The Nigger Factory (20 page)

32

Exodus

Friday on the campus of Sutton University was generally a day of preparation for weekend activities that almost always included a mixer of some description that night and post-mixer parties in the dorms that lasted far into the morning. The student body would open its collective eyes by noon on Saturday, eat a hurried sandwich in the cafeteria or canteen, and get a good seat from which to cheer the football team (in the fall), the basketball team (in the winter), or the track team (in the spring). If the events were on other campuses, there would be cars loading on Friday night or Saturday morning to take students to the contests.

The cars and buses were leaving on Friday afternoon this week. The Saturday game had been cancelled. The students were milling about in front of the dormitories and the Student Union Building discussing the campus developments and waiting for a break in the depressing atmosphere.

The clouds hovered gray and forlorn over southern Virginia, reminders of the showers that had fallen the previous night and threatened to return.

Aside from the emptying resident facilities there were three centers of action on the campus early that afternoon. Sutton Hall, the administration building, was one. Carver Hall, where the student government was housed, was another. The third was the Sutton fraternity house's third-floor Strike Communications Center.

The five members of MJUMBE were closeted in a closed meeting at one o'clock in the back room of the Strike Center. They were planning what had become for them the most important phase of their strike program: a meeting with the parents of female students who were coming to deliver their
daughters from the campus. It was now the most important phase because it would be their last opportunity to gain a measure of protection against the force that Ogden Calhoun was bound to use to clear the university buildings.

‘Is it clear to everybody why we're usin’ the same papers that we passed out yesterday?’ Abul Menka asked.

‘I still think it's gonna be a little tight on the oldies, man,’ Cotton grumbled. ‘Especially dudes an’ chicks who graduated from here because they come off like a buncha Toms . . . when you be rappin’ ‘bout how ain’ nothin’ gone on here since they opened this crypt, man . . . whew! I don’ know . . .’

‘Some of the things we said won't be very acceptable,’ Abul admitted. ‘But you heard ‘bout what happened to Earl when he tried to hol’ a closed meetin’ this mornin’. Ol’ Assbucket broke in on the set an there wasn’ nothin’ nobody could do.’

‘We could use the enforcers,’ Ben King griped.

‘No good,’ Abul said stiffly. ‘That would never get over wit’ Calhoun-type people. We gotta face some facts, man. The folks who comin’ to the meetin’ is only comin’ because their daughters is tellin’ ‘um to. They basically don’ wanna come, think it's a waste a time, an’ ain’ gonna like the looks of us from jump street.’

‘What you sayin’ is that we really ain’ gonna do no good to have the meetin’,’ Baker said.

‘I s'pose thass the truth,’ Abul said, sitting back down to the table. ‘But we can't possibly give out new statements. One a them administratin’ flunkies is boun’ to point out the diff'rence. So there can't be none.’

‘We definitely be sunk if Calhoun come over an’ rap all the bullshit that the parents wanna hear,’ Cotton said with a sigh.

‘He won't be there,’ Abul said. ‘That may be a point in our favor. The bastard's confidence may be gettin’ the best a him. All we really need is a handful a chicks. Then everybody in the community would be poised to leap on his shit if he sent big guns after us.’

‘How you know he ain’ comin'?’ Cotton asked.

Abul fished around in his dashiki's breast pocket. He brought out a package of cigarettes, a book of matches, and a piece of folded paper. He lit a cigarette and unfolded the paper. ‘It sez here,’ he began, ‘if you wanna know why school is closed an’ you wanna talk wit’ us, schedule an appointmen’ wit’ the secretary for nex’ week.’ Abul took care to slow his speech into a drawling slur to mock the president.

‘Man, these folks ain’ comin’ back out here nex’ week. Thass a lotta bullshit an’ Calhoun knows it. I think we should move on all these bastards!’ Ben King got up and paced the floor for a minute pounding a huge fist into his palm. He seemed on the brink of an explosion. Even more so than usual.

‘Jobs,’ Cotton mumbled to no one in particular. ‘People got jobs to go to. They prob'bly think comin’ out here
today
is a pain in the ass. An’ anybody who ain’ got no job an’ can afford to live nowadays ain’ sendin’ his daughter to Grade D Sutton University.’

‘Thass the point,’ Abul said. ‘All they gonna know is what we tell them. Unless they run inta one a them flunkies like Mercer.’

‘No-Check Mercer,’ Baker laughed. ‘Thass a worthless muthafuckuh.’

There was a period of silence while members of the group pulled their thoughts together.

‘We have ta do a heavy sympathy thing,’ Baker commented. ‘Otherwise we get our asses kicked t'night.’

‘We need to wipe out all a them pigs from Sutton,’ King urged.

‘We can deal with t'night when it gets here,’ Abul said. ‘Let's list a few things that we want Baker to rap about when the party starts. After we do that Ralph can move off to the side an’ organize the stuff in whatever order he wants to present it.’

‘I don't buy it,’ King said. ‘I don’ buy all a this crawlin’ aroun’ an’ sayin’ this instead a that an’ doin’ this instead a that like we in the wrong. Man, this iz some bullshit!’

‘You gotta face the truth some day Ben,’ Abul said as though to calm the fuming giant. ‘Everything that we after you can't take. Everything you wan’ ain’ available jus’ ‘cause you're bigger than the nex’ cat or you got some “enforcers” to back you up. Some things depend on yo’ ability to convince people with words that you're right. When you bang somebody in the head they may go along wit’ you, but they always layin’ for a chance to go up ‘side yo’ head too. Thass why people who take things by force can’ never sleep.’

‘No lectures,’ Ben King snarled. ‘I don’ know whuss goin’ on wit’
you
anyway. It's only since the deal got under way that you started openin’ yo goddamn mouth! An’ it's only the las’ couple days that all a the ideas we had have started fuckin’ up.’

Abul Menka got to his feet. ‘I'm gonna forget that you said that the way you did,’ he said slowly, tossing his cigarette away and freeing his hands. ‘I'm gonna attribute that remark to pressure, because my balls are out there on the line jus’ like yours. I started speakin’ up because I knew I had jus’ as much to lose as anybody else an’ I wuzn’ gonna let some big mouth bluffin’ get my ass kicked outta school. I was determined that if I left, it would be because we planned things out an’ jus’ didn’ make it . . . you dig?’

‘Fuck you!’ King said turning his back. ‘You guys can doodle an’ dally an’ meet an’ pray like a buncha en-double-ay-cee-pee niggers if you want to, but I'm gettin’ my guns together fo’ t'night . . . I'll see yawl at three.’

‘Without the gun,’ Baker said to King's retreating back.

King said nothing. The only sound from him was the echo of his footfalls as he thudded heavily down the stairs.

Sheila Reed was writing a check for twenty dollars for an impatient coed who stood in front of the secretary's desk with a hat box in her hand. Sheila had been working since nine o'clock that morning with no break to speak of. Earl had asked a couple of times if she wanted Odds to take over while she prepared to leave, but she had assured him that the few belongings she was
taking were packed and ready. Her parents had been informed by phone that she would be at her job in the SGA office when they arrived.

‘When will the last bus leave?’ the coed asked when Sheila gave her the check.

‘There's a special bus scheduled to leave at four forty-five,’ the secretary replied. ‘That gives you plenty of time.’

‘What time do you have?’

‘Two minutes past two.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

The phone rang, but before Sheila had a chance to answer it the extension light at the base of the phone went off, signifying that Earl had answered it in the inner office.

‘Thomas,’ he announced, leaning back in the swivel chair with a cigarette clamped in his mouth.

‘Earl? This is Lawman. I'm in Garvey Plaza. We got ‘bout fifty dudes left over here. Mosta the people either leavin’ soon or on the border line between stayin’ an’ go in’.’

‘What ‘bout the women?’ Earl asked.

‘Pretty good. I haven’ heard a woman yet say that she definitely wasn’ goin’ home. Mosta them whose parents are comin’ said that they goin’ to that MJUMBE meetin’. You gonna speak?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it's MJUMBE's meetin’.’

‘I think you coppin’ out,’ Lawman said.

‘What? Coppin’ out? How?’

‘If you're makin’ a split wit’ MJUMBE you gotta speak up. You can't tell the women to leave an’ then have their parents show up an’ have a buncha so-called studen’ leaders who're bein’ identified wit’ you tell them the opposite.’

‘The women know how I feel. They heard me yesterday,’ Earl retorted.

‘The parents didn’ hear nothin’.’

‘MJUMBE knew how I felt before they called the meetin’.’

‘You made them call it when you wen’ aroun’ las’ night,’ Lawman persisted.

‘I didn’ call . . .’

‘You the president, man!’ Lawman exclaimed. ‘I'm trippin’ out behind all these moral games you play wit’ yo'self that seem to relate to some unknown group a sacred principles. Too much goddamn thinkin’ is bein’ done when there ain’ none necessary. I tol’ you a long time ago about how niggers is the only people in America who get hung up on them bogus Democratic ideals like the right to assemble. Fuck a right to assemble! You want the women gone? Then bes’ you be there to tell their parents to take their crazy asses home! ‘Cause you know as well as I do that if anything happens to any one of them you gon’ be the man with the pipe up his ass when they start handin’ out the blame.’

‘Maybe I'll go,’ Earl said wearily.

‘Maybe hell!’ Lawman said with his temper subsiding a bit. ‘You better back yo'self up. It's all the help thass comin’.’

‘The way I see it I back myself up if I give ‘um busfare.’

There was a pause, an empty hole in the air that neither man bothered to try and fill with words. Lawman knew that he was pushing his friend. Earl was definitely not the type of politician or man to throw his weight around. He had won the election and was carrying out the job in the best way he knew how. When he told people something he was giving them his opinion and what they did after that he generally didn't influence. Lawman had never heard him say, ‘I told you that wouldn't work,’ when something failed, or ‘I told you that would work,’ when a venture was successful. It occurred to Lawman that the reason the post-operative statements were never needed was because Earl was generally such a forceful speaker and so adept at bringing people over to his train of thought that his policies toward campus political issues were never challenged. But now it was time for Earl to be more forceful. He could no longer advise as though he were objective about the entire project. He had to make
people see what he was talking about whether it appealed to them or not.

The problem facing Sutton University's student body was one of face-saving and adventure. There were many people whose departure had been made very quietly. Some of those who stayed were staying because no one wanted to be considered a coward unwilling to face whatever force Ogden Calhoun sent against them. The adventure that the situation was presenting was obvious. Most of the students at Sutton were the post-civil-rights-marches generation of Black students. They hadn't been old enough to take part in the marches on Washington and the march against Selma. They had never been actively involved in the Black revolution on any level. They were still inside the educational womb and their discussions were all hot air and rhetoric based on television revolutionaries and imported upheavals from Franz Fanon or Mao.

Six o'clock looked like excitement from their viewpoint. Chances were that very few of them had ever had a billy club come crashing down on their heads or mace sprayed on them or tear gas choking them and setting their lungs on fire. Lawman knew that it would be no picnic, but he had agreed with Earl when the SGA president had told the men to make up their own minds while the women were asked to leave. The thing he thought he had to impress on Earl was the fact that no one who had never been involved in a confrontation would want to be on campus to pay for resisting arrest or refusing to vacate private property. He decided that he would try and find some clippings that he had cut out of various Black magazines depicting the true possibilities in the picture for those who had some romantic notion about a revolutionary picnic on Sutton's campus when the law arrived. He smiled when it occurred to him that the sight of those pictures might turn Earl's head around.

‘When you comin’ over here?’ Earl asked. ‘Hey! Lawman! You still on?’

‘Yeah, man,’ Lawman said, cutting his daydream short.

‘When you comin’ over here?’ Earl repeated.

‘About quarter to three,’ Lawman said. ‘Where's Odds?’

‘Out front buggin’ hell outta Sheila last I saw,’ Earl laughed.

‘Well, I'll see you.’

‘Yeah,’ Earl said, ‘I'll see you.’

Earl dropped the receiver back into the holster. He lit a cigarette and finding it to be the last one in the package he crushed the container and tossed it into the trash. As he stood up to stretch his legs the sound of honking car horns drew his attention to the back window. There were three cars trying to get out of the driveway next to Garvey Plaza. No one could decide who was going to go first. Earl pulled the shade down.

Deep inside he knew that the things Lawman had said were true. Not going to the three o'clock MJUMBE meeting
would
be a cop out of sorts. If he had any responsibility at all to the people in the community and particularly to the women, perhaps it was an obligation to describe Selma, Alabama to them or some of the things that had happened to him as a Freedom Rider.