Jackin4Beats Magazine

Written by Morrish National Xerxes Cudjoe EL

Parentage and wealth has afforded me an education and a life that is far from common.  Being from a lineage of great and noble men and women,  I was afforded the life of opportunity and I was able to see and do a great many things.  I was given the chance to have any number of jobs or state appointments, any of which could have carried me comfortably on through the golden years of my life.   However, I in my naivety,  plotted a course for life filled with high risks and high rewards. I have since decided to write a book of all my most vivid memories both good and bad, intended to excite the blood and urge all who reads to live a life with purpose.

When I was young I lived in what was then the heart of Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  My family was given tremendous access and influence across the color line due to my fathers placement on the board of the largest bank in Black Wall Street and being from the Kingdom of Morocco.  During that time in my life, one week stands out as a pivotal point in the development of my perception of the world.

For me it was like any other Sunday morning that summer.  It started with the in and out procession of people to the bathroom putting on their best Sunday dress because without a doubt everyone was going to church.  Not until we were in the car on the way to our first service, did I see the worry on my mothers face.  It was easy to tell when she was worried about something because she would furrow her brow and get the thousand yard stare.  It was as if she had seen an unspeakable horror and been forced to relive it over and over again.  My father sees this and immediately grabs her hand firmly, yet gently, and tells her everything is going to be alright, we have done nothing wrong.  Those were the only words spoken for the rest of the trip.  But the words spoken by my father did nothing to ease my mothers worry.

Sunday’s were a long day for my family because we would go to two church services.  The earlier service was across town in a Baptist church where the congregation was all white.  What must be understood is that at this time the country was in the midst of what would be called the Jim Crow laws of segregation, but as I said earlier, mine was a life of privilege   As we arrived at our first church of the day my mother turns to me and tells me to stay close.  I asked her why, and her response was “because I told you so”.  I heard what she said, but of course I didn’t listen.  I spotted one of my friends beckoning me and I took off running.  I heard my mother’s voice calling after me but I pretended not to hear her.  (I do not endorse disobedience or not listening to the elders, but at that young age we all had a little rebel in us.)  It had been a week since I had last seen David and as always we had a lot of catching up to do.  When I finally caught up to him behind the church he had to be wearing the biggest smile I had ever seen. I asked him why was he so happy and after a few minutes of the guessing game he finally told me he and his family was going to a picnic and the whole town was also going to be there.  I had never heard of a picnic before so I asked him what it was.  He started to weave a wonderful tale of all the things that were going to be going on.  He did such a good job telling me about it I could almost taste the wide variety of elaborately prepared food.   He also told me about all the games he and his friends were going to play late into the night.  After hearing all of this, I was bursting at the seams to be a part of this. Its going to be great I think to myself.   As I relish in the thought of the exciting things I will do and see, I am lost within myself.  I was rudely snatched from this moment of ecstasy by an angry voice.  “Boy! It’s about time for you to get back to your own kind”.  I knew enough at this stage of life to go and find my parents.  As I neared the front of the church I heard my name being called.  When I got to the front I saw my parents at the car in what appeared to be a heated discussion.  I assumed they were talking about what manner of punishment I was going to receive.  I slowed my pace and tried to get close enough to hear what they were talking about without being noticed.  The only thing I was able to hear was my mother saying to my father I told you so.  “Get in the car,” she tells me with the same look in her eyes that she had on the way to church.  As I climb in the back seat I think to myself that  I hoped I didn’t ruin my chances of attending the picnic.  The ride back to Black Wall Street was uncomfortably tense.  So much so that at that moment , I knew on Gods green earth I was going to be able to go to that picnic.

Instead of going home, we went as a family to have breakfast.  Everything from this point on seemed to put the cards in my favor.  Over the meal my mom lost her frown and the conversation was back.  During the ride to our church I plotted a course of action to achieve my ultimate goal.  I knew that the best time to ask was after church.  No one was ever unhappy after church.  We arrived at the church and I couldn’t wait to tell my cousins and friends about the picnic.  I ran off looking for them with not even a second thought as to if my mother would mind. When I found them they were all huddled up in the back hallway of the church like they were world leaders having a summit meeting.  Everyone that I went in looking for was here at this meeting I just had to know what was going on.  I also wanted to see if anyone else might have been going to the picnic so it will be easier for me to bring it up to my parents.  Everyone knows that early childhood secret.  Make it seem like everyone else gets to do something and you don’t because of your parents and, on a good day, they might let you go.  I had to see what they were talking about.  I pushed my way to the front of the crowd to the inner circle.  Once there I couldn’t believe the subject of conversation that had every child intently listening.  Last Friday a young man named George from Black Wall Street was accused of raping a white woman in the building in which he was employed as an elevator operator.  He was already in custody and there was still talk of grabbing him out of the jail and stringing him up.  My mind was blown after someone told me what the word rape meant.  I knew George, he was older than I, but he would stop and play baseball with us when he had the time. He would also speak to everyone, and since I could remember, no one had anything cross to say about him.  After hearing that news it made my picnic seem unimportant.  I was determined to tell everyone about the picnic that was going to have the whole town in attendance, except for the few unfortunate souls that didn’t get invited, and also to see whose family I could call on when I was talking with my parents. When I got the chance to speak I did it in grand fashion. I mesmerized the crowd with an exact re-telling of the story just the way I heard it.  No sooner then I was finished did I hear a chorus of laughter and groans of disapproval  that I chalked up to jealousy.  As the crowd dispersed I heard them saying  I would never go and that I was making it up.  Although I was upset at being  the laughing stock, I refused to be discouraged and was even more determined to go to that picnic.

I walked into the sanctuary still trying to shake off the laughs.  All over the room in various corners  it was the same conversation going on that I just left.  During the service the pastor spoke a little on Georges’ situation.  We also had a special offering to help pay his legal fees.  I took this as a sign that God was working it out and everything was going to be fine.  I waited until we were on our way to the family Sunday dinner to ask my Father if we could go to the picnic.  He looked at me through the rearview mirror and slowly pulled the car over.  He looked at me with a look that he usually reserved for talks about life lessons.  He told me that we don’t go to picnics it’s not something meant for us.  He also told me that he had never been to a picnic and that if he could help it, neither would I.  When he pulled the car over I knew the answer was no, but what I didn’t know was why.  I assumed it was for my running off this morning, but then determined it was because he was scared to go.  This should have been a great opportunity for him to get over his fear but, he used it as another excuse to hide behind his wall.  I sat back in my seat boiling in anger.

Sunday dinner was always at my grandmothers’ house so for the rest of the ride I tried to prepare myself for the ribbing that I was sure to receive when my cousins found out I wasn’t going to the picnic.  When we arrived the mood in the house was just as somber as it was at church.  Just as I expected, my cousins started in on me as soon as we were no longer in front of the adults, which didn’t help my mood at all.  As the food was being cooked, the adults sat in hushed conversation. The rest of the kids were off playing while I sat in quiet contemplation. There was no way I was going to miss this grand event, I thought to myself.  I had decided that I would go down there and hide in a tree until I saw David and his family, and stay close to them through out my time there.  As soon as I saw my chance I took off for the picnic.  When I reached the tree I climbed nearly to the top and hid amongst the branches so not to be seen.  I had a spectacular view of the grounds on which the picnic was going to take place.  After about twenty minutes of being in the tree people started to arrive.  It looked as if the whole town really did show up.  It was everything I could imagine and more.  All the food and fun David told me about was unfolding right before my eyes.  I wanted nothing more than to be among the festive events.  I meticulously looked over every face in the crowd trying to find David.  I must have spent two hours scanning the faces of everyone there looking for him to no avail.  I was hungry and tired of not being able to join in the fun so I had decided to give up.

As I started to climb down the tree, from the other side of the hill I heard a crowd of people jeering and shouting curses.  I hurried back to my tree top balcony to get a look at what was going on.  As the crowd approached the crest of the hill I could see smoke from torches rising in the air.  Soon after I saw the flames tickling the sky which was filled with the purple and orange colors of dusk in the summer time.  I was so enthralled with the colors of the evening sky, I almost missed what the commotion was about.  When I realized what was going on I was struck with horror at what I was seeing.  It was an angry mob and in the center of it all was George.  He had been beaten severely, people where throwing things and spitting on him.  I couldn’t believe it!  What happened to due process?  I was enraged and terrified all at the same time.  A man passed through the crowd with a rope with a noose tied to one end. He threw one end of the rope over a low tree branch.  In seeing this I screamed out for it to stop.  My cries, however, were not heard over the noise coming from the jubilant masses.  With the consent of the town, the man placed the noose around the neck of George.  A couple of men grabbed the rope and pulled until George came off the ground.  George’s body was kicking and writhing in obvious pain.  They tied the rope off around the trunk of the tree and began congratulating each other and watching a man die right before their very eyes.  Men, women, and kids were all fixated on the sights and sounds of murder.  I wanted to avert my eyes but couldn’t.  I was trying to comprehend what I was seeing.  The body slowly stopped kicking.  As I was climbing down the tree I seen them cut him down and throw their torches on him.  I couldn’t believe what I had just seen.  When my feet hit the ground I ran.  I ran as fast as I ever did in my life.  When I got back to my grandmothers’ house my mother was on the front porch.  I ran straight into her arms crying.  She tilted my head up until I met her gaze and she asked me if I went down to the picnic.  I was still unable to speak so I shook my head.  Just then she gave me some advice that after all these years has still yet to fail me.  “Sometimes it’s better to heed than to experience.”