Low Road (23 page)

Interesting as Donnie's brief sketches may have been, not all of the characters made
White Man's Justice, Black Man's Grief
in the final edit. The book really didn't have much of a plot but centered mostly on its protagonist, his experiences and observations. If it wasn't Donnie's way of offering a literary tribute, it was an uncanny coincidence that he called the man Chester Hines. Author Chester Himes had long left the country to live out his days in Europe by the time Holloway first began publishing Donnie's work. Himes's black crime and detective novels were often set in Harlem, just as Donnie placed so many of his ghetto dramas in Detroit. Himes was really a father figure in the urban fiction genre. But that's not where the similarities between Himes and Donnie, or Himes and Chester Hines, the similarly named character, ended. Himes was released from the Ohio State Penitentiary the same year Donnie was born. Like Donnie, he was born one of three children to relatively well-off parents. And, like Donnie, he left school, though he had performed well up until his first year of college, and became involved with drugs and petty crime. Cleveland, Ohio, only a couple of hours from Detroit, became Himes's stomping grounds. As a young man, he was convicted—much like Donnie—of armed robbery. The authors also shared the environment of prison cells as the backdrops in which they began to develop their writing. As Donnie would eventually, Himes traveled to Los Angeles, where he had hoped to parlay his craft into a film career. When he learned that none of the studios were interested in a Negro writer, however, he sought other work in California, leading to experiences that helped inspire his first two published books. But lack of critical and commercial attention for his work contributed to his decision to expatriate. In Paris, he joined a community of black writers from the States that included James Baldwin and Richard Wright. Himes's autobiography,
The Quality of Hurt,
written after he'd moved to Spain, was published the same year as
White Man's Justice, Black Man's Grief.

Donnie's Chester character bore no striking resemblance to Himes, aside from his name and the fact that he had served time. Chester Hines had no creative talents whatsoever. Donnie made him into a professional killer and stickup man who would have cashed in on a liquor store robbery had he not been arrested that week. Chester shows little regret for having killed his fat ex-wife—during their honeymoon, no less—by forcing her overboard the boat from which he fished. Only vivid nightmares involving his violent trip north as a young man and other episodes from his past seem to disturb Chester. The dreams appear as a sort of metaphor for the control the character lacks, as it pertains to his ultimate fate as a habitual offender in a court system that functions by double standard. For all of Chester's contact with the system and all of the insightful predictions he makes, he is as helpless as any other convict by the book's final page. Donnie's reflections of the joint while writing
White Man's Justice, Black Man's Grief
revealed his intimate familiarity with incarceration. For what the actual story lacked, the details composed an intriguing portrait from the other side of the concrete wall. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone besides Donnie to know how many of the inmate characters, who included rapists and homosexuals, had been creations of his mind. To be certain, there were jailed men whose circumstances resembled those of every character in the book. A few had even committed the same types of violations for which Donnie was sent to the joint. There was a fine line for him to walk in creating stories that were credibly realistic yet still obscured truths that it was best to avoid making more publicly known.

Black Girl Lost
came in January 1974. The novel, which depicted a life of neglect that virtually forces a pretty teenager to seek survival by doing crime, revealed a level of compassion for the adolescent that he hadn't shown in any of his five previous books. Despite her scheming and lawlessness, she easily became the most sympathetic character Donnie had been able to craft. In the meantime, bill collectors showed Donnie and Shirley little sympathy. It was more than a notion to maintain their family's apartment unit in the house on Cortland. At one point, things got so tight that Shirley made the decision to help bring in some additional cash. She went back out on the streets. It wouldn't have been Donnie's first choice to have his woman spreading her legs for money the same way his whores had done, but he accepted it. Prostitution became a temporary solution to their problems. At least Shirley was still coming home to her man.

*   *   *

With the arrival of the New Year came a new sense of encouragement in the city of Detroit. Coleman Alexander Young—the political firebrand who had once made the House Committee reps attempting to label him a Communist practically curse God for creating black men—took office as the first black mayor on January 1. The white residents who remained in the city were largely disapproving. With his foul tongue and often brash manner, Young would fit everything but the traditional image of a mayor. Black Detroit, nonetheless, saw him as a liberator who would give them a sense of ownership in the city. Far beyond the municipal boundaries, there were economic ramifications that had a ripple effect. Detroit held down about 20 percent of the nation's automotive employment, but the oil crisis that would take place that year negatively affected the manufacturing of vehicles. There were about 1.6 million industry jobs in the metro area, many held by young, black men and women. Among them were workers who had gone to the plants directly from high school. Assembly lines represented stability for many a household and many a family member, who stayed clothed and fed. But the nationwide economic recession threatened general welfare. Seemingly oblivious, Donnie continued to crank out books at a staggering pace. He was a virtual assembly line of paperbacks.
Crime Partners, Death List,
and
Eldorado Red
were released just weeks apart.
Eldorado Red
told the story of a big-time numbers operator. Red employs his own staff of money handlers, bet takers and enforcers, who sustain themselves almost entirely through his illegal gambling resources. When the boss is betrayed by his own son, he demands a form of restitution that ends in murder. Unlike the protagonists in most of Donnie's stories, however, Red is not given any comeuppance in the end. Problems are corrected to his satisfaction, and he suffers no consequence for his complicity in the retaliation.

In his own life, Donnie felt less secure about recriminatory measures. It was becoming tough to narrate fiction without exposing actual crimes and criminals he had encountered through the years. There were hustlers who still operated on the same streets as when they'd first stepped outside the law. His books could be regarded as a form of snitching if Donnie didn't check himself sufficiently. Again, he scrawled his thoughts about a book that, upon further reflection, he may or may not have chosen to complete. Again, as he had done at the start of his career, he sought help from a sister. The undated writing read: “Hard to stay away from truth! Could get hurt. Know to[o] much. Be careful in the life. If they read this, can tell who story is about—middle of story. Called Marie for advi[c]e. Change storyline—no brothers, one person—change city and drug used. May not finish this one.” With the proliferation of pushers and dope houses, many of which he had visited, it was possible that he had begun using some of his own connections as models of study. He could feel the danger creeping into his life. It was a perception that would increase as the year gradually expired.

On May 11, 1974, Donnie called Joanie into the house. He approached his younger sister with an assignment that he felt was too important to handle by himself. Joanie was expecting that Donnie wanted to start a new book. Instead, on that day when he pulled her aside, he asked her for help in writing his last will and testament. It was an assignment she would never forget. She was daunted by the notion of having the only other male figure who was biologically closest to her taken away.

“What's wrong, Donnie?” she asked, taking him seriously. “Are you sick?”

“Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, Poopty. You never know when your time is up.”

Despite the long-time presence of his demon, his vice in the form of a needle, Donnie had always appeared to be in relatively good physical health. He never showed any outward sign of addiction, at least nothing that was detectable by the average observer. Of course, excluding his cautionary demonstrations to Joan and young Charles. Now, though, Joan thought her brother was deteriorating before her eyes. With his habit, at times, creeping up to hundreds of dollars a day, he lost weight. Long gone were the out-of-sight suits, shoes, and other fine threads he had worn as if they were uniforms when he had made his living illegally. Donnie was a different man. He had operated on the fringe, and the center was unfamiliar territory. Walking on the edge gave him a peculiar sense of grounding that more structured settings never could. A psychologist might have been able to explain it, where none of the people who'd known him most of his life were up to the task. Donnie had always preferred to create his own agenda. With whatever he gained in the secure legitimacy he found as a writer, the profession still lacked that freedom to work exactly when, where, and in what manner he pleased. He wrote to survive, and combined with his daily struggles and responsibilities, survival had become pretty overwhelming. Having hit the charts with lighter material, Marvin Gaye sang of the condition that described Donnie's emotional state, probably better than a well-qualified shrink ever could have with his 1971 recording “Inner City Blues.”

Hang-ups

Letdowns

Bad breaks

Setbacks …

Yeah, make me wanna holler, the way they do my life

This ain't livin'…

No, no, baby, this ain't livin'

For Donnie, this wasn't living. He knew he was mainly responsible for the depressing state in which he found himself. It was not by coincidence that one of his final creations, a character named Johnny Washington, faced the challenge of finding a way to support his survival and that of his family. In resemblance to Gaye's song, Donnie would title the last book
Inner City Hoodlum,
and would use, as always, his personal experiences to map out the character's path. It was ironic and hurtful that he controlled the lives of one-dimensional men and women but felt so helpless to control his own. The written will would be Donnie's most important piece of nonfiction. Joanie settled down at the typewriter to begin the unpleasant job. As they collaborated on the document, she and Donnie began to talk. And they laughed. The levity arose as if from out of nowhere. Perhaps it was meant as a blessing of time together between siblings, because, in the end, the pledges on paper would be all Donnie could leave behind. Across the top of the first page, Joanie typed “MY WILL & Testament.” It began with the words, “To Whom it may concern.”

If I should die, I would like for this to be my will, since I haven't had one made. Each novel of mine will be left to someone I consider close to me, and since I am of sound [mind], I pray that this letter is followed just as I dictate it here. First—Dopefiend. The royalty money off of Dopefiend should be put in an account for Donna Sailor, my daughter, until she reaches the age of eighteen, then she can use it for college or whatever else she might choose. Second—Whoreson.… This novel goes to my son Alfonso Chambers, or Alfonso Goines, whichever. He should receive the [royalty] money off of this book whenever he turns eighteen, and continue to receive it until the book leaves the market. Third—Black Gangster.… The money from this book should be put up in a fund for Christopher Howard, my son, until he is eighteen, then he can use the money any way he chooses. [Fourth]—Street Player[s].… Donnie, or Donald, Howard, my son. The rights of this novel should be put in a fund until he reaches the age of eighteen; then it becomes his. Fifth—White Man's Justice, Black [M]an's [G]rief. This novel, or money from it, goes to Tony Howard, into a fund until he becomes eighteen.

In the will, Donnie also revealed his connection to another child, the last he would so publicly name. His lecherous ways with women had left him frequently open to the chance of paternity, and the family began to privately wonder about even some of those he claimed. But knowing Donnie, it may have been hard even for
him
to keep track of the ladies with whom he'd been involved, so if the mothers became distant, there was no way for Joe and Myrtle to be sure they weren't missing out on a grandchild. Or for Marie and Joan to know how they might contact a niece or a nephew. At the least, Donnie could be given credit for trying to be responsible. In death—in the form of regular financial payments from Holloway House—perhaps he could be a more stable and dependable provider than he had been in life.

Nine—Eldorado Red—Tabatha Peterson, or Sanders, my daughter by Sandra Peterson, I want her to receive the royalty money from Eldorado Red. The money should be put in a fund until she reaches eighteen, then she may use it as she sees fit.

Through whatever the circumstances, Donnie's parents and sisters would hear almost nothing from the girl or her mother in the years to come. And possibly the last thing on Donnie's burdened mind was chasing down the pair. He did well to hold together as much of the household he and Shirley maintained. Besides, he had never been one for overextending himself where family and children were concerned. He wasn't keen on big holiday gatherings and the like. He was not the relative who was generally expected to show up at Christmas dinner with an armful of gifts. Donnie's generosity had been frequently overshadowed by various other preoccupations. He willed the royalties from
Black Girl Lost
to Shirley, while
Crime Partners
and
Death List
were assigned to Myrtle. Donnie also included Marie's daughter, Jean, and Joan's boys, Michael and Patrick. Among the last named to beneficiary status in the will was an old companion. He hadn't pimped, begged for baked goods, and shared apartments with Donnie the way Walter had, yet he had been one of those who Donnie found reliable when needed: