The Great American Black Hero

Chapter Two: And Here's Brewster!

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One of the earliest things I can remember about my brother is him talking me into something which was just plain right out pure evil. Even Satan would have given Himself a gold star for thinking this one up. We were going to put the sewing machine needles on the couch for the group of socialite ladies that visited my mom once a month to discuss 'current affairs', which in my opinion, was what was fooked up in the town and what can we do about It Club.

This really was translated into 'How can we get a better stronghold on the City to see it our way! Especially since we are the Elite Christians of this God-forsaken community! And OUR farts don't stink! Praise Jeezzus! Club.'

You see, if it is was not for these ladies, Columbus, Ohio would have gone to hell in a bread basket, a long time ago. They were the upper crust of society at that time, {Our mom and dad were living in the Uppity Negro Section of Town}, and it appeared to me that a lot of the ladies in my mom's social group were eating the upper crust of some big ass pie big time from the weight they were carrying around.

Of course, they were all black ladies and the one token White lady who everybody liked but me.

Now, remember I am telling you this story from a broader perspective than then. I was only nine and though there was the potential of a musical prodigy in me yet to be released, my little brain could only access too much information.

So, at that time, being in a predominately black neighborhood, the few white people I saw were all Ward and June Cleaver from the 'Leave It To Beaver Show'. Beaver? Come on! This was the late 1950's. Did these guys really know they were talking about the slang word for 'pussy' at that time? I think so! Believe me, Television has done more for bombarding me with sex through their endless sexual innuendos than any pornography film ever did. And everyone was as perfect and pure as the characters in the 'Father Knows Best Show!'

All I ever did and loved to death was watch TV. I got up...turn on the T.V. I got ready for school, I had some time to burn...turn on the T.V. I got home from school...turn on the T.V. I got my homework done...turn on the T.V. I  got ready for bed, took my shower, brushed my teeth, sneak back downstairs to turn on the T.V.

Besides the few white people in my surrounding neighborhood, this was the closest I had come to knowing white people at the time.

Through Television.

Can you imagine a nine-year-old black kid walking down the street and every white woman that he saw was June Cleaver? And every white man was Ward Cleaver?

A white kid about 16 passed me on the sidewalk. "H!" He said genuinely. "Hi WALLY!" I said with that god-awful grin you see on black people in The Three Stooges Movies!

Walking on the main streets where the stores were, where blacks and whites could walk together, another white kid might ask me what time it was. "IT'S ONE O'CLOCK, BEAVER!!!" I said again with that god-awful grin on my face. Looking at me kind of strange, the white kid would sort of hurry away...with increasing momentum!

And we had our black version of Eddie Haskell on our street, named Tony. He had the reputation of being the bad boy in the neighborhood. I think his worst 'sin' was stealing. But more on that later.

Let's get back to The Saviors of Menlo Place. My mom's social group.

To this day I still think that one white lady was there to spy on us. It was common jargon that there was one white man for every group of black people to make sure we were not plotting on how to overthrow them, or their crooked government. She was nice. Porky like the rest of the ladies, sort of looked around like a rooster. I couldn't tell if she was just curious or was looking for a significant place to hide a spy camera.