Milwaukee Bound - 1967 [Fall] Chris didn't know it, but the following decade would be one of intolerance: and some growing pains. They lived in the same old neighborhood both Jerry Hines and Chris Wright, only two blocks west and down a block on Jackson Street from one another"this was Jerry's and Betty's house, just a hop-skip-and-jump one might say to each other's abode. Across the street from Jerry's house was Oakland Cemetery. Chris was twenty-years old and Jerry about twenty-nine"back then. Jerry being several years older than Chris Wright was available and usable in the sense of travel"something that was stronger than most anything else in his life for some peculiar reason, something that would stay with him all his life most variably; and so in the summer of l967, Jerry got into a dividing-harsh fight with his girlfriend Betty. Having told Chris about this, they both decided to go to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. And this is where the story begins. --Chris had a l960-Plymouth-Valiant [white], it didn't run all that good but they, He and Jerry figured it would make it to Milwaukee, and so in the middle of the summer of '67, hot as a volcano, they loaded his car, when Betty was gone [Betty being his live-in girlfriend at the time], each grabbed what money they had, Chris having about $125.00 and Jerry about $250, and off they went. As the miles went by on their way to Milwaukee, one right after the other, they kept drinking cans of beer, smoking cigarettes"chain smoking for the most part, as the Valiant strolled along the black asphalt interstate [s], making stops along the roadside to go to the bathroom, buying more beer at the nearest gas station, or roadside stop, drinking more beer, making more stops to take a leak: kind of a circular motion to these ongoing events. Matter of fact, they were making so many stops, they both got tired of stopping and started pissing into cans, and whomever was not driving would throw the cans out of window into the fields along the thruway; sometimes just barley missing cars if a good upper wind got hold of it. It was party time all the way, and for the most part, all the time for them two. Now with loose conversations, the heat coming through the windshield, the breeze hitting their hands as they flopped out the window going down the highway, a bird wasn't any freer. They lit cigarette after cigarette, talked, laughed, drank and sang. They didn't do a lot of planning, but enough, --barely enough, but enough, their plan was: they'd sleep in the car until they found an apartment, then get a job, and stay in Milwaukee for a few months, then they could figure on what to do next"not a big plan or even an elaborate one by any means, but then the world and life was simply for them, and again I say, at least they had a shred of a plan, like a slice from a piece of pie. Their quest, their goal, if you could call it that, was to chum around, that's what they'd do, and just chum around is what they were doing. Life's responsibilities or demands were irrelevant, if not cumbersome, and if ever one was caught in a vortex of remoteness, Jerry was, he had enough for the moment of everything in life, yes, in a way he was running away, as Chris was not. Chris was simply running to escape a city he saw too much of, he got the travel bug early in life; he was running to run. No one really knowing where they'd end up, at the end of it all to be exact, and no one putting anymore thought into it past the planning I had already explained: Chris again, was simply available, usable, along with willing, and had an ardent desire to see how far he could go, travel, and the farther the better. Milwaukee [The beginning of fall] It was a chilled night, as black as dark-ink, the moon was one-quarter lit, and if there was such things as ghosts, they seem to have been running back and forth across the moon's light with a grayish robe of a mist. It was a little past midnight when they caught a glimpse of the highway sign that read: "Milwaukee to the Right, '...turn-off 2-miles,"' and so Jerry, whom was driving did just that, took the turned-off where the arrow was pointing, whereby, we were on a one-way that lead us directly to the downtown area of Milwaukee. Chris' face flashed with undeniable excitement, it was as if he was being reborn, his blood was regenerated, there was no logic or reason to it, it was a high: a desire filled, a craving to the top, like an empty cigarette package replenish, akin to getting drunk, a destination-high, a quest, all that and more: save for the fact that the boredom from driving helped turn the moment into a rage of excitement. "Oh boy, I get to see the city," he said with anxiety of not being there at that very moment. Jerry gave Chris a more mature chuckle to the fact they had made it. Specifically, about to make it into the city limits their destination. "Just hang on, we'll be there in a moment," said Jerry, turning the wheel a bit to the left, as he was turning onto the entrance to the city: then straightening them out to go directly ahead you could not see lights appearing in the distance, an illumination of dotted-lights. They both smiled, they had almost or nearly gotten to their destination"it was getting closer by the second. Just down and around a bridge or two now. The one thing they did not take into consideration was the times: it was the 60's, and neither Chris nor Jerry, could bridge, or even conceive the white and black dilemma that was sweeping the country; for the most part, they were isolated from it. Oh yes it was on TV all the time, but until you are in the mouth of the whale, one never can conceive the depth of the situation, or should I say, the depth of the stomach of the whale. There had been some caf, store, and tenant-building damage in the black areas of the City of St. Paul, but not much, not in comparison to the rest of the country. Back in those days, every city had its riots, its racial issues. It was like a plague; but St. Paul, being the conservative city of the Midwest, the City of Culture as it has been called, was almost naive to it. They also lived in a neighborhood that didn't read books or newspapers all that much or watch the news, it wasn't a big deal for or to them, only one black family lived in the neighborhood someplace"no one even knew when he had moved in but a few years back might be adequate: the black man had befriended Chris' grandfather, and therefore was left alone. But no one ever saw a black man in the neighborhood before this, much less deal with riots. No one came to the Cayuga Street area"or walked through the area without good reason, unless they lived there; for there was a gang of some twenty-two guys and gals that hung out on the church steps. It wasn't called Donkeyland for nothing; for at one time it was the highest crime related area in St. Paul, and they boasted of that, and the police even tried to avoid them [them being, the whole area"the gang of sorts]; matter of fact, they nick-named it Donkeyland because there were so many hard-heads there: and yes, it suited them. They beat the police up if they chased them up Indians Hill, which was in the center of Cayuga Street, right next to Chris' house. But as I was about to say, as they rode down the turnoff, and on-into the city center, a white, a huge white car was following them. Chris first noticed it"a ting after they entered the outer rim of the center. "Something wrong Chris?" said sleepy-eyed Jerry, driving. Chris turned about for the third time to examine the white car, again seeing the car following them...then all of a sudden said Chris with a crisis voice, a voice trembling, a decadence to his face: "Oh shit, look, look at what they just pushed out the damn car window, the white car"there..." almost along side of them now, "...looks"J-j-Jerry, a damn shot gun..." Jerry looked quickly, "What is going on?" Then out of another window of the car, came a voice from a loud speaker coming right from the white car, you couldn't make out what exactly was being said though"so they continued on, Jerry driving closer to the center of the downtown area now, looking at a gathering of people on two differed corners"in a four or five square block area; if anything, it looked like a protest, if not some combat zone; --the voice over the speaker now, indubitably said"[even louder than before]: "Move out of the city's area, immediately, or we'll shoot!" Chris looked at Jerry, "Where's the way out Chris," asked Jerry [the word shoot sticking in both their minds like a spider to a fly caught in a web, "To the right, to the right, over there man..." Chris pointing toward a half lit up bridge: without hesitation, and responsive to his tone of voice, Jerry immediately turned the car southwest, and out they went as fast as that six-cylinder car would go. In short, both Jerry and Chris' tempermentaity was shock, disbelief, and spellbound, but somehow they must had caught a sign that said, Madison, Wisconsin, for that is where they headed; and sometime down the highway they had stopped to check the map, and talk about Madison to see if both agreed of the new destination, prior to this stop it would seem they were both ill-balanced. When they both arrived in Madison, not being able to find a job, they both would end up in Omaha, Nebraska, whereupon, just across the boarder was Counsel Bluffs, where Chris would find a job working for Howard Johnson's as a dishwasher, and three weeks later Jerry's girlfriend would show up, and that would be the end of the adventure. She'd stay until the end of the month, and they'd all return back together to Minnesota. It was for Chris the first of many adventures"antiquarian pursuits, and the first real racial confrontation. Heavens Dilemma What will we all do?
The Black man,
The White man
The Arab, the Jew:
The Christian,
The Muslim,
Fool, and you". All tossed together
[Like a load of old shoes],
Waiting to go through:
Through those pure
Pious gates,
Awaiting new souls? What will we all do?
For it seems [does it not?],
That is the one place:
We all want to go-too. Book: 1 Stay Down, Old Abram Alabama Days [l969- l970] 1. Black Girl Walking Her profile was of a black silk like portrait of Cleopatra; yet her eyes saw devastation, Chris wouldn't say it but he knew it, sensed it. Her hair was well kept, treated somehow, somewhat, cut almost perfectly; it looked quite soft: --like her face, nothing out of the common he thought, just well groomed. And here, this black silk Cleopatra, walked reminiscent to how one would expect Cleopatra to walk he gave notion to, with a good arch in her back, neck slightly risen to lower the backside of her head; very dignifying. She was walking down the street, stopping here and there, window shopping"as if she had no cares; as if she was in charge of her life, so Christopher, namely, Private First Class Wright, told himself: Get some directions to a drycleaners. Yet, for a moment she reminded Christopher Wright of his mother, who'd take him shopping as a young lad: looking, gazing, seeing, and then finally inquiring about what was most interesting in those big windows of his Midwestern hometown stores; his hometown, being St. Paul, Minnesota. But he was now hundreds of miles from his Midwestern city, his principal objective was not to window-shop"he had business to attend to; he was at Red Stone Arsenal, a military base, and a Space Station as well, just outside of Huntsville, Alabama, used by soldiers for advance training in a number of fields. They came from military basic training facilities all over the country. Christopher Wright came from training at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, for training there; he was to spend three months at Red Stone, then go on to a new duty station. He was downtown looking for a drycleaners, no more than that, but isn't that how everything starts in life" with a simply gesture. --During the weekdays, the evenings explicitly, and most unobjectionably on weekends [day and night], gambling was going on in the soldiers barracks, drinking in the dayroom at night was common, especially when someone would bring some: 'White Lightening,' down from the local stills in the surrounding hills. And outside of the base, outside the gates of Red Stone, was Huntsville, there on any given night you might find a few barroom fights with GI's and locals. During the weekdays, sometimes the soldiers would drink all night"and play avoidance games with the sergeants in the morning after formation and roll-call; as to try to play catch up on their duties and daily studies later, for this was a school for most of the soldiers, not duty assignments"per se. As precious as sleep was, and it was precious to say the least, for one could get hurt during school training without the proper amount, especially with the hands-on part, dealing with munitions,-- very few soldiers got it though, and lucky no one did get hurt, a little miracle in itself; on the same note: a commodity no one had time to take advantage of, and not willing to buy it. Yet it was a factor in the carelessness that prevailed within the school structure, or at least in Chris' eyes. And so the marksmanship shooting of the M16 rifle went on as usual, under sleepy eyes, with the lack of energy, as did the Mess Hall duties, and the womanizing down in Huntsville; it was a wonder anyone got any kind of studies done. But that was the way it was, Chris told himself, and it was now, and as far as he considered it, it could be forever wrapped in memories for the future, and figured out later. Christopher Wright, had been at Red Stone going on six weeks now, and was no exception to the rules, --if not more so than others, he was rather abusive to them; and to be quite honest, his platoon sergeant didn't even know his name. He'd be in the third roll of the platoon, second man on the left, each and every morning for, formation, standing tall for military inspection, as all soldiers needed to be accounted for twice a day; there were forty-four men to the platoon, and twelve-men to the squad. He always seemed to try and avoid being noticed, and was for the most part, unnoticed within his platoon and squad. It was better he felt, the less they see of him, the more they leave him alone, the better off the world would be, his world; by and large, that was very much the truth of the matter. 2. Elsa and the Soldier [Black Girl Walking] On a cool clear February afternoon the same brisk chill that made the white soldiers on base rub their hands to warm themselves, Elsa was doing the same thing as she window shopped in downtown Huntsville. She knew not to be distracted by the white soldiers that walked the streets, and avoided them quite mechanically, not catching their eyes, or even noticing them, if at all they were noticing her. She was"for the most part"oblivious to their whims, or stares or even wolf-calls and remarks. She just kept on walking, shopping, and looking, gazing into the windows. As Christopher Wright caught sight of her, he motioned to her while asking directions, in which she became unstable, her face radically alert to everything around her all of a sudden, "Doan mess wid me now,--go," she demanded of Chris. Both Christopher and Elsa were in disbelief [each for different reasons], a white soldier trying to talk to a black young woman, this was not at all common in this part of the country; and a black woman abruptly telling him to scoot: --be gone, when all he did was ask a simple question; for in the Midwest, no one was so rude, so down right un-neighborly. Then Christopher noticed a ghostly look overtook her face. In his mind's-eye he was saying, 'God what did I do,' "I say get away from me, please"you-all!" she repeated herself, with a more nervous tone to her voice this time; while trying to avoid him by ducking in-between a passageway leading into a store, pretending to look here and there, but trying to get away from him in reality. "Shoo...," she said uncomfortable, as her eyes opened up wider"like golf-balls, and shown those dark enchanting colors to him, and then saying: "I just know something's gona happen..." a hastily comment with a quick glance through the glass windows to see if anyone was watching them, it had mirror like reflections. But the Private First Class just was too naive to catch the warning as a warning; he had thought he had done or said something to offend her, and was searching his memory banks"in a flabbergast manner. They were now, by a large department store close to a four-way intersection, with a crossing that had stop and go lights attachments on wires crossing the streets. This dark eyed Negro woman was shaken, "Soldier," Elsa said with seriousness, her posture becoming more closed, hands crossed, if not dread to her voice, "Yous gona gets me in trouble, I swear, I be hung sure as Uncle Abram, if yous dont leaves me alone." "What!" said Christopher, adding with a boyish coyness, "I'm just asking for directions? I need to find a press shop for my Military Greens"a drycleaners," Chris was in green Army fatigues at the moment, ironed stiff, to make him look like a sharp soldier, and polished boots that shinned, but not from polish, from spray, which was offensive to many soldiers, for although it got the boots shinny, it made cracks in them also. But Chris felt he could spend his time more wisely by spraying the boots, vs. two hours shinning them"that was the offensive part to the other soldiers, yet they sold the items at the PX [military store]. Thus, hung over his forearm was his dress-greens. Elsa's eyes now rolled up into her head, as if to say: you got to be kidding, then turned into the big department store horse-shoe turn-around, which possessed a glass display of cloths; she started walking around it, slowly, without going into the store. Then exhausted from trying to rid herself of this pest of a soldier, she stopped for a moment, just a moment, leaned against the big display window, and began to talk, Saying: "Soldier, I's be a black girl, yous a white soldier, you'all in Alabama, now, not back wheres yous come from, --two weeks ago mies Ol Uncle Abram was beaten and hung for hanging out [fraternizing] with white folk; if I's be standing here talking to you much longer, I be hung just like Uncle Abram, you'akk se? Does you'all understand? I gots to walk on this side of the street, and yous needs to walk on dhe, dhe uther-side. It's just plan trouble if you dont. " "Where's your Uncle now," asked the young Private. "They'd done left him in the field to rot, could be, they-all buried him by now, in da farmyard outside of town a mile or so." "What farm?" asked the Private, seemingly more curious than a moment ago. "Ya looks like a good soldier, stays out of this I warns ya; I mustn't talk so much [looking about to see if anyone was watching]. O-k, I tells ya, but then leaves me alone, ok?" Christopher shook his head --yes, "Samuel Brunson's farm, now leaves me, please, --ahim goan home!" A tear came from her eyes, as they both took a moment to look at one another for the last time; finally Christopher comprehended what the youthful Negress had meant, as her last words came out: "Done killed my Uncle"dhey done kill him good." |
