the result of discrimination?  Blacks wouldn’t be that way if they had a fair chance.’

     ‘Do you think so , Son?  That is one of the great American fallacies.  It is caused by the false belief, sincere but no less false, that when an immigrant sets foot on American soil they leave their inbred native characteristics behind.  Nothing could be less true, yet you hear Jews, Italians and Blacks claiming that their more reprehensible aspects are a response to discriminatory American conditions.  At best they adapt their characters to the reality of American democracy which none of them have ever known.  You have to remember that democracy is not part of these peoples national heritage.  They’re like ducks out of water.

     I pity you because you will have to live through the greatest changes this country has ever seen.  You will be stripped of a voice and be rendered defenseless in the name of a perverted concept of democracy.

     I know what you’ve been taught.  Obviously you believe it.  You were taught that the transatlantic trip was so traumatic for Africans that they lost language, customs, habits and the whole works, that they began life over in America with a tabula rasa.  Ha! Ha!  Does anyone really believe that a mind can be swept clean of all developmental influences by a change of location?  Apparently so, because the people who taught you that believe so.

     That’s nonsense.

     If you study any people in their native environment and compare it with their manifestation in America you will find more continuity than discontinuity and that is just as true with Negroes as with anyone else.

     Your time with me is short so let me give a quick example.  You probably think the term ‘mammy’ was developed in the South and means mother.  It wasn’t and doesn’t.  The term ‘mammy’ was brought over from Africa as well as its male counterparts Daddy and Daddyo.’

     Dewey gasped again.

     ‘Yes.  French influence began in earnest in West Africa in the seventeenth century although they had a little known plantation on the South Coast in the thirteenth century.’

     ‘Before the Portuguese got there?’

     ‘Oh yes.  In fact the Normans attempted the conquest of the Canaries in the twelfth century and also visited the South Coast.

     ‘Naw!’

     ‘Quite so, as you may learn for yourself if you study.  At any rate the West Africans adopted the French, I may not have the French equivalent just right, ‘ma amie’ to ma’mie’ to ‘mammy’ something like that.  They also referred to important men as Daddy.  They put the exclamatory ‘oh’ behind the word so instead of saying ‘O mamie’ or O Daddy’ they said ‘mammyo’ or Daddyo.’  Over the years in America ‘mammy’ has acquired a derogatory tone so Negroes have substituted ‘mama.’  So rather than have mammys they now have mamas.  But they have misinterpreted the meaning of mammy.  The lesser know Daddy and Daddyo have survived intact from at least the early eighteenth century Africa.

     You think Daddy is a hip fifties expression, don’t you?  Have you ever used the term Daddyo?

      ‘Yeah, I do use it.  You’re right, I thought it was something new.  It’s not, huh?’

     ‘No, it’s not.  As I said it’s an eighteenth century Africanism.  So, that native Negro culture and character was not lost during transportation but continued and continues quite nicely, thank you.  Character trait for character trait can be traced back to African culture.  The way Blacks respond to American culture is merely a transliteration from Africa.  if you compare Negro mores here, which are supposed to be the result of White oppression with current Negro mores in Africa you will find they are quite similar.  Little difference at all in fact.

     But the Negroes blame their own native slothfulness on Whites while Whites are so stupid and bigoted that they accept the responsibility.  Rather an arrogant attitude on the part of the Blacks if you ask me.  Meanwhile Negroes look to Whites to ‘help’ them which means literally to tie their shoes for them.

     Just as Blacks change the rules of the game in basketball so they will change the rules of life in general.  There is no reason for them to play by what they call White rules, rejecting any notion of science they can’t understand, or they are introducing and will introduce degrading ‘natural’ or primitive rules.  The inevitable result will be the degradation of American society.  If the Whites keep the Negroes in their place there might be hope for America but rather than face unpleasant facts the Whites will allow themselves to become negrified and so slip into primitive degradation.  I feel sorry for you, Son.

     In the meantime we have Webster Kirksey there who sincerely cannot understand why he is no longer treated like a star.

     Right now he’s running back and forth between Chicago and the Valley hoping the ‘big mens’ are going to do something for him rather than doing it for himself.  They never will and neither will he.  They’ve already forgotten him for the next big star but he’s not smart enough to realize that.

     Even if he were White there would be nothing for him but to sell real estate or insurance where his ‘name’ would mean something.  That’s what the

‘big fellows’ tell these athletes, they can ‘capitalize’ on their ‘name.’  They say it will make it easy for them to do business with people.  Well, if the White athlete knows the true value of his ‘name’ and applies himself to selling he might succeed but if he relies on his ‘name’ he will surely fail.

     Those options aren’t even open to Kirksey.  Negroes usually don’t maintain insurance policies and Whites control real estate.  No Negroes allowed.  No.  Webster Kirksey’s as good as dead.  Pretty soon if he doesn’t now he’ll start carrying a flask, then he’ll turn to drugs then a few years from now they’ll find him face down in a gutter somewhere.  Look at him.  You can see it in his eyes, the way his body sags.’

     Dewey looked again.  This time he could see it.  It was there in the slump of the shoulders, the slouch of the body, the forlorn expression on his face.

     Dewey’s bus was called over the loudspeaker much to his relief as he was having a hard time ingesting all that Cranston was telling him.

     ‘Well, there’s my bus, I’ve got to go, Mr. Cranston.  It’s been nice talking to you.’

     Cranston chuckled deeply:  ‘I hope I haven’t overloaded you Son but what I have told you is the truth.  It’s a truth the Liberals will never be let known because it conflicts with their prejudices.  Think about it, learn on your own and then carry the torch of truth and freedom as far as you can.’

       Then with that knowing, mocking deep chuckle Lamont Cranston waved goodbye and moved away.

     Dewey heaved a sigh of relief then looking across the concourse at the figure of the forlorn Negro he whispered:  ‘Good luck, Webster Kirksey.’  To himself he sighed:  ‘Good luck, Dewey Trueman.’  And then he thought:  ‘Good luck, Lamont Cranston’ as the bus pulled out into the sunlight for its run across America.

  The End Of Out Of Africa