LONGER PREVIEWS (BOOK THREE)
Extended Excerpts (Scroll Down to the Tale Desired)
from ...Troubling Tales to Relax With
(from Story Two, pp.94-96) "That Good Image"
“But, now,” continued the interviewer, “I’d really like to get a sense of
the sentiments you developed in those early years regarding the races. You
know…maybe you can state how your early experiences in the culture of
Pigs Bend shaped your thinking about race.”
He knew it was coming, that is, Mr. Redd did. Taking one relaxed
but deliberate step after another down the road with his escort, Billie Redd
prepared his answer. As was his custom, he would be direct, honest and
unapologetic.
“Grandpop used to say the coloreds was like monkeys, but in a hu-
man kind a’ way, sorta’.” Focusing on specific memories, Billie Redd con-
tinued. “Yep, that’s what he used to say…I can hear him now, ‘Damned
monkeys!’” The old man stopped his gait and scratched his head before
continuing. “Now, that’s some’em--. I’ll be damned. …I ain’t thought
on that in a long time. …Ol’ Grandpop.
“Now, I had seen some monkeys,” continued Mr. Redd. “you know,
heuhr and theyuhr… people comin’ around with monkeys doin’ tricks for
money…stuff like that. But—no disrespect to Grandpop—I couldn’t see
no real likeness between coloreds and no damned monkeys. I mean, hell,
if it was some, it won’t no more than the monkeyin’ around I done seen
white people do on this or that ‘ccasion.
“But, you see, Mr. Vernon, I had a lot of respec’ for Grandpop, and
I honored his opinion. I s’ppose I jes’ believed I didn’t have his wisdom.”
Vernon nodded. “I see. Please continue.”
“Now, Pop used to say they was like, as he put it, ‘little bad ass
children,’ and white people had to direct ‘em and teach ‘em their place,
so they didn’t get too wild and out of control. I can hea’uhr him now jawin’
with folks on the front porch of our old house. They’d all agree: coloreds
had a wild nature, they said, havin’ come from the jungle and all. Pop said
you had to tame them jungle instincts or they’d go buck wild and destroy
everythang the white man built up in this country.”
“Did you come to feel the same way?” asked Vernon when the inter- viewee paused.
“Oh, hell-yeah. It was easy to believe that coloreds was diff’rent
from us jes’ from the looks of ‘em. The dark skin, the noses, the hair, the
…you know…the whole face …and they didn’t act like white people.”
Billie Redd thought on it a few seconds. “You know what it was? They
seemed like people what belonged somewheres else. Not monkeys, like
Grandpop used to say, but people who didn’t fit the white man’s land—
that is, if he wasn’t , you know, heuhr as a slave.”
Billie Redd stopped abruptly and engaged Vernon with a serious gaze. “Now you know, that’s a funny thang how we looked at that thang in
them days, Mr. Vernon. The coloreds fit in the white man’s so-ciety as a
servant and a slave but outside that condition, we felt they was out of
their place. Hell, as far as we were concerned, since they ended slavery,
we’d all be better off if the coloreds could all go back to Africa and
leave America to us whites.”
Continuing the journey, the interviewee resumed dialogue. “And I’ll
tell you some’em…our folks often talked about ways we could get the
coloreds out of America and back where they come from. And yeuhrs later, one of the leaders of the coloreds said some’em in a speech that
showed up in our newspaper down heuhr. So, I’m readin’ it and goddamn
if it took me back to those days when Pop and them used to talk about
gettin’ the coloreds out and back to the jungles.”
“Humph…that’s interesting. Who was it and what was it…that was
Scratching his head as he recalled the words, Mr. Redd spoke. “That
rascal said some’em about the government havin’ secret fears of any…
you know…what is it…mi-gration, mass mi-gration of coloreds back
to Africa. …And…so aftuhr a while I start to thinkin’, there jes’ might be some’em in what that ol’ varmint is mouthin’ off. See, such a idea
as that nevuhr once tapped us on the head, back when we was talkin’
‘bout how to move the coloreds out.”
“Humph…so who was it, making the statement?"
“It was that Malcolm X fella’, Billie Redd replied conversationally.
…How much do you know about ‘im?”
“Not a whole lot…I have a general idea of what he was about.”
“I’ll tell you this, Mr. Vernon. If Pop and his ol’ boys had got any
idea that top levels of the gov’ments had some secret policy of snuffin’ out
plans to get the coloreds back to Africa, there would a’ been a whole hell-
of-a-lot-a fireworks. And I mean real fireworks. Hell, in them days, it did-
n’t take much for folks to start talkin’ ‘bout gatherin’ up some men and
payin’ a visit to some of them gov’ment rascals.”
Walking along the gravelly roadside and recording his subject, Ver- non noted in the distance the people of the area standing on their porches
or working in their lawns. He attributed their long gazes to small town curi-
osity concerning an obvious stranger in the midst. To the extent that he
could make out their expressions, they seemed a mixture of neutrality and
dourness as they tracked movement of the ambling pair.
Vernon realized, as the farthest images in scenery behind shrank to a
blur that he hadn’t asked about the distance involved in this walk to town
center. Just as he was planning such an inquiry, suddenly, from behind
came the sound of a barking dog. Charging with apparent menace, it caus-
ed both men to turn abruptly to face the threat. The thirty pound mongrel
bared formidable teeth as he voiced his displeasure with the interlopers.
“Get the hell out a’ here, you little bastard!” roared Billie Redd as
he gestured forward in a mock countercharge. After executing a slight
backward motion, the hound stood his ground, but his vocalizations now
were only sparse and halfhearted.
“Damn idiots don’t have the sense to keep their dogs off the road!”
Vernon took note that Mr. Redd’s comment was directed apparent-
ly at his own race, since, from all appearances, the area was exclusively
white.
(pp. 94-96)