Nobody Said Amen (20 page)

“Man, I’ve been walking past this wreck without really seeing it. It’s great, Dale!” He gazed at the prize with a smile and opened his arms wide. “It’s not only great, brother Dale, they can’t burn it down. It’s brick!” The church Elders had been reluctant but were finally persuaded by the enthusiasm and boldness of Billings and Mack.

“Gonna change Indianola, Jimmy?”

Mack shrugged and grinned. “Maybe. Least it’s gonna shake it up!”

When Jimmy’s leaflets announcing MASS MEETING AT THE BAPTIST SCHOOL SUNDAY NIGHT hit the streets, every black and every white in Indianola had gotten the word.

On Sunday afternoon Jimmy joined Mendelsohn at Rennie Williams’s house for the ride down to Indianola. She had hurried from church after Vespers, rushing up the rutted road yards ahead of Mr. Williams, who was walking with Sharon. Perspiration stained her church dress and she mopped her shining face as she entered the room. Finding the two of them, she broke into a wide grin. “Praise Jesus! You all are still here.” Looking suddenly alarmed, she asked, “Meetin’s still on, ain’t it, James?”

Jimmy nodded. “Seven o’clock at the old Negro Baptist School in Indianola, Miz Williams. Don’t rightly know who’s going to dare to show up, though. There’s never been a mass freedom meeting in Indianola. Folks gonna be there, Ted?” His eyes were masked by the dark glasses. “I’ve never felt less sure about anything.”

Mendelsohn held open the door as Mr. Williams and Sharon arrived, and he swept the squealing girl into his arms. “What does the Good Book say about ye of little faith, Rennie?” he asked. “Tell James that the Lord will provide for his children. Even in the shadow of the White Citizens Council!”

“From your lips to Jesus’s ear, Ted.” She rescued Sharon from his arms. “The Williamses are all coming for sure. And the Lord will have to provide the others. Still room in your car?”

“It’s reserved seating, Rennie,” said Mendelsohn. “I’m leaving in thirty minutes. Stop worrying, Jimmy. You’re our leader. I told Max on the phone, ‘Mack is gonna make some history tonight.’”

Jimmy grinned. “And history’s written by the winners, right?”

“You’re damn right. And by
Newsweek
!”

Johnny Buckley and Harold Parker were still arranging the benches in the hall when the first kids begin to drift into the yard from the surrounding neighborhoods. By six-thirty, groups of teenagers were crossing the yard from the street, their voices animated and their heads bobbing. By seven o’clock, the old church school was packed with an exuberant crowd of hundreds of blacks. The walls were lined with people who couldn’t find seats. The elderly sat scattered through the crowd, their eyes bright with excitement and wonder. A large group of the middle-aged husbands and wives, some with tiny children in their arms, chatted quietly, waiting for the meeting to begin.

“First time this summer we got folks at a mass meeting in the Delta who are not too old and not too young, but right in the middle,” said Harold Parker. “How come they show up in this White Citizens Council town and don’t show up in Shiloh?”

Johnny Buckley leaned against the wall at the front of the room, surveying the buoyant crowd. “We’ll have to ask Jimmy when he gets here. Maybe it’s because Indianola’s bigger. Folks aren’t as exposed here as in Shiloh.”

Dale Billings grinned. “It feels like Indianola has spent the whole summer hearing about the circus, and the circus has finally arrived. Jimmy’s on the way from Shiloh, probably driving like mad.” He looked at the hundreds of blacks in the room, and when he spotted Eula he waved her to his side. “Did Jimmy know you were coming?”

She smiled. “No. I figured he had enough on his plate without worryin’ about his lady. It’ll be a surprise.”

Dale shook his head and laughed. “I hope I can see his face when he walks in!”

The sheriff parked near the entrance to the long, overgrown driveway of the church school and settled back, watching the Negroes gathering for their meeting. Some of the elderly touched their caps, murmuring “Evenin’, Sheriff,” as they eased by, but most strode past with no acknowledgement of his presence. Dennis Haley wasn’t the worst son of a bitch they’d suffered through, but he was nobody they could count on when nobody else was watching. Haley was old news, but they knew him.

“Puttin’ on a little weight, ain’t he?”

“Honky gettin’ fat on the drippins from Fatback’s Platter, and the sisters’ joint out at the junction, and Just a Lick over in Bell Hollow.”

“No strain, no pain, long as he got that Polack nigger to do the heavy liftin’. And a lot more if you wanna know.”

“Shit, ain’t that Bronko on the porch?”

Two cruisers eased past, guarding the perimeter of the churchyard. Butler and Lonergan got out of their car and leaned on its hood, smoking and joking. Tim Forrest and Tommy Thompson sauntered from their cruiser and moved with the crowd toward the porch.

The sheriff had told Bronko to park out back and to stand by in case there was trouble. “You’re not the most popular officer I own in this part of Indianola. Make yourself scarce,” he’d said. But there Bronko was, bigger than Christmas, letting everybody know he was there. Dennis Haley cursed, “Goddammit, there go Lonergan and Butler. . . . and here comes trouble.”

Bronko pushed his way through the clutch of bodies on the porch and positioned himself at the top of the step as though he wanted Mack to know that he’d have to mess with him if he made any waves. His eyes were roaming the crowd when Lonergan and Butler approached. They were watching him, grinning, heads nodding. They stopped, an island of blue, at the bottom of the steps.

“Thought you was supposed to be in the back of the bus and out of sight, nigger. You didn’t hear the sheriff?” Lonergan smirked, turning to view the people crowding behind. “Maybe this darkie is just coming to join his brothers at the picnic, Butler.”

“It could be. Maybe he is the boy who shot up your truck Wednesday night, Luther. You a good shot with a shotgun, Bronko?”

“Blackbirds of a feather, Butler. Could sure be old Bronko pullin’ picket duty out at the Commie House. Where were you Wednesday night, coon dog?”

“Fucking your mother, you redneck prick. Get off my back and let these people by.”

The high Delta sky was lavender with dusk when Jimmy led his group across the porch and made his way slowly through the noisy congregation at the door. He stopped abruptly and broke into an exultant “yes!” as Eula stepped out of the crowd and took his hand. Wordlessly, he embraced her and led her to a seat beside the platform. His dark glasses swept the crowd. He was shaking his head as he and Mendelsohn made their way around the packed benches to stand next to Buckley against the wall. “You see what I see, Johnny? In Indianola?”

Dale Billings had watched him enter and with a wide grin led the crowd into song:
Black and white together . . .

They responded with a rush of sound, and the exultant voices lifted in unison:
We shall not be moved!

Jimmy stowed his sunglasses in the pocket of his jeans. His eyes were wet and shining. As the song filled the hall, his voice sounded harsh and shaken in Mendelsohn’s ear. “Man! This is Indianola!” His voice broke, “I thought there’d be ten people here. Look at them! In Indianola!” For Jimmy Mack this was the most incredible moment since he had entered the Movement. Five times he had been jailed in this town, beaten like a dog, powerless to change it. Here, now, was the reality of every fantasy he had dreamed during those lonely, frightened nights in the Delta. His tough, compact body moved with the powerful urgency of the words.

Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,

We shall not be moved!

Dale Billings let the song subside. He sensed that the familiar music had eased the strangeness that always accompanied a first meeting. His boyish face nodded approval to the eager crowd. “I’m going to introduce you to one of the persons who has been leading the freedom fight here in Mississippi for—” He stopped abruptly. An angry murmur had started near the door. Dale resumed, his voice uncertain. “Well,” he said “We’ve got an unwanted guest in here.”

People rose from their seats, and benches scraped shrilly on the wooden floor as the crowd strained to see. A woman’s hoarse whisper skittered along the row: “It’s Bronko!” An alarmed cry sounded and was repeated around the hall: “Bronko!”

Dale moved swiftly along the wall toward the huge black policeman who had shouldered his way into the center of the room. Rennie Williams touched the arm of the woman who had first spread the word. Her frightened eyes swung toward the hulk of the man, and she pulled Sharon closer.

“Who is Bronko?”

The woman’s chin rose and her eyes were angry. “He’s a stone killer. Killed two brothers down in Yancy a year ago and Harley Hines over in Wells last April.”

With his heavy, dull face and enormous hands, Bronko stood like an animal at bay. His jaw was lowered and he stared furiously at Dale Billings, who blocked his path. The noise was shrill in the hall, and Dale’s voice was drowned in the surging sound. Jimmy reached his side as he was repeating slowly what he had already said. As if to a slow child, he patiently explained that police were not needed or wanted. “Don’t you understand? The sheriff promised us that the police would stay outside.”

The deputy seemed not to comprehend, and the great hulk stood transfixed. Jimmy’s voice rasped through the excited babble. “This is church property. You have no right to be here.”

Bronko’s pale blue eyes shifted from Dale to Jimmy Mack, and they narrowed in recognition. His thick neck strained at the blue collar, and one heavy hand moved slowly to rest on his holster. His face was shining from the steamy heat of the room as he studied the two young blacks. Silence had suddenly surrounded the three men. Bronko’s voice could be heard clearly. “I know you. You the two niggers I saw at the station house when you was arrested.” He wheeled and shouted to the room, “These two agitators are bringin’ you trouble! They godless men who using our colored folk to bring Communism here. You all know me. I been seein’ to your safety for a lotta years. Now you best leave right now ’fore someone gets messed up ’count of them. You don’t have to stay and listen to ’em. I’m stayin’ right here to make sure they don’t preach rebellion.” The crowd responded by stomping and chanting, “Go!” Bronko’s eyes widened as the crescendo of noise broke about him.

Jimmy pointed to the door, his vibrant voice scissoring through the din: “You got to go!” He turned and pushed his way through the agitated crowd to the front of the heaving room. The nervous tumult ceased as he raised his hand for attention, his whole attitude taut and controlled. Ignoring the deputy, he addressed the back seats and benches of the room. “Before we start here, I’d like for you to know that this is church property. We’ve got an agreement with the sheriff that says we don’t have to put up with any policeman inside. Now it’s up to you whether you want him here or not.”

Feet scraped on the floor as everyone stood, and a wave of noise roared through the room: “Go! Go! Go!!” The children had frightened half-smiles on their faces, but they screamed the word louder. “Go!” It seemed that every throat in the crowd was unleashing its accompaniment to the barrage of sound that assaulted the policeman. Ted Mendelsohn watched the fury on the faces of the old men and women. My God, they were yelling “Go!” to a Mississippi policeman! They cut the air with the word they had never said aloud: “Go! Go! Go!”

Fascinated and frightened, Ted saw Jimmy turn his back as the deputy’s fingers tightened on his holster. As Jimmy made his way clear of the milling people, Bronko followed in his wake like an armored ship. Now he stood, hand on his holster, just below the podium. The light spilled across his enraged face and touched the white helmets of the Indianola police as they clustered beyond the step in the dark. The metallic chatter of the police car radios sounded lifeless and lonely in the long, hushed room.

Jimmy’s young face was alight with excitement. He seemed to dismiss the presence of Bronko, speaking instead to the assembled crowd in a voice that was almost conversational. “I’m not unmindful tonight that many of you are here against the will of your folk. Kids are here against the will of their parents. Women are here against the will of their husbands. And many men are here against the will of their wives. And I understand why they were all against your comin’—because black people have been killed in Mississippi for saying they want to vote! Black people have been killed in Mississippi for comin’ to a Freedom Meeting!”

There was an angry murmur throughout the hall and a voice called “Yes!” and another, “Preach, son!”

“But I know something’s happening, something’s changing. For better than two years we’ve been trying to get a meeting in this town so you could say out loud, in public, what you been sayin’ over the years as you crouched by your beds, prayin’. Say out loud that you are tired of being pushed in corners. Tired of the way you are living. Tired of havin’ Mr. Charlie tell you when to move, how to move, and where to go! But now something’s changing. You’re not askin’ Mr. Charlie when and where and how. You’re here tonight attending a Freedom Meeting! In Indianola!”

His eyes locked on Bronko’s and there was a timbre to the voice as it rang out. “To me that’s a great thing! A great thing!” His eyes were shining with his pride in the people. He gestured toward the huge policeman before him, his voice ripe with scorn, and he hurled his words at the glowering man. “I’m not unmindful of the fact that right here in your city we have a sheriff’s deputy who should be pickin’ cotton!”

There was a gasp of disbelief and every eye was on the silent tableau of the two poised men. Mendelsohn eased out the door and raced, panting, to the sheriff’s car. He pointed to the silent hall. “Somebody’s going to get killed if you don’t stop it!”

Dennis Haley stared at him and then scrambled from the cruiser. As Mendelsohn fought to catch his breath, he heard Haley shouting, “Lonergan! Get your men in there and bring that stupid bastard out of there!”

Inside, time seemed frozen. Bronko’s great head turned and he licked at his heavy, lower lip. He stared at Mack. “I could kill you!” he growled. His voice became a bellow. “This is an unlawful assembly. You are all witness to this Communist mockin’ the police! Y’all leave now or you gonna be arrested!”