Nobody Said Amen (27 page)

Gladsome saw the parishioners stiffen by the door, their eyes wide. When Farley’s group started up the steps, he heard a murmur at the door as Oscar Kilbrew and the five Elders stepped out of the church and made a phalanx of bodies before the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Gladsome started down the steps and shook hands with the other minister. “Welcome, Reverend Farley. We’re about to start.”

Oscar Kilbrew held up his hand. “Stay right there. The clerical collar doesn’t fool anybody. We know who you are and what you are. And you are not welcome here.”

Gladsome said, “Mr. Kilbrew, these people have come to pray in the Lord’s house. This church has never—”

Kilbrew interrupted. “I’m not talking to you, Reverend Neeley. I’m talking to these Communists who are here to embarrass and destroy us. This man Farley is living with Nigras in the Quarter and sleeping with Nigras in the Quarter, and he can go pray with Nigras in the Quarter.”

Farley held up his hands in peace and turned to the young people behind him. “We’ll have our service at the Sojourner Chapel.” He looked up at the Elders. “You are very welcome to come,” he said, then retreated down the steps.

Gladsome watched in silence, then looked at the Elders. “I have never before felt ashamed of Shiloh until this Sabbath. You have made me ashamed. I will take the advice you gave my Christian brothers, Mr. Kilbrew. I will go with them to the Sojourner Chapel, and I will pray for you.”

Across the highway, a television crew from NBC filmed Gladsome Neeley as he caught up with Farley and the volunteers as they re-crossed the highway.

When the story broke, YALE MINISTER DENIED ACCESS TO MISSISSIPPI CHURCH, it raced across America, one more piece of evidence that segregation was not going to go away quietly in the South. The NBC story was seen as an urgent call for solidarity among the beleaguered whites like Oscar Kilbrew and the Elders. Fearsome change was at their very gates, promoted by radicals from the North, and circulated by a corrupt press that was determined to destroy their vision of what constituted a good society. A call went out from the Elders for a new minister. In the local paper Oscar Kilbrew, chairman of the Board of Elders, announced that the replacement for Rev. Gladsome Neeley would arrive before the end of the summer.

The firing of Gladsome Neeley was the line in the sand for the white community. Black riots in the northern cities were evidence enough to white Shiloh that segregation was not only justified, but had to be staunchly defended. The calls for “segregation ever, integration never” were soon back in the Mississippi press. Luke, sensing a growing restiveness in his black prisoners, confronted Willy.

“Your Jesus thing is your Jesus thing, Willy. But it’s not just your Jesus thing. Your friend, Neeley, is kicking the hornet’s nest and getting every black in the Delta riled up, every black in Parchman riled up. That’s playing with fire, Willy, and it’s goddam dangerous. The sooner that rabble rouser, Neely, leaves Shiloh the better. Your ‘born again’ meetings with this pinko are over.”

Willy felt abandoned, knowing that her long friendship with Gladsome Neely could not continue. Her note to Gladsome said only, “Thank you, dear friend. Pray for me.” Not even Em could know her sense of loss. She was left now with only her Jesus. For Gladsome, Willy’s turning away was a wound that never really would heal.

When word reached the Sanctified Quarter that there was unusual activity around the Kilbrew gas station, Neely was visited by Rennie Williams. On that very night, Gladsome Neeley packed Martha and his kids into the old Oldsmobile and headed north on Highway 49 for Memphis.

It was dusk when Jimmy returned from Jackson. Eager to share his news with Eula who would be waiting at the Freedom House, he left from the Trailways station and cut across the highway near Sojourner Chapel. A familiar figure came from behind the building, tonelessly singing. Jimmy stared at the man through the early darkness.

When you wake up in the morning and your prick doth stand From the pressure of your bladder on the prostate gland . . .

“Ted?” Jimmy’s shocked voice echoed in the churchyard, but the song continued.

If you can’t find a woman, find a clean old man,

And you’ll revel in the joys of copulation!

Mendelsohn belched and laughed, “At your service. C’est moi, Ted the scrivener.” He wagged his finger, “Whoever you are. In the dark they are all the same.” The lurching figure had stopped, staring through the darkness. “Why, it’s Jimmy! Have I got a drink for you!” He extended a nearly empty bottle of bourbon. “For you, brother.”

“You okay, Ted? Jesus, you look like hell.”

“Sure you won’t join me? Misery loves company, and I’m sad and I’m miserable.” Mendelsohn put an unsteady hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “And I’m going to leave this wilderness, Jimmy. On the next bus or sooner.”

Jimmy took Ted’s damp hand and led him to the steps of the church. “Sit down. Now hand me the bottle.”

Jimmy took a large swig of the bourbon. “You want this back? It’s almost a dead soldier.”

Ted’s voice had become melancholy. “No. Had enough. Had enough booze. Had enough Missifuckingsippi. Wanna go Manhattan. Point me toward the bus station.”

“Later. Where you been?”

“Yeah, that’s the question, Jimbo. Where I been?” He put his head in his hands. “New York called this morning. Max said after the Chaney kid’s funeral to come home. He had sent me photos from the FBI of the three kids when they excavated them from the mud the Klan buried them in.” He took the bottle from Jimmy and emptied it. “You don’t want to see them, Jimmy.” He rose from the steps, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. The slur had gone from his speech. “So at ten this morning I’m in Meridian. Ten in Meridian. . . . They ought to put that on my tombstone. In that crummy little overheated church, I saw where I’ve been, the whole long, hot summer. Watching Chaney’s mother. That woman refused to weep, Jimmy! She was that furious, watching his kid brother agonize and cry like I never heard a kid cry. The boy looked like my Richard at that age. Hearing Hollis or Stokely or who the hell else shout out, ‘I’m sick of burying my friends! I’m never going to another funeral! They want to kill us all.’ And I watched me taking out a notebook. Goddammit, I did. I took out a notebook. Dear diary, dear editor: What I did on my summer vacation.” He spat on the ground. “I wanted to take out a machine gun, Jimmy, and just blow the hell out of all the racist bastards I’ve had to write about all summer. When they started to sing ‘We Shall Overcome,’ I bolted out of there, blind, and was hit with a Coke bottle! The redneck was leaning against his truck, grinning. ‘You got black pussy in there, nigger lover?’ I beat the son of a bitch to the ground, Jimmy. I was not non-violent. I was not a spectator. And I kept on beating him till the sheriff pulled me away and stuck me in the back of his car. ‘I thought you were a reporter. You gone crazy? Let’s get you the hell out of here. Where you think you are? Manhattan? That guy was a Kilbrew. They’ll kill you.’ He had his deputy drive my car to the Sanctified Quarter. Said ‘have a nice day.’”

“And you’re really leaving, Ted? Who’s gonna tell our story?”

“You are.” He sat down hard on the step. “Everybody in America discovered Mississippi this summer. It’s a lot more important that you stay, that you keep making the story. They got plans for me in New York, then Cape Town. So, yeah, I’m out of here, Jimmy. A lot of unfinished business, kid.” He stood and put his arms around Jimmy. “We’ll keep in touch. I’ll be watching.”

Sept. 30, 1964

Cape Town, South Africa

Hey, Jimmy,

For two days I’ve been in the belly of the beast here and Robben Island makes Parchman Prison look like heaven. Only revisiting Mandela justifies being exposed to these bigoted bastards. It sickens me to realize that this hell will be Mandela’s home for the rest of his life. But he remains full of plans, strategies and hopes for the future! What the hell is it in the human spirit that is so unquenchable?

Ted

Oct. 15,1964

Shiloh, Mississippi

Ted,

Just got back from the Democratic convention in Atlantic City. Feeling so lousy about what I saw that it’s a bad time to be checking me out on unquenchable human spirit, man. It was our moment, and the whole world was watching my folks standing up and listening to our Fannie Lou Hamer crying, “Is this America? We are tired of being tired. We want our freedom and we want it now!” Proud? You bet your ass we were proud! And we were screwed by Rev. King and Humphrey and organized labor. LBJ told Humphrey, you want to be vice president? Send these trouble-makers back to Mississippi. And all our old friends asked us to take two damn seats at the convention, and Fannie Lou said, We don’t want two seats. We are all tired. And we went home. End of story. Like I said, it’s bad timing.

Jimmy

Oct. 22, 1964

Washington, D.C.

Jimmy:

Your letter reached me this morning. Bad news travels slow, and that’s rotten news. I thought that the only lousy stuff in Atlantic City was the saltwater toffee, but journalists are the last to know about most everything. I do know that it’s not the end of the story. There’s no end if you decide there’s no end. Mandela taught me that. All he wanted was inclusion for the Africans in their own government. But when he was betrayed they locked him away for life on Robben Island. From his cell he said America needs to know how we’re struggling. I told him there were people like Jimmy Mack who already knew that and are fighting for their freedom. He made a fist. “Tell Mack that he’s not alone.” I’m on the way to New York to cover the elections. Keep the faith.

Ted

After the swelter of Robben Island, Mendelsohn was shivering even in the crush of the crowd at the Inaugural. He put up his collar against the wind that howled up Pennsylvania Avenue. He was always getting back when it was too hot or too frigid in this town. But today, he wanted to be here, in Washington, to see that Texas roughneck take over. Where was he going to take us? Son of a bitch has a vision. It always surprised him that he was that perceptive, almost religious, about education. Never know what is real or just manipulation. He reached the curb and was hailing a cab when a loud voice said, “No taxis for wandering Jews.” When he turned he was embraced by an ebullient Jimmy Mack.

“Ted! What the hell are you doing here? When did you get back?”

Mendelsohn stepped back, grinning, alight with the serendipity. “It’s been too long between drinks, Mack! And I’ve missed you. Follow me.” The bartender welcomed Ted and looked curiously at his companion.

“Rudy, meet Jimmy Mack. A great friend from Mississippi. A real person, not another reporter.” Rudy shook hands and waved them to a booth. “Usual for me,” Ted said.

“Whatever he’s having is fine. Make it two,” said Jimmy.

Ted settled back on the bench, his eyes intent. “Don’t even know where to start. How’s Eula?”

“Doing great. She is in top management at Parchman. Really loving penology, and they’re happy to have her.”

“And you? You here for the Inauguration?”

“For that cracker? After he screwed us at Atlantic City? Not likely. I’m here on business.” He reached in his jacket, extracted a card and slid it across the table.

J. MACK CONSTRUCTION CO

James Mack, President,

Shiloh, Mississippi

Ted stared at his friend, an unbelieving smile on his face. Speechless, he simply raised his hands.

Jimmy laughed. “You don’t recognize an entrepreneur when you see one, honky?” He retrieved his card and replaced it in his wallet. “Your government money in action, Ted. I’m now building houses for HUD in Magnolia County. And our headquarters is a quarter-mile from Sojourner Chapel.” He raised his glass. “We drink to Dale Billings, the happy man whose industry as a Washington lobbyist from Missifuckingsippi got us to Senator Bobby Kennedy, and thus into the generous heart of HUD.”

Ted smiled and held his drink aloft. “To Dale! I guess he graduated law school at Howard like he said he would.”

“He did,” nodded Jimmy, “three tough years of hitting the books. And after graduation he accompanied the new senator from New York to show him what he didn’t know about Missifuckingsippi. It was stunning. That trip changed Bobby’s life, and mine.”

“And Mack Construction got born, with Kennedy as midwife?”

Jimmy grinned. “It’s how come, for the first time in our long relationship, I can pick up the check! Thank you, Dale.”

Jimmy watched Joe McDonald’s old truck make its way through the pools of water that collected along the edge of Highway 49 and groan to a stop. From the bed of the truck, he saw Spencer Thompson help his wife, Silvie, and three children on to the roadway, hauling their family possessions in sacks through the puddles, hunching their shoulders against the frigid rain. Thompson raised his arm in thanks, and the truck moved slowly down the highway. The Thompsons moved into the drenched field and in a minute were lost to sight as they plodded on the path through the cotton that led to home.

Mack was drenched to the skin by the time he reached the Williams’s house. Rennie, clucking her concern, hustled him to the stove where every burner was alight, struggling against the raw December damp. Percy took the thin blanket from his bed and carefully arranged it around Jimmy’s trembling shoulders.

“It don’t help to get sick, James.”

Rennie poured a hot cup of coffee . “Drink this hot as you can. Percy’s right. It don’t help to get sick.”

Jimmy pulled the blanket tight around him and looked at his elderly friends. “What did I do wrong?” His voice was desolate. “Wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

“Didn’t do nothing wrong,” said Rennie.

Jimmy drank the coffee and handed the cup back to the old woman. “Sister Rennie, I just watched Spencer Thompson and his family get off in the slop and go home to the Armstrong place. That’s the seventy-second family to come back to Shiloh after the walkout. Seventy-two, just here in Shiloh! By Christmas the whole thousand we got to leave the Delta will be back. Brother Percy, what did I do wrong?”