Bad Boy Brawly Brown (7 page)

anybody saw me, so it was as if I were never there.

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T
HE GLASS DOOR
to the Urban Revolutionaries’ storefront was open and people were milling around inside. The sun was gone 13

but it wasn’t yet night.

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The meeting room gave off a slight odor of varnish. Naked fluo-15

rescent lights glared overhead. The floor was pine and the walls were 16

composed of cheap plasterboard paneling. There was an iron music 17

stand against the back wall. The thirty folding chairs with reinforced 18

cardboard seats were half filled but most of the forty-odd people in 19

the room were too excited to sit.

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The young black men and women wore dark clothes, talked and 21

listened, posed and watched. Their voices might have seemed angry 22

to someone who didn’t know the gruff bark of the American Negro’s 23

soul. Those men and women were far beyond anger, though. They 24

were expressing a desire for love and revenge and for something that 25

didn’t exist — had never existed. That’s why they were there. They 26

were going to create freedom out of the sow’s ear called America.

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They believed in the spirit of the Constitution and not the direction 28

of the cash register.

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Maybe, if I stayed there long enough, I might have believed it, too.

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“You a cop?” someone asked. It took me a moment to realize that 31 R

he was talking to me.

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It was a skinny young cork-colored man. He wore wire-rimmed 1

glasses and a black turtleneck shirt that wasn’t much wider in the 2

body than it was in those extra long sleeves.

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I almost laughed. “What?”

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“I said, Are you a cop?”

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“No.” I looked around the room, noticing that a few heads had 6

turned toward me.

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“It’s okay,” the bespectacled boy said.

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“What’s okay?”

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“It’s okay if you’re a cop,” he explained. “We welcome those 10

brothers who have been brainwashed. What you’re going to find 11

here tonight is truth. If you’re looking for bombs and guns, you’re in 12

the wrong place. What you’re going to find are the real weapons of 13

the revolution: education and love. That’s the revolution of the 14

mind.” He pointed at his own skull in a gesture that reminded me of 15

suicide.

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He was nowhere near handsome, but some girl would fall in love 17

with his eyes. He was absolutely sure of, and in love with, his own 18

ideas.

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“I’m not no cop, brother. I heard about this place down at Ham-20

bones. They said you guys do a lotta talkin’ and I decided to come on 21

down and hear you out.” My diction and grammar slid into the form 22

I wanted Junior to hear.

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He nodded and shook my hand.

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“Then welcome,” he said. His smile was uneven but brilliant 25

like an old but well-cared-for blade. “My name’s Xavier [he pro-26

nounced it “
ex-
avier”] Bodan. I’m the Party director.”

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He moved away from me then, greeting his fellow members as 28

he made his way to the front of the room. There was a bounce to his 29

gait that accented his youth.

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I wondered if he had a mother somewhere looking for him.

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“What’s your name, man?” someone else asked.

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This one was somewhat bigger and darker but was dressed al-3

most the same.

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“Rawlins.”

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“What you doin’ here?”

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“Is ev’rybody in this room gonna ask me that?” I sounded un-7

friendly enough to make myself clear. “ ’Cause you know I could just 8

as well go up to that music stand and make a public announcement.”

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This guy was about thirty, with a perfectly round head and a 10

belly just about the same size and shape. He sneered and chewed on 11

a large wad of gum. I think he wanted me to be scared, but he didn’t 12

know anything outside of church or family or clubs like the Urban 13

Party. I could tell by the way he garnered his courage that he ex-14

pected to be backed up.

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“Rawlins, you say?” Yet another man came from behind the gum 16

chewer.

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His skin was golden brown but everything else about him said 18

white man. Large frame and a big square jaw that stuck straight out.

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His nose was slender and the only color that I could call his eyes was 20

not exactly brown.
The wavy hair had no oil in it. But he was still a 21

black man, at least by American standards.

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“Yeah,” I said.

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“This ain’t no party,” the white-looking black man informed me.

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“You askin’ me to leave?”

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“Leave him alone, Conrad,” a woman said. She wore a black cot-26

ton dress that might have been a slip ten years earlier.

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“Look at him, Tina,” the matinee idol complained.

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“I am,” Tina replied. “What I see is a brother.”

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Half the room was looking at me by then. Not exactly the way I 30 S

liked to do business.

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Conrad looked me up and down, contempt snarling in his white 1

man’s lips and nose. But finally he shrugged his shoulders and turned 2

away. People started talking again, giving me only quick, wondering 3

glances.

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“Hi,” the young woman that Conrad called Tina said in greeting.

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“All right,” I said.

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“Everybody’s worried that the police are going to send in some 7

kind of black spy to take us down.”

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“They’re right.”

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Tina was suddenly wary. I didn’t want her to think badly of me.

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She was only pretty because of her youth, but that dress looked good 11

on her and she had just put herself between me and a room full of 12

potentially violent men and women.

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“I don’t mean me,” I said. “I’m just sayin’ that the cops work 14

through black spies down here. That’s the only way to find out what’s 15

goin’ on.”

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Tina hadn’t fully regained her composure. She brought her 17

hands to her shoulders.

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“I ain’t no cop,” I said. “I just wanted to take a look-see, hear 19

what you folks got to say.”

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Over Tina’s head I saw Clarissa, the waitress from Hambones, 21

enter the room in her pink top and shorts. She saw me and frowned.

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Behind her came a beefy brown man who had once been the boy in 23

a photograph I had in my pocket. They were across the room from 24

me. Before I could decide whether to cross over to them, everybody 25

faced the music stand. Some people clapped.

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Xavier Bodan had taken his place at the makeshift podium. Be-27

hind him stood a large dignified-looking man with half straight, 28

mostly gray hair that he combed back like a groomed lion’s mane.

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“Time to begin,” Xavier chanted. “Time to begin. This is the two S 30

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hundred thirty-third meeting of the Urban Revolutionary Party. For 2

those of you who are new, I am Xavier Bodan, secretary to the exec-3

utive council, and a full-fledged believer in the black man and his 4

struggle against the slave master and his dogs.”

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There was applause then.

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“The woman struggles just as hard, Xavier,” a voice called.

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The young man grinned and ducked his head, flashing lights 8

from the flat surfaces of his glasses. “You right, Sister Em,” he said.

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“Without the sisters, we’re nothing at all.”

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I caught a glimpse of Brawly. He was glowering, looking around 11

the room with the air of a bodyguard or a sergeant at arms.

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“There will be a meeting of the executive committee after the 13

general meeting. That’s Tina, Conrad, Belton, and Swan. See you 14

after. There’s business for us to discuss, fund-raising and our educa-15

tion program, but I don’t want to spend any extra time tonight argu-16

ing or planning. We all know why we’re here: to spread the word and 17

feed the children, to stand up straight and love each other.”

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“Preach.” Someone thought we were in a church.

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“We represent an island of civilization in a sea of barbarians. We 20

bring the key to unlock eighteen million chains.” Xavier smiled 21

again and I worried for him; he seemed so frail up there.

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“Tonight,” he continued, “it is my honor to present a lion, a mas-23

ter. This is one of the men who made it possible for an organiza-24

tion like the First Men to come into being. He is our shelter and our 25

conscience. He was taking blows for us before many of us were born.

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He was sweating in the white man’s cages when we were on tri-27

cycles and playin’ hopscotch. He is our beacon” — the audience 28

started making a noise. It was like an expectant chatter. Not words 29

exactly but pure emotions making their way into sound. “He 30 S

marched in Selma in 1955” — the volume from the audience went 31 R

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up a notch — “he marched shoulder to shoulder with Martin Luther 1

King” — the murmur grew into recognizable words of praise — “he 2

is what we once were and what we strive to become” — the applause 3

started then, softly, as if it had been rehearsed — “he is Henry 4

Strong.”

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Xavier stood aside, allowing Strong to take the podium.

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“Henry Strong,” Xavier said again.

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The applause began to thunder. They yelled and whistled. They 8

chanted the elder man’s name. They called out until he had to smile 9

and hold up his big hands. I expected the leader to compliment the 10

respect shown by the crowd and their mouthpiece, but he knew his 11

audience better than I did.

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“I was a Garveyite,” he proclaimed.

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The applause grew even stronger.

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“I was with the first of the first men.”

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“That’s the words!” a man exclaimed.

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“I have seen the red sun of Dahomey and I have bathed in the 17

African sea.”

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“Teach.”

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“I,” Strong said, pausing a moment for effect, “have tasted the 20

sweet nectar of the homeland and I am here to tell you that we are 21

sown from the sweetest flowers in the world.”

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“Watch it!” someone yelled. I think it was Brawly Brown because 23

when I looked he was plowing through the audience toward a door 24

in back marked by an exit sign.

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At that moment the glass door flew open. It shattered but I 26

couldn’t hear it, because at the same time the picture-window wall 27

also crashed. Policemen wearing riot helmets and wielding trun-28

cheons forced their way in.

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There must have been thirty of them.

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The assembled crowd balked for a moment, turning to see what 2

the problem was.

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I grabbed Tina and bulled my way toward the rear exit. Just as I 4

reached the door the blows began to fall. Blood was spilling and I 5

knew that there would be a few more chains for Xavier to unlock that 6

night.

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/ “COME ON, TINA! QUICK!”
Conrad, the matinee idol, 1

shouted.

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He was seated in the driver’s seat of a lime green ’62 Cadillac.

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Next to him was Xavier, and in the backseat Henry Strong crouched 4

down against the window. There was screaming coming from be-5

hind us, the sounds of scuffling and the occasional heavy thud and 6

grunt.

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I pressed Tina toward the automobile.

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Conrad yelled, “Not you!”

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“He took me out of there,” Tina hissed.

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I just kept on pushing until I was in the backseat. Conrad took 11