The Black Mass of Brother Springer (23 page)

       I went into my bedroom, ripped off the sportshirt, and slipped into my dirty shirt with the backward collar. I donned my heavy, covert cloth coat. There was a great deal of power in this black uniform, and I could make my name ring throughout the United States. Maybe I could make a speech over one of the local television stations? As I marched down the sidewalk toward the Southern Baptists of Saint John Church, I made a mental note to check with Reverend Hutto on the cost of television time.

       At the motor pool I paused for a moment to watch the vehicles as they pulled out into the street and headed for downtown Jax. Most of them were empty, except for the drivers. They were leaving to pick up loads of working people who were through for the day. At the exit a harried dispatcher handed each driver a handwritten list of stops with the names of the passengers he was to pick up. Some of the volunteer drivers were unable to read and write and the dispatcher was practically foaming at the mouth. His voice was hoarse from repeating a thousand impatient instructions. Something else I could do. Work out a better dispatching system.

       As I entered the basement office, Dr. Heartwell called to me excitedly, and I joined him at his desk.

       "I think now," he said, "that we are getting someplace! I had a call a few minutes ago from the Intertransit Company representative. They want to talk." He glanced at a name on a piece of paper. "A Mr. Corwin. I was just about to send for you when you came in."

       "Did he sound serious or belligerent?"

       "Aloof." Dr. Heartwell mused. "Arrogant would describe him better. They won't talk to me or to all of us at once, but he said they'd be willing to discuss terms with you."

       "Have you or any of the other ministers drawn up a list of demands? I've been thinking about it, but That's as far as I got."

       "No. We should get on it right away. Things have been so hectic—"

       "All right, Dr. Heartwell. Is that the 'phone number there, on that slip of paper?"

       "Yes. He said for you to call him immediately."

       "While I call, round up the other members, and we'll meet in your office as soon as I've finished."

       Dr. Heartwell left his desk, beckoned to Reverend Hutto, and the two ministers left the office. I sat down at Heartwell's desk, picked up the telephone and dialed a familiar number.

       "Hello?" a voice answered. It was Eddie Price.

       "Mr. Price, this is Reverend Springer."

       "Oh. Just a minute, Reverend."

       I waited, and Mr. Corwin spoke into the telephone. His voice was smoothly apologetic. "I'm glad you called, Reverend Springer," he said. "And believe me, sir, I wouldn't blame you if you hadn't. That was a damned fool stunt we tried to pull on you, and we're both sorry. Hold the line a second."

       I held the line, and the next voice I heard was the fawning whine of Eddie Price.

       "I want to apologize, Reverend," Eddie said. "I got a lump on the back of my head the size of a turnip, but I had it coming to me, and I don't blame you a bit. You accepted our offer in good faith, and then we tried to pull a stinker on you. Please let bygones be bygones. I'm pretty sure we can work something out. Here's Mr. Corwin."

       "Eddie was sincere, Reverend. Both of us are," Mr. Corwin took over again. "I explained the situation to the Company, and they gave me the twelve hundred dollars. All we want to do is avoid trouble, and with the Citizen's Council behind us, volunteering to call on the niggers involved in the boycott, I believe we can end this thing amicably."

       "What do you want me to do, Mr. Corwin?" I asked.

       "Just give us the rosters as we discussed originally, and as soon as I get them you'll be given twelve hundred dollars in cash, and I guarantee you that your name will never be mentioned or connected with it."

       "Let me think about it," I hesitated.

       "Time is running out on this business," Mr. Corwin said seriously. "And really, there isn't too much to think about anyway, is there? You don't want to see anybody hurt, and as we see it, this is about the only way to stop the boycott peacefully."

       "I need a minute or two," I said. "Hold the 'phone till I light a cigarette." Before he could reply I put the telephone down on the desk.

       I lit a cigarette. The office was almost empty, except for a half-dozen men and women. Most of the volunteers were out eating supper. The place was a mess. No real organization. What did I owe these people, anyway? Nothing. Negative. I could stay and work my head off, and if we won, what would be in it for me? Nothing. There was money in the Atlanta Post Office, and it was waiting for me. All I had to do was pick it up. Twelve hundred more would round out the sum very nicely. And there was Merita. She was willing to go anywhere with me. All in all, I had an easy decision to make. I picked up the telephone.

       "Okay, Mr. Corwin," I said. "It's a deal. Where do you want me to meet you?"

       "Price's Garage. Same place. Can you get the rosters by—say eight o'clock?"

       "Easily."

       "We'll be waiting. Goodbye, Reverend." The telephone was racked at the other end. I replaced my receiver and walked down the corridor and up the stairs to Dr. Heart-well's little office.

       With the exception of the Right Reverend McCroy, who was still at home eating supper, the rest of the ministers of the League For Love were present in the office, all of them talking at once. Reverend Hutto had a tablet and pencil, and repeatedly interrupted the other two ministers, asking him to slow down. I listened silently for a moment, and then said: "Let me talk."

       Dr. Heartwell shushed Dr. David, and looked in my direction. "We will all talk, Reverend Springer," he said calmly, "but I certainly think that the issue of allowing our race to enter the bus by the front door is an important point. Many times a Negro has paid his fare at the front door, stepped out to enter by the rear door, and then watched sadly as the driver pulled away leaving him standing there—"

       "Of course it's important, Dr. Heartwell. But everything about this bus riding business is important. I say, no concessions at all! Complete equality as far as the bus is concerned. Enter by the front entrance and take seats on a first in, first seated basis. The Negro population of Jax makes up to sixty percent of the business for the bus company. Let's not make any concessions at all. Complete equality, or we continue the boycott indefinitely."

       "You mean an unconditional surrender, then?" Dr. David asked in a dry, clipped voice.

       "Exactly."

       "I don't agree," Dr. Heartwell said solemnly. "If these representatives are willing to make bonafide concessions that will improve the service, I think we should consider them."

       "Are you an advocate of gradualism, Dr. Heartwell?" I sneered.

       "I don't favor gradualism, no, but we should bargain, because we aren't going to get everything we want. Even if the bus company is willing to concede to everything, there's a state law, and they can't do anything about that!"

       "They'd better!" I snapped. "In the long run we can win. I say we concede nothing. We have the upper hand. Let's keep it!"

       "He's right, of course, Heartwell," Dr. David said. "Why not try it? If things go badly against us later, then we can talk about concessions."

       "All right," Dr. Heartwell said wearily. "What time do you meet with the bus company representatives?"

       "Eight p.m."

       "It's in your hands then. We can at least find out what they're willing to offer, and tomorrow after a night's sleep, we'll all be able to consider the matter reasonably. We should have had our demands on paper already. But there's too much, too much. And we have the mass meeting tonight—"

       "I won't commit us to a thing," I said. "I'll just listen, and tell them our demand is complete equality. Agreed?"

       The ministers all agreed.

       "I have you down for the program tonight," Reverend Hutto said, as the meeting broke up. "Should I take you off?"

       "I don't see how I can be at two places at once," I replied. "And between now and eight o'clock I want to get our decision on paper so I can give it to the newspaper following my meeting with the representatives."

       "I just asked," Revered Hutto apologized.

       I returned to my desk in the basement and sat down. An elderly woman brought me a barbecued pork sandwich and a cardboard container of coffee.

       "I don't know if you has had your supper or not," the woman said, smiling, "but I never saw the time a man couldn't eat him a barbecue."

       "Thank you," I said kindly. "I certainly can eat a barbecued sandwich."

       I bit into the hot, greasy sandwich, and swallowed some coffee. My eyes picked up the dark green cover of the Jax telephone book on Dr. Heartwell's desk across the room. I crossed the room, snatched the telephone book and brought it back to my desk.

       I began to scribble rapidly on a ruled yellow tablet, writing down names and addresses picked at random as I riffled through the pages. I didn't owe these Negroes a damned thing, but I didn't owe Corwin & Company anything either. He'd get a roster all right, for his twelve hundred bucks, but wait until he tried to use it! I giggled delightedly, and quickly scribbled Eddie Price's name and address onto the third page of my hastily improvised roster.

       My finger had inadvertently stabbed into his name as I had flipped a page.

Chapter Fourteen

The meeting upstairs in the auditorium was going strong at seven-thirty. Time to go. A few minutes before the meeting began, Dr. Heartwell had offered me his Buick and Tommy as my chauffeur, but I had declined. Tommy was too belligerent, I told him, and I would be better off with a taxicab.

       Except for a dispatcher seated at Reverend Hutto's desk, the basement office was empty. I bent down, unlocked the safe, took the three stacks of folding money out of the corner, and stuffed them under my shirt. There were three canvas bags of coins inside the safe, but I could hardly carry them around with me.

       "Good night," I told the dispatcher as I started out the door. "Tell Dr. Heartwell that I'll see him in the morning."

       "Yes, sir," the man said.

       "Is everything going all right?"

       "Pretty good, Reverend Springer. Folks is stayin' pretty much to home in the evenin's, except for the meetin's."

       "That's good."

       Approximately one hundred men and a few women were outside in the street, listening to the loud speakers. Dr. David was speaking, and his barbed syllables, magnified by the speakers, demanded privation and fortitude from the listeners. Many men liked to stand outside and listen instead of crowding into seats inside. Outside they could smoke. Inside the church they couldn't. Across the street from the church I climbed into the first taxi in line. There were more than a dozen cabs parked along the curb, waiting for the meeting to end.

       I gave the driver the address of Price's Garage, and he drove away. The driver was a thick-bellied Negro, and a sausage roll of fat hung loosely over the back of his collar.

       "Do you know where it is?" I asked him.

       "I sure do, Reverend, over by Flagler Park."

       "That's right."

       I lit a cigarette and rode the rest of the way in silence. We passed the entrance to Flagler Park, and the driver continued right past the garage without stopping.

       "You passed it," I said. He slowed down and stopped.

       "I thought Price's Garage was in the next block."

       "No, it's back where that light—" I looked over my shoulder through the window. There were no lights on inside the garage, but there had been when we had zipped past. The driver put the gear in reverse.

       "I can back up," he said. "I don't see no policemen around."

       "No. Wait," I said. "Keep your motor going." I snapped the door locks on both doors. "Let me look a minute."

       Across the street there were three cars, new ones, parked along the curb bordering the park. Why? This was not a residential area, and if the owners were in the park, why hadn't they parked in the parking area at the entrance? I had noticed the parking lot when we had passed it, and it was practically empty. The black, gaping door to the garage was only three buildings away, and I strained my eyes through the back window looking for a sign of a light, or movement. A small door near the gas pump, and to the left of the garage itself, suddenly flew open, and the beam of a flashlight hit the back window, blinding me for a second.

       "There he is!" The high unnatural voice belonged to Eddie Price. "The son-of-a-bitch is in that cab!"

       "Move it out, man!" I screamed at the driver.

       Across the street, four men flew out of the parked cars and began to run toward my cab. Inside the darkened garage I could hear the pounding of running feet. Eddie Price kept the beam of the powerful flashlight trained on the back window, and called the men to hurry. But my driver sat stupefied, paralyzed.

       "Move out!" I screamed again. I leaned forward and dug my fingers and thumbs into the roll of fat around his neck. "I said move out!" As quickly as possible I rolled up the window on the street side, which was down, and the driver let out his clutch. Still in reverse, the cab jumped backwards. The driver then shifted into second, and the cab bucked and jigged forward for ten yards or so before the engine caught and roared. If he stalls now, I thought—a man was running alongside, trying to jerk open the door-handle on the street side—but we were off and running!

       The driver shifted into high, and the cab gained speed until he was doing sixty-five, and we were in a twenty-five mile zone. "Slow down," I told him. "Do you want to kill us?" He didn't pay any attention to me and sailed through a red light as though it wasn't there, narrowly avoiding a panel truck. I opened my hand, leaned forward and slapped the driver viciously across the ear. "Slow down, you goddamned rabbit!" I yelled.