My People Are Rising (40 page)

Under the guidance of Elaine, Ericka Huggins, and Donna Howell, the Oakland Community School gained a reputation as one of the finest community-based private elementary schools (K–6) in the country. Many of the students were poor and living in the projects, but a few were from middle- or upper-class families. The staff, a combination of Panthers and professional teachers, created a loving, encouraging environment. Most of the students flourished, eventually progressing academically beyond their normal age or grade bracket. Panther Joe Abron, an engineering graduate from Michigan State, created an award-winning science program, and the music program, under Charles Moffett's genius direction, fielded an outstanding school band. The schoolchildren were provided with breakfast and lunch, and were picked up and dropped off by the school vans. Laundry services and clothing were provided for students from poor families.

Joan Kelly and Phyllis Jackson directed the Oakland Community Learning Center, housed in the same complex as the school. It gradually grew into an all-purpose resource for the community. With grant money, the center sponsored one of the first teen programs in Oakland, run by longtime community worker Johnny Stakes. The Teen Program engaged the most critical segment of the Black community: adolescents lacking the guidance and love to enable them to make it through the jungle of gangs, poverty, and racism. Employing several teens on the staff, the Teen Program blossomed, sponsoring weekly talent shows that allowed tremendously gifted young people an outlet for their creativity. The Teen Program also sponsored its own basketball team, coached by Panther Lonnie D, whose controlled coaching style bore a resemblance to that of Al Attles, the famed first Black coach of the San Francisco Warriors. Just like Attles, Lonnie D would walk around with a rolled-up newspaper in his hands. Two nights a week, the community center presented movie night, showing mostly Black flicks, charging fifty cents per person, and selling popcorn and hot dogs in the cafeteria.

Comrade Steve McCutchen from Baltimore, also known as “Little Masai,” ran the Martial Arts Program three days a week. More than a hundred young students from the 69th Street Village housing project and the surrounding community would line up in the cafeteria in their white uniforms, performing their katas. This was probably one of the community center's most successful and most impressive programs. Not because it was teaching little Black kids how to kick and punch, but because it took these kids who were at high risk for gang- and drug-related activities and gave them discipline and purpose, as well as a strong sense of belonging.

Many notable and upcoming musicians used the auditorium for rehearsals: Lenny Williams, Frankie Beverly, Pete Escovedo, Sonny Rhodes, and John Lee Hooker. The community center also served as a meeting and conference site for many left organizations in the Bay Area, and it was not uncommon for the school to be visited by famous entertainers, such as Richard Pryor, or African dignitaries, including Sam Njomo of SWAPO, the Namibian independence movement.

The party received a large CETA grant that helped put about twenty comrades on the payroll, enabling them to afford to rent apartments or houses. This brought an end to the long-standing practice of communal living.

Elaine paid much more attention to the needs of the troops than had the earlier leadership. From the way things were progressing, it looked like we had a very real chance of capturing Oakland.

30

The Other Side of the Coin

There was a time, when peace was on the earth,

And joy and happiness did reign and each man knew his worth.

In my heart how I yearn for that spirit's return

—Pharoah Sanders, “The Creator Has a Master Plan,” 1969

Enola Wilson, called Lola,
was named by her retired military father after the
Enola Gay
, the plane that dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima. In spring 1969 Lola had left home, at the age of fourteen, and joined the Black Panther Party in Denver, Colorado. She survived the police raid on the Denver office before being sent to work in the New York chapter, where she worked under the tutelage of Sam Napier. On the chilly morning of April 15, 1971, she left the Corona, Queens, Panther office, heading into the field to sell papers. She left her son, little Damon, in the care of Sam Napier. When she returned, she found the office on fire, Sam Napier dead, and her son abandoned outside in the snow.

When I met Lola, in 1973, she was working in the party's finance department in Oakland. She was pregnant by a comrade from Boston, Pete Alameda, who had left Oakland not long after the departures of Chairman Bobby and
Tanya
and Aaron Patrice.

I befriended Lola. I brought her all the things she needed for her newborn, and every evening I picked up Damon and Lola's youngest sister, Valerie, from school, and brought them home. Soon after Lola had little Natalie, we fell in love. She was sweet, kind, and highly intelligent. Our relationship blossomed so much and so quickly that we became the envy of other comrades. In the party, few relationships lasted very long.

Having grown up in a two-parent family, part of me yearned for a more traditional family arrangement. I think many comrades at that time wanted a more family-oriented situation, particularly if there were kids involved. Yet we understood that, as such, it would need to fit within the revolutionary framework of our lives and work. Lola and I and the kids functioned as a family unit within the larger Panther family. These were some of the first times since joining the party that I actually sat down to watch TV. We went on picnics and sailed on Lake Merritt. We had many good times together. In the back of my mind, though, I always worried how long these good times would last.

When not with Lola and the kids, I was doing party work, and most of that time was spent with Elaine. Working for Elaine was the most difficult job assignment I'd ever had or would ever have. She was an extremely demanding perfectionist and at times very difficult to work with. My day would start at 8 a.m. with picking up Janice Banks, Elaine's administrative assistant, who was from the DC chapter, then stopping at the newsstand on 14th and Broadway to pick up copies of the
New York Times
, the
San Francisco Chronicle
, and the
Oakland
Tribune
. Next, we would stop at the home of Norma Armour, the party's finance officer, to pick up Elaine's $25 per diem. Then we would head to Elaine's penthouse on Caldecott Lane in the Oakland hills, where she had her office. When we got there, Janice would go through the newspapers and cut out any articles that might be relevant to the party for Elaine to read.

My attire was always suit and tie. My hair and grooming had to be neat and perfect. Elaine met with many corporate heads to solicit money for the school and the campaign. And there were numerous trips to Sacramento to meet with Governor Jerry Brown, his legal affairs secretary Tony Kline, and Speaker of the House Leo McCarthy, as well as the future speaker, Willie Brown, known as the best-dressed politician in Sacramento. There was the campaign trail and meetings in private homes and pool halls. Most weeknights I did not get in until 2 a.m. Saturday nights and Sundays I got to spend time with Lola and the kids.

While Elaine was making her mark on the political and social landscape of Northern California, another face of the party was at work in the underbelly. The military wing, or the “cadre,” as it was now called, was also establishing a new identity for itself. Under the leadership of Bethune, Flores Forbes, and Big Bob, the cadre attempted to maintain the party's influence over the wild streets of the East Bay. That meant the continued taxing of illegitimate capitalists. I recall one early-morning excursion to ambush an individual who was resisting the taxation. Three of us waited in hiding outside the home of the owner of a large after-hours club who had stopped paying his dues. We wanted to send him a message. I was the driver, so when he came out, the others opened up with handguns. He returned fire, then retreated to his house and we took off.

Another time, two LampPost regulars, who fancied themselves hustlers, came into the restaurant. Over the course of their stay, they became disrespectful and boisterous, acting very insolent toward the comrades working that shift. Then they made some insulting references to Huey, Elaine, and the party and left. At the beginning of Elaine's reign, it had been established that we wouldn't take any shit from anyone. A couple of nights later, those two brothers learned the meaning of shotgun justice. Many late-night missions dealt with our enemies, and before long, respect was secured for Elaine and the party.

Sometimes the cadre gathered on Sundays to discuss discipline and other matters. We also went to the gun range to sharpen our aim, where we often encountered police officers at target practice. They were always looking to see what kind of weapons we were using, and we were always looking to see what kind of weapons they were using. We studied issues of
Guns & Ammo
to learn about the latest weapons or newest shooting stances, lifted weights, and practiced expanding our peripheral vision with eye exercises. Whether for business or pleasure, we spent a lot of time with one another. I became very close to many of these brothers, especially Tex, Big Bob, Flores, “The Duke” Perkins, House Man Lewis, Bruce “Deacon” Washington, and Tim Thomson.

In 1976, Elaine called up the remaining members of the Southern California chapter to Oakland. Only about fifteen comrades were left in the chapter at that point, and Elaine decided they could be of more use to us in the Bay Area. Repression by the LAPD had grown so great that by 1972, the entire Southern California chapter had been forced underground, operating from rented houses in the suburbs. For the past few years they had functioned almost totally incognito, dressing in Superfly outfits, the men wearing processed hair and big hats.

The Los Angeles cadre was a very colorful band of characters—Lemuel, Russell, Tony, Al Armour—but no one stood out like Simba, a fiery, expressive Vietnam vet who always made sure you knew he was from Texas and that he carried a snub-nosed .44 Magnum. He used to say to me, “A. D., you don't eat beef? Comrade, beef makes me mean, makes me ready to kill.” He was as macho as they came.

These comrades were seasoned veterans and we could use the manpower. Besides, Elaine had an old score to settle with the Los Angeles coordinator, longtime Panther Jimmy Johnson. He was known to be abusive to sisters, including to Elaine during her days in Los Angeles. Upon his arrival in Oakland, Jimmy was ordered to Elaine's penthouse, where he was surrounded, beaten mercilessly, and expelled.

Corporal punishment had never really been established as a party policy. It just seemed to grow out of our circumstances and our paramilitary ideology. It was not widely used. As a matter of fact, most comrades were unaware of its existence. But under Elaine, anybody who committed a serious violation of policy or rule could expect a visit. And for those in the cadre, there was less leniency.

I understood Elaine's vision for the party, probably better than anyone else, but I also knew that she could be ruthless, particularly toward disobedient men. I had witnessed the male chauvinism in the early days, how Eldridge got away with beating Kathleen, and how brothers in leadership positions got away with things that the brothers in the rank and file dared not think of doing. Since her rise Elaine had changed all that, of course, and it was the men who bore the brunt of her anger. Some certainly deserved it. But some did not.

Elaine and I had been on the campaign trail day and night, constantly going from meeting to meeting. One night, on our way to yet another cocktail fundraiser, Elaine began to curse me out for something I had said or done. I made the mistake of responding with my own profanity, an echo of that incident years before.

The next evening I was told to report to Big Bob's apartment right away. When I got there, the lights were low.

“A. D., you got twenty-five lashes coming for disrespecting Elaine,” said Bob in his low, sometimes gravelly voice. “Take off your shirt.”

I had disrespected the current leader of the party, and, to be truthful, if she were a man I probably would not have responded the way I did. And that was something she detested, so now I had to accept my punishment.

“Okay,” I said to Big Bob, slowly and reluctantly taking off my shirt. I swallowed hard and looked at Big Bob, wondering what it would feel like to get twenty-five lashes with a bullwhip. I knew I could take a lot of pain, but could I endure this?

The large penthouse had several thick, wooden pillars in the living room. I grabbed the one in the middle of the floor and planted my feet, ready to receive my punishment. By the thirteenth lash, I began to feel the pain of the leather slicing into my back. I let go, hoping Bob would have some sympathy, hoping I could stall for some time in between strikes.

“A. D., put your hands back up,” said Bob. He sounded a little irritated. I reached back up, grabbing hold of the beam, and the lashes continued.

The low lighting and the old-fashioned wooden pillars seemed to distort my reality, to alter time and space. For a split second I felt I was elsewhere—in another place, another time, in the hull of a ship or on some plantation. Then it was over. His job done, Big Bob gently began to swab my wounds with alcohol, telling me, “A. D., you can't sleep with any community sisters until your wounds have healed, okay?” The party had a strict code against telling the outside world about this and other issues.