Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do (12 page)

19

F
LORA'S APARTMENT WAS JAMMED
. She spotted Precious and me immediately and waved us inside. In addition to her couch, the two living room chairs, and the four from around the dining table, she had set up six or eight folding chairs wherever she could squeeze them in.

“I thought you were gonna stand out there all morning,” grumbled a tall, lean, gray-haired woman who I recognized as the one who had been tapping on Flora's window.

“I'm sorry, Bea,” Precious said, squeezing the woman's hand warmly.

“You not the only one with a schedule, you know.”

“I know, I know!”

“She's here now, ain't she?” said one of the two men present. “You gonna waste your time fussin' or let the woman get in the door good?”

He shook Precious's hand. “Welcome back, Senator.”

“Thanks, Mr. Charles,” Precious said with a conspiratorial wink in his direction.

Bea gave up grudgingly. “I'm just sayin' …”

She was clearly the designated fusser. Every meeting seems to need one. Someone who cannot be pleased or pacified, who is a constant thorn in the side ofanyone even vaguely resembling an authority figure. That was Bea.

Every chair was occupied, but Flora detached herself from a circle of three gray-haired women and one baldheaded man, all talking simultaneously, dashed into Lu's room, and came back with a three-legged stool and a small rocker. Precious waded right in, apologizing for being a few minutes late, asking after new grandbabies and ailing spouses with equal specificity. She was well known to the people in this room and, from their greetings, well liked.

I gave Flora a quick hug and claimed a space for the stool in the back so I could watch the West End Growers Association in action.

Flora got everybody settled and smiled a welcome to a roomful of her friends. There were about fifteen women ranging in age from fifty to eighty, and two men who looked to be somewhere in their mid-seventies. They all looked healthy; even the oldest ladies were surprisingly agile. If this was what gardening does for you, I ought to start working a plot of my own!

“Everybody got somewhere to sit?” Flora asked. These folks were in good shape, but none of them wanted to stand up for an hour. “Okay. We've got some serious business to discuss today, so let's dispense with reading the minutes and do that next time.”

“So moved!” a little woman perched on the edge of Flora's wine-colored wing-back chair said quickly.

“All in favor?”

Every hand went up except mine since I wasn't really a member and didn't have voting privileges.

“All right,” Flora said, moving right along. “Then let's have our minute of silence and get started.”

The room was immediately quiet. Some of the people closed their eyes as Flora did, and simply sat still, breathing in and out in unison so that the whole room seemed to be sighing. The unexpected pause had what I imagined was the desired effect. We went from being a gaggle of excited individuals to being a group of thoughtful human beings. A moment of silence seems so much more civilized than banging a gavel.

Flora opened her eyes. “Good. Did I say welcome?”

“You too busy makin' us be quiet,” said Bea.

Flora ignored her. “We have two guests with us today. The first one is my new neighbor upstairs, Regina Burns.”

She pointed in my direction, and I raised my hand in a general wave.

“And the other one is an old friend of the Growers Association and of West End, Senator Precious Hargrove.”

The assembled growers broke into enthusiastic applause as Precious joined Flora in front of the room.

“As you know, we've been having some problems just across Stewart Avenue. We want to report those as succinctly as we can to Senator Hargrove, in the hope that she can offer us some assistance. Miss Mattie, do you want to start?”

Miss Mattie looked to be about sixty. Her high cheekbones and straight black hair were testament to the Native Americans in her family tree. When she stood up to speak, she squared her shoulders like it was going to take more than some young hoodlums to scare her.

“I'm Mattie Jenkins,” she said. “You all know me. I been part ofthis group since the beginning, longer than some of you, even, so I think I deserve some consideration.”

“We all think so, Mattie,” Flora said quickly. “That's why we're here.”

Miss Mattie took a deep breath. She knew she was among friends, but she was still mad. “I know it. It's just that they been by my house three times in two weeks.”

Precious frowned. “Three times?”

Mattie nodded. “They come and ring the bell just as bold as you please. Start asking me if I don't want to let them help me with my garden.”

“Some help!” said another of the women.

“I know that's right!” Of course, that was Bea.

“I never let them in, of course,” Mattie said, “but it's nerve-wracking to have them hanging around all the time. I told them I don't know nothin' about growing that wacky weed and to get the hell off my porch before I get my shotgun.”

The woman next to me leaned over and whispered, “She would, too. Mattie always been wild!”

“Tell them what happened last week,” a woman seated next to Mattie on the couch said.

“This is Jerry Tulane,” Flora said for those who didn't know her. “She's down the street from Mattie.”

Jerry waved a hand. “They been comin' to my house, too.”

“Last week, we were outside in my backyard, just talking, and two of these guys opened the gate and walked in like they had a right to.”

“Did they threaten you?” Precious was making notes in a small blue spiral notebook.

Mattie and Jerry shook their heads.

“Not yet,” Jerry said, “but they'll be back. It's only a matter of time.”

“We need some help over there,” Mattie said. “The police keep sayin' they can't do anything unless they actually do something to us.”

“It'll be too late then,” Bea said loudly. “What good is it gonna do calling 911 after they already hit some poor woman in the head?”

The others began murmuring among themselves. Bea had put their fears on the table. Now what was Precious going to do to address them?

“I know you're concerned,” Precious said. “You should be concerned. Some of our young brothers have gotten so desperate, they'll do things we never thought our children would be capable of doing.”

“'Scuse me for cutting you off,” Miss Mattie broke in. “But these little hoodlums ain't nobody's brother, and they sure ain't nobody's child.”

“You got that right!” Bea added her amen from the rear, and there was a little murmuring, a little shushing.

Precious waited for quiet. “That's where you're wrong. These little hoodlums are what our babies have become, but they are still our children. Even when they act a fool, even when they scare us, we can't deny their humanity. We can't—”

“I beg your pardon, Madam Senator,” Mr. Charles said, holding up his hand, “but I don't think we got time to argue about whether or not they're human.”

“Can we vote on it?” said a voice from the back, and a nervous titter rippled through the room.

Mr. Charles pressed on. “I think what we want to know is what can we do to keep them from trying to grow marijuana in our gardens.”

Murmurs of assent. Precious took a deep breath. I felt sorry for her. The police were right. There was probably nothing to be done until the intimidation went one step further, and, as Bea pointed out, that would be too late.

“All right,” Precious said. “Here's what I can do right away. I'll talk to the zone commander and ask him to increase the police presence on your block. I'll also ask him to talk to these guys and give them a warning about harassment. I'll also start the paperwork for issuing peace warrants that will require them to stay one hundred feet away from your houses. Do you know their names?”

Jerry and Mattie looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Who knows what their mamas called them, but they call each other …” Mattie looked so uncomfortable that Jerry picked up the slack.

“They call one DooDoo and the other one King James.”

The assembled growers groaned. Precious didn't even bother to write the names down. I had the feeling these guys were both well known to her. So that's what ShaRonda's uncle spent his time doing when he wasn't babysitting. Harassing old ladies in their backyards.

“We know these two,” Precious said. “We've picked them up before. We can pick them up again.”

“But they don't keep 'em.” Jerry's voice was almost a whine. These answers were not making her feel any better. “They let 'em right back out and then they even worse 'cause they mad, too.”

“Hoodlums burned up a woman in Baltimore,” the woman next to me whispered. “She kept callin' the cops on the dealers until they set her house on fire with gas. Burned up her kids and her husband, too.” She shook her head. “What kind of person burns up a family just so they can sell crack on the corner?”

The question made me shiver because I didn't know the answer.

“Listen, I know it's hard,” Precious was saying. “And I know they're scary sometimes, but we're going to work with you until we get these guys off the street. That much I can promise you.”

Nobody said anything, so Flora stepped into the skeptical silence. “As you can see, Senator, we have strong feelings about the safety of our growers.”

Precious nodded.

“We appreciate your coming, and we stand ready to work with you to get these guys off the street.”

There was a smattering of applause. These were Precious's core constituents. They liked and respected her, and, at some level, they knew that what they were asking her to do was an impossible task, even for a smart, savvy, dedicated public servant. DooDoo and King James were just the most visible faces on a problem that runs so deeply to the heart of
what is wrong with us
that it takes more courage than most ofus can muster to even consider it.

“Thank you,” Precious said. “I know you wanted more immediate action, but I assure you this will be my top priority until we find a solution.”

More spotty applause.

“And I want to thank you especially for calling on me and for not—” Precious chose her words carefully “—for not taking matters into your own hands.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Even Bea didn't have anything to say to that. Precious picked up her purse.

“I'll call Flora as soon as I speak to the zone commander,” she said, and Flora nodded. “And, as always, I appreciate your support and your positive presence in the neighborhood where I've spent the last twenty years of my life.”

The growers allowed themselves to relax into her collective compliment.

“Stick with me now, okay?”

“You got it, Senator,” Mr. Charles boomed, beginning a round of sincere applause this time that carried Precious out the door on the same wave of trust that carried her in. I wondered if I should slip out, too, but a plump little woman in a bright orange jacket closed the door behind Precious, like leaving was not an option, so I settled myself on my stool and waited for more adventures in participatory democracy.

I was reminded of my father's despair at the widespread inability of victorious revolutionaries to translate their passion for change into a willingness to submit to the unremitting tedium of actual governance. Flora and Precious's activism was the kind that required them not to propagate the latest theoretical approach to activating the masses, but to have actual exchanges with real people confronting real problems. They were the people who had to actually translate
the revolution
into Miss Mattie being able to grow her collard greens in peace.

The old man who hadn't spoken yet waved his hand at Flora.

“Mr. Eddie?”

Mr. Eddie stood up slowly. He was very tall and very thin and eighty years old if he was a day. Although most of the people were casually dressed, he was wearing a dark suit and tie.

“I don't mean to be speaking out of school,” he said, “but now that the senator's gone, I'd like to know where Hamilton stands on this.”

There was an immediate ripple among the growers.

“He's aware of the problem,” Flora said, “but the block we're talking about is not within the West End community.”

Mattie snorted. “Across the street! That's all! We're one street too far. Is that fair?”

“It's downright wrong if you ask me,” Bea said. “Either we're safe or we're not. How can I be safe over here if I can't go see Jerry and be safe over there?”

“Any of us could be next!”

Flora waited patiently for things to settle back down. “You all know the problem. Mr. Hamilton has committed his assistance to the West End community. He has gone so far as to guarantee our safety within a certain well-defined area. We know what the boundaries are, and so does everybody else. If these guys stay on their side of Stewart Avenue—”

“Their side?” Jerry's voice was now an indignant wail. “So now I live on
their side
?”

Flora looked Jerry in the eye, but her voice was very gentle. “You have been offered comparable housing on this side. Both of you have.”

“You know I can't move,” Jerry said. “That was my grandmother's house. Then my mama's. Now it's mine, and I intend to grow old in it with my memories to keep me company, and no little wild Negroes younger than my grandchildren are gonna run me off!”

I don't have to say that that really resonated with me. When is a house not a house?
When it's a history!

There was scattered applause and lots of nods of encouragement.

“Let's vote,” Bea said loudly, still agitating.

“Okay,” Flora said calmly. “What exactly are we voting on?”

Silence. Flora let it sit there for a minute, and then Mr. Eddie stood up again. “I'd like to vote to ask Hamilton to extend himself far enough across Stewart Avenue to cover our two growers who need some help.” He turned toward Mattie and Jerry and his voice was apologetic. “Because me and Charlie are too old to get it done, and somebody's gotta handle it.”

“Speak for yourself, old dude!” said Mr. Charles immediately, and everybody laughed.