Low Road (7 page)

Of at least 600,000 Negroes who served in the armed forces during Korea, an estimated 5,000 others perished in the conflict. Still, there was another heavy toll taken on the lives of a number who survived the war. It was a slower death than that inflicted by bullets or explosions, but it proved to be in many respects equally devastating. It was rumored that China's leadership used the drug heroin as a secret weapon of sorts to undermine the opponents of communism. Heroin was said to have been exported to Japan, throughout other parts of Asia, and into the United States. Chinese allegedly targeted American bases with the sleep-inducing narcotic, which was recreationally used by an indeterminate number of servicemen. Yet, if there was a drug-distributing attack strategy utilized by China during the war, there was little evidence to support it. Heroin was already widely available in large Asian cities, including Korea's capital, when the American soldiers arrived. And not an insignificant number of the enlisted were already familiar with the narcotic: It had begun infiltrating the States and incriminating itself in urban communities as early as the previous decade. As best anyone could tell, Donnie first got the urge to get high after he'd reached Asian soil. He started out by smoking. Hash. Marijuana. Opium. Heroin came last. Among his other adventures there was the experience of sex with prostitutes. The whores made themselves compatible with any serviceman who conveyed an interest. Donnie developed such an enjoyment of the willing women that he had himself photographed while receiving their pleasures. His drug habit was simultaneously captured for the camera during one or two encounters with naked Korean ladies. To be certain, none of the boys in the gang on his old block were fucking like this.

As the months passed, Joe and Myrtle adjusted to the idea that their son was a full-fledged member of the military. Joe and Myrtle ultimately decided that the experience might be a good one for him. Help teach him responsibility. Introduce him to manhood. They had no way of knowing what other introductions he was receiving. For that matter, they may have underestimated what he'd seen and done before he ever left for the service. Clairette, who had been so concerned that Myrtle be nearby when she gave birth to the grandboy, passed away before she could ever see him in his uniform; George would remarry twice before his own death. In any event, Donnie's family knew he was out of their hands. Fighting finally ended in Korea on July 27, 1953. South Korea gained about 1,500 square miles of land, and both sides agreed they would not increase their military strength. The United States spent an estimated $67 billion funding its efforts in the war. A million civilians were killed in South Korea. Damages to property were estimated at $1 billion. An exchange of close to 90,000 war prisoners was among the last steps in a process before peace negotiations. Donnie was issued an honorable discharge for his contributions. When he prepared to return home he was just seventeen.

Dope Fiend

He must certainly have been one of the few black writers in history to be avidly read by junkies, winos and prostitutes, who not only read his books on street corners and buses, but actually discussed them! I observed this myself. Unsurprisingly, he was a junkie, himself, but he had a flair for capturing and interpreting black street culture in all of its richness, excitement, danger and tragedy.

—Paul Lee,
Our-storian

 

Joan heard a car slowing to a stop outside. At five years old, she was still becoming accustomed to the traditions of the Goines clan. It was Sunday morning. Myrtle carefully dressed her youngest daughter as they prepared to attend service at Sacred Heart. It seemed an ordinary morning to Myrtle as she looked the child over in the upstairs bedroom, but Joanie's attention remained fixed on who was in the vehicle on the ground below.

“Here comes Donnie, Momma!” she exclaimed.

Myrtle paid the child, who'd heard about but had no real memory of her brother, little attention.

“Oh, that can't be my Donnie. He's far away in another country,” she said, distracted.

“Uh huh, yes it is.”

Then suddenly a door opening took her mother's mind from its momentary preoccupation with little girls' church clothes.

“My boy is back! Thank you, Jesus!” Myrtle shouted, excitedly.

In the doorway stood a young, handsome soldier wearing his air force uniform. Donnie and Myrtle embraced tightly as tears rolled down their faces. It was classic Americana. Almost like a Norman Rockwell painting. Myrtle's only boy, who had run away from home, was a war veteran. He had traveled thousands of miles across the ocean, and Jesus had returned him to her safely. Surely, now things would be fine. There would be no more worrying about him wreaking havoc in the neighborhood or getting himself into trouble. Surely what would follow for Donnie would be a bright future. Nothing would turn Myrtle's boy around. The overjoyed mother couldn't see it at that time, as she wiped the tears from her face, but things were not to be nearly so simple. When she cried over Donnie the next time, it would be out of pain. It would be out of the anguished feeling that she was completely helpless in cushioning his reckless fall. When she next called on Jesus for Donnie, it would be to save her boy from complete destruction.

The days that followed Donnie's return home ran together rather quickly. He moved in with his parents and Joanie until he could get settled and readjust to civilian life. He and Joe remained distant, holding no open hostility, but speaking little to each other, even though they shared roles and responsibilities as men of the house. Still, they had little in common except that they were father and son. There was no outward hostility, but nothing in Joe's words or demeanor suggested Donnie had earned his father's respect by surviving for two years on his own. Joe mostly continued to concern himself with running the business, as had been his way for as long as Donnie could remember. He maintained hope that his son would take over the business. But by now, Donnie wanted no part of dry cleaning. As far as he was concerned, he had done enough time at Northside as a child to last him the rest of his days. To hell with the old man if he didn't recognize the value of Donnie's earlier work. After all, there was a world waiting. He was back on familiar turf. And there was still plenty to see and reacquaint himself with in the community that he remembered.

The Bookmobile would visit various neighborhoods every Monday and Wednesday. Onboard there were librarians who worked and saw to the needs of students who might not be able to make their way over to the nearby branch after school. Other young people found ways to hustle, as Donnie had begun to do before his enlistment. Peoples Bar on Hastings was a hangout for children hoping to make good with a little pocket change: They knew that their old man or another kid's old man would go in on the weekend and come out feeling no pain. Usually, an intoxicated dad or two could be counted on to distribute a few quarters. Or he might be so hampered that he would reach too deep in his pockets and pull them inside out, leaving all the change he had to bounce around in a free-for-all on the concrete. Other kids spent time as apprentices to the elder hustlers, observing how they went about creating a way for themselves. Pimps and prostitutes generally showed kindness to children, so the boys and girls might pick a favorite to assist now and then. When Michigan winters arrived, the prostitutes got crafty about how they could keep warm in the alleys and doorways by warming bricks. A dollar might be earned by a helper who kept bricks heated and maintained the haphazard platforms that kept the women from dirtying themselves by having to crouch down toward the warmth. Often, such young ones would go to a ten-cent store, pocket the money, and steal everything they could. Most of Donnie's peers were preparing for senior prom or graduation. Of course, such concerns were no longer relevant in his life.

Donnie set about looking for work. He never really cared for traditional employment. He had the mentality of a boss but only the resources of a job candidate. Something would have to give, though. He'd lived as a grown man since he had snuck his way into the military, so he was expected to continue living as a grown man. He began to pound the pavement. In time, his air force experience as a truck driver appeared to pay off. Donnie briefly found work behind the wheel again, but his lackadaisical attitude was ill-suited for the responsibility of transporting and delivering. For one thing, it required him to keep a schedule. Filling out travel logs and time slips and such was another discipline for him altogether. Donnie also tried employment on the assembly line of Pittsburgh Plate Glass. But it wasn't long again before he was back to spending his days shooting pool, smoking weed, and killing time with other similarly unambitious acquaintances. After catching hell from Joe or Myrtle, he'd be right back to square one again. But there was a major distraction from his job hunt, and it wasn't just a preoccupation with casual hobbies. Of all the things he had left behind in Korea, unfortunately, his habit was not one. Heroin, along with opium and cocaine, already had history in Detroit. The drug-user customer base numbered in the tens of thousands. In fact, the
Detroit Free Press,
a local daily paper, had reported a large presence of dope fiends in the city as early as 1912. When Donnie went out looking for action, he also looked for ways to feed his addiction. Drug pushers became gradually more prominent in the world of hustling. As demand for a good high increased, their willingness to supply corresponded. In parts of the city, narcotics were almost as readily available as over-the-counter cold medicine or cigarettes. Donnie wasted little time in making the appropriate connections to get what he needed.

Of course, the music was partly to blame.

Shoo be bop be bop

At least indirectly.

Doo be doo be ske be doo

Those bad-ass jazz cats were the coolest on the set. By now, their music could be heard everywhere. It was ridiculous to think that these musicians were all influenced by some kind of addiction, but by the same token, pushers jockeyed for unofficial celebrity endorsements. They offered free dope to the performers. At times, amazingly, the suppliers found out where touring musicians would stay overnight before the musicians ever got word. Jazz brothers served as walking billboards for whatever happened to be hip at the time. As a result, lots of fans got hooked, often confusing the talent and creative ability of those they revered with some kind of drug-induced brilliance that manifested itself in the sweetest sounds. It was one misleading, fucked-up fad. In truth, the musicians had spent plenty of sober hours honing their crafts. If they still carried those devastating tunes when they were high, it was because they were on autopilot. The legendary Charlie “Bird” Parker was a good example. A magnificent saxophonist, his beginnings resembled Donnie's in some striking ways. Parker dropped out of school, like Donnie, at age fifteen. And the musician had also answered the call of heroin when he was still traversing through adolescence. As he rose through the ranks as a top-flight artist, his addiction became a hindrance, as would the habit of his band mate, trumpeter Miles Davis, who played in Bird's quintet. Bird was idolized, nonetheless. It made little difference to his admirers that years of heroin and alcohol were helping to bring about his death. Who could know the numbers of others affected as destructively by the trend?

Though no one could be sure what kind of music was playing in Donnie's head, it was soon apparent that he had a problem. In fact, he probably didn't make much of an effort to hide it. The cravings and the urgency to use were unlike any that healthy young people could have experienced, save hunger and the need to use the restroom. Donnie's very blood had developed a dependency on the substance that held in its powdery components the powers to bring pleasure and pain. More than a few soldiers had become addicted to medications that numbed them to their physical discomforts. In civilian life, drug abuse became as normal to Donnie as waking up in the morning. As the weeks and months got behind him, his habit remained a companion. At some point, though, he recognized that the addiction was a destructive one. He approached his mother and Joanie, now an older child, with sincerity. Donnie believed he could kick his habit with just a little help and support. It wouldn't be a simple challenge, but he felt capable of meeting it. Donnie asked Myrtle and Joanie to lock him in his bedroom. He anticipated how the withdrawal symptoms might cause him to react. They would have to promise, Donnie told them, that no matter how he persisted—ranting, raving, crying or pleading—not to let him out until he had completely rid his body of reliance on the smack that he pumped through his system. Myrtle had never imagined that she would be frightened of her special boy. But the reality of the screams and curses that eventually came from behind the locked door were chilling. Myrtle and Joanie could only listen. If there had been any temptation to free him from his self-imposed solitary confinement, his aggressive reactions to being suddenly without drugs at his disposal removed them.

“Open this goddamn door!”

Donnie was like a man possessed. And this was exorcism.

“Let me live my own life!” he screamed. “Aaaaah! Goddammit! Mind your own damned business!”

Under ordinary circumstances he never spoke to his mother or baby sister this way. Now, he was a person they didn't recognize. Intense chills, nausea, and cramps could leave a junkie with feelings of sickness that no visit to the pharmacy would be able to cure. It was simply more of a monster than Donnie could handle. Ultimately, he escaped from his prison, and did so repeatedly after any number of similar attempts. He might be reduced to groveling like a pitiful child one day, asking “
Please,
Mama,” or muster all his might and fury to break the door down the next. Whether he had to beg and plead, tear loose hinges, or tunnel through the floor to the ground outside, he was determined to get a fix. Once he had found his medicine, he returned home content, as if he had not felt near the verge of death just a few hours earlier. His efforts were honest ones; his opponent more worthy than he'd imagined. Myrtle and Joanie kept trying, despite the terror it brought them. After all, they loved Donnie.