Lo and behold, the party ran Lionel Wilson's campaign and won, electing him as the first Black mayor of Oakland. The Panthers were finally in City Hall. Lionel knew very little about politics; however, with Elaine at his side, the future for Oakland was bright. Elaine was in the mayor's office almost daily, helping to shape his policy and strategy for improving conditions for Oakland's poor.
In return, Lionel was set to name two Panthers, Ericka Huggins and Phyllis Jackson, to the Port of Oakland Commission. The port was where the real power was concentrated. It was where the money was, and whoever controls the source of revenue controls the city. For years, cocaine had flowed freely into Oakland from South America. Now we could put an end to that. Elaine used to joke that, instead, “Now we'll have AK-47s coming in.”
The city manager also became a stalwart of the party, and with these elements in place, we slowly began to make Oakland a city that would revolutionize American politics. We had seized control without a single shot fired. (Actually, there were some shots fired.) We began plans to re-create this process in other cities, such as Chicago, where a small cadre awaited orders, and Seattle, where Elmer had continued the work we had left behind.
Driving down Broadway one day, I was astonished to see Tommy Jones walking down the street. I immediately stopped to give him a ride. He mostly seemed the same, but a little unshaven, a little run-down, the tooth still missing on his left side. I was happy to see Tommy, but it was sad to see a former captain of the party looking like a drug addict.
“Hey, Aaron,” he said, as he half-smiled. “I'm trying to get it together. Remember those good old days? Man, I miss those days.”
“Yeah, I do too,” I replied. My mind flashed back to the summer of '68, igniting memories of Matilaba, Landon, Randy, Robert Bay, and all the others who were prepared to shed blood for the people. I felt a bit of sadness for those days long gone.
“You take care,” I said, and dropped him off at his destination.
Flores called one morning to tell me that Santa Rita had left. Santa Rita, a member of the party's vocal group the Lumpen, was a singer, a coordinator, an administrator, and a gunman; whatever needed to be done, he would try to accomplish it. And if he couldn't, he would tell you so. We didn't have too many brothers like him left. At one time we'd had scores of comrades like Santa Rita all across the country, but losing him now put more pressure on those remaining.
Santa Rita's departure planted a seed in my mind. He had left because he was just plain tired and disenchanted, and I think many of us who had been working so long and so hard were quietly feeling the same way, despite the many recent accomplishments. But the prospect of leaving something we'd devoted our lives to was extremely complicated, and there was always some new development, some unexpected challenge to test and renew our commitment.
And, in California, you never knew what to expect. There was always something strange going on, including all kinds of covert operations by the secret intelligence forces. Hands-down, the most bizarre experiment thought to involve the CIA was the phenomenon of Jim Jones, minister of the People's Temple, savior of the poor, the downtrodden, the sick, and shut-in. Jones owned a large church in San Francisco on Fillmore, around the corner from the former location of the San Francisco Panther office. The Nation of Islam had previously owned the building.
Elaine made it a point to meet with anyone of political significance in the Bay Area, and one of the weirdest meetings was with Jim Jones. He and his church had a lot of followers in the Black community, in particular a lot of older Black folks looking for a promise of a better life. Out in the field, we encountered many of his followers out collecting donations on some of the same corners in Oakland where we stood. Jim Jones wielded a considerable amount of power. He had contacts in the city and state governments and was able to procure funding and support for his militant “Help the Poor” platform. He even put out a newspaper. One of its issues touted a trip Jones had made to Cuba and a meeting he'd had with Huey. Even then, we felt his entire operation seemed very fishy, very strange. Nevertheless, his power was intruding on the party's constituency, so Elaine felt that a meeting was in order, at least to find out what he was up to, as he was operating in the Black community.
The Duke, Elaine, and I drove up to the church and were met at the gate by three gruff-looking brothers wearing big coats. It was obvious to us that they were carrying weapons. Inside, we were taken on a tour of the church. The building had an eerie feeling to it. In the cafeteria were several older Black workers preparing food. They acted very strange, very detached. On the top floor, we walked past a small room where a middle-aged white man sat at a table, operating a HAM radio with a microphone.
“That's our contact with Guyana,” said our tour guide.
We were ushered into a room where Jim Jones sat, surrounded by little kids. He seemed to be white but fairly dark-complexioned, with jet-black hair. He boasted about his programs and the land his church was developing in Guyana. There really wasn't much back-and-forth dialogue. We all just wanted to get out of that place. The vibrations were unlike anything I had ever experienced. The people were almost emotionless, with little enthusiasm or joy. I don't think any of us was surprised at the massacre in Guyana two years later. Hundreds of Jones's followers died at after drinking cyanide-laced Flavor Aid. Comrade Russell Washington from Los Angeles lost five family members to this mass murder/suicide. At the time, unfortunately, we did not have the time or resources to explore the ramifications of Jim Jones's inroads into the Black community. We had our own contradictions to sort out.
Elaine often hosted parties for the comrades at her penthouse in the Oakland hills. We consumed large amounts of brandy, smoked plenty of weed, and danced away our emotions and pain. There was a sense that our time together was coming to an end. We all felt that the party represented the last hope for our movement, and Elaine had taken us to new heights. Yet I was beginning to wonder about my own future, my son Aaron, and my daughter Nisaa, who was somewhere in AmericaâI had seen her only once. I felt trapped. At the same time, I also felt that here with these comrades was where I would always be, where I had to be, otherwise I would be no more. I often sat back and watched the comrades dancing wildly, as if in some kind of trance, as if these were our last dances together, the last dance of the Black Panther Party.
Several months later, Elmer was in a phone conversation with Ericka Huggins concerning the menu for the Breakfast Program in Seattle. A disagreement ensued, and Ericka accused Elmer of disrespecting her, for which Elmer was summoned to Oakland.
I was worried about what would happen to Elmer in this dispute. As just one example, Bobby Rush, deputy chairman of the Illinois chapter, had been summoned to Oakland by Elaine. He met with Elaine in Ericka Huggins's office at the school, which Elaine sometimes used for business. I, along with some others, hung around outside the office while he was being reprimanded. After several hours, Bobby Rush finally came out. The look on his face was of sadness and humility. I felt bad for him. He had endured the death of not only Fred Hampton, but at least four or five other Chicago Panthers and the imprisonment of many others. He had sacrificed his life, as we all had, now to be tossed aside like an old piece of meat, as if the years of blood and sweat meant nothing. At least he got away without physical harm, which is more than could be said of a few others. Simba had his legs broken before being expelled.
Being summoned to Oakland was like walking a tightrope over an ocean with sharks circling. One slip and you could be making a trip to the hospital. Luckily, Elmer was able to talk his way out of any physical action being taken against him; however, he was ordered to stay in Oakland. He requested to go back to Seattle in order to take care of some family business with his new wife, Dee Dee. A week later he called from Seattle to say that he wanted to talk things over with Huey and was not planning on returning to Oakland. Elaine was not pleased by Elmer's request, but she was hoping to persuade him to come back. The Seattle chapter was the longest-functioning chapter still in operation, and it played a major role in the plans to reinvigorate the party on a national level. With Huey in Cuba, it was not possible to accommodate Elmer's request for a meeting, so Elaine arranged to make a trip to Seattle.
Bethune, Elaine, and I caught a plane up north. Flores took a train to bring our weapons. We met Elmer at the Seattle chapter's community center, now located on 19th and Spruce. Tension was very high. Elaine wanted Elmer to come back to Oakland, but Elmer refused and kept requesting to speak with Huey. I attempted to persuade Elmer that it was not only in the party's interest but also in his own interest to acquiesce. I knew all too well that the people I was with could be extremely dangerous. While we talked, we kept hearing noises, even though the office was empty. Bethune wanted to investigate, but Elmer steered him away from the other rooms. The conversation heated up, turning antagonistic. Elaine was not used to Panthers defying the hierarchy, but Elmer refused to back down. We could tell this would not be resolved in our favor, so Elaine, Bethune, Flores, and I decided it was best to retreat from a potentially volatile situation. With our hands on our weapons, we backed out. As Elmer confirmed for me years later, he had situated heavily armed Seattle Panthers, including our younger brother Michael, throughout the building. With tensions peaking and voices rising, a single move could have resulted in a bloodbath.
On the ride back to the hotel, I was silent. This event was devastating for me. Elmer and I had been like Mays and McCovey, like Johnny Unitas and Lenny Moore. We had always been as close as brothers could be, overcoming all obstacles between us. Secretly, I was proud of the way he had stood up to Elaine and Bethune, but I worried that this was not over. Back in Oakland, I was relieved of my duties with Elaine and presented with the choice between staying in the party or leaving. I was allowed a week off to decide.
I was not ready to leave the party. We had come so far. We were just a few steps away from securing total political control of Oakland. More immediately, I also wanted to stay around to keep my ears pricked up and my eyes open in case I detected a move to take Elmer out. As dedicated as I was to the movement and to the philosophy of the Black Panther Party, I was not about to stand by and watch my brother be eliminated. It had been discussed, and I knew that if they wanted to, they could do it. For reasons never divulged, it was decided against. There were bigger problems ahead.
33
Huey's Return
I come up hard, baby But that's okay, 'cause Trouble Man Don't get in the way
âMarvin Gaye, “Trouble Man,” 1972
One day, a group of mothers
from the projects came by the community center, upset. Felix Mitchell, head of a new drug gang called the Mob, had taken control of the 69th Street
Village
,
where many kids who attended the school resided. The mothers wanted us to do something about the drug infiltration, a growing problem that soon threatened to engulf East and West Oakland.
Felix Mitchell, only twenty-three, was smart and cagey, the perfect patsy for the Mafia to peddle their heroin. Huey hated the Mafia and had all but driven them and their heroin trade out of Oakland. Since Huey's exile, many of his enemies in the street life had begun to reassert themselves. Now, in Felix Mitchell, the Mafia had a front man whom they supplied with an endless flow of heroin and weapons, and there were plenty of gunmen around willing to join up.
Our first move was to send the Duke and Simba, both of whom had served in Vietnam, into the projects on a reconnaissance mission. The information we got back was that these guys were well-organized, with rooftop lookouts and walkie-talkies. They were paying the little kids to act as lookouts and using some of the housing units to sell drugs. By all accounts, it seemed we were up against a formidable foe.
After several community meetings, it was decided that we would operate on two fronts. One front would focus on organizing the community, planning marches, demonstrations, and community meetings, and the second front would be military, involving the cadres. The machine guns were unearthed and assembled. We began casing the enemy's spots and they did the same to us, both sides anticipating and planning for a bloody war. To let them know we meant business, we shot up some of their safe houses. I thought I might not survive this dirty little war, that some of us would die. Death seemed close by, so close I could sense its cold breath waiting around the corner.
Fortunately, we had to put this operation on hold. Huey was coming home. In late spring 1977, our leader, Huey P. Newton, returned from exile in Cuba, prepared to stand trial for the charges leveled against him for the murder of a prostitute. Under Elaine's leadership, we
had been able to realign the party's position in the community. The party's reputation was back to its original image as the champion of the people. We now had political control over the Oakland judiciary and city hall, and a heavy influence on state politics in Sacramento. Further, Elaine had been elected by the Northern California Democratic Party to be a delegate to the Democratic National Convention.
She also had forged an alliance with Reverend J. Alfred Smith, Oakland's most influential religious leader. They had collaborated on a broad agenda to address important issues in East Oakland, such as improving education, influencing the judicial system, and gaining electoral power. The Martial Arts Program, under the direction of Steve McCutchen, had been featured on the cover of
Black Belt
magazine, and many of the kids from the community who participated in the tae kwon do lessons had gone on to become instructors. These were the best days of that era, a time when we had a full complement of power and influence. Just three years earlier the party had looked to be on its last legs. Tremendous progress had been made under Elaine's leadership.