Visit to Cairo
Racism is most acute when directed against one’s own race. Yuri Slapanovich – August 1971, Family of Man Commune in Marble Mount, Washington.
People tend to think that internalized racism is mostly the
domain of pasty white teenage girls who want to appear blacker than they are,
but is usually outgrown by the time they reach thirty years of age or so. If it
persists beyond thirty then usually the individual is deemed to be marginal in
the mental arena, but before then it is tolerated, never appealing, but
tolerated. In the case of Leroy Coleman, it was never outgrown, and the
devastating results can still be seen today according to the elderly woman I
spoke with on the steps of the Mighty Rivers Worship Center in Cairo on March
26th, 2017.
A long trip is in store for me on this Sunday morning, and
unless I’m headed west it always starts with the not so mundane drive through
downtown Mount Horeb. The traffic is
backed up again, not due to an overabundance of cars but because Mt. Horeb has
an inordinate number of Pedestrians, Walkers with Dogs, Walkers without Dogs, and
other Curious Individuals who tend to back things up. I’m thinking that the
main culprit today is Tiffany, one of the individuals who fall into both of the
last two categories.
Pedestrians are those who have driven to
downtown, parked, and are walking about the shops. These are mostly normal
people with below average to above average IQ’s. The Walkers (with and without
Dogs) are those who walk from home to
get downtown, and walk over town, for a variety of reasons, exercise, weight
loss, mental health, past time, attention seekers, and those who don’t have a
car. Their IQ’s run outside the bell curve in both directions, but there are
also some in the middle. The Walkers with
Dogs are viewed as sane and people that you might approach and to whom you
might introduce yourself.
When people see someone walking a dog around town they
automatically assume four things. One, the person NEEDS to walk themselves in
order to walk the dog. Two, the person is being kind to the animal by walking
it. Three, the person owns the dog that they are walking and therefore is a
lover of animals. Four, attributes two and three pretty much certify that the
person is not crazy. This makes them
seem normal and approachable, and introductions generally go well.
No such assumptions exist for Walkers Without Dogs like me
and Tiffany so introductions may not go as well. The final category,” curious
individuals”, speaks for itself, and many of them are also Walkers, but few are
Walkers with Dogs.
Tiffany! Ugh. Just as I suspected, she is backing up traffic
using one of her favorite techniques, abusing the Wisconsin Pedestrian Yielding
Statute. This state law says that if you see a person in the crosswalk about to
cross the street at an uncontrolled intersection (no stoplight), you must stop
(yield) your car, and let them pass, otherwise the police can and WILL give you
a ticket for failure to yield. I have received one myself as have many others
in this town so the law is well respected in Mount Horeb. In addition to the price
of the ticket the greater penalty is that the cop stops you for a half hour
while they ‘process’ your plate to see what else you you’ve done wrong. Some outsiders think Mt. Horeb people are
just nice, and some certainly are, but that’s not why they’re stopping to let
you cross. They have to, so sorry to tarnish the image.
As a Walker, Tiffany
is well aware of this law so she stands at the edge of the crosswalk, giving
the impression that she is about to cross the street but she never does. She
just stands there. The cars all stop to let her cross , and then after a few
seconds she will just wave them on with either her left, or right hand
depending on the direction, with pursed lips, as if doing them a favor, and
continues standing there. She just LOVES the act of waving them on, kind of
like a power thing where she can singlehandedly control the traffic flow
through the village and give utter strangers ‘permission’ to proceed.
Technically she is doing nothing wrong, and it’s hilarious to watch, unless
you’re driving, and then it’s real aggravating. I roll down my window and yell,
TIFFANY, KNOCK IT OFF, wait until I’m out of town!!! She laughs because she knows that I know, and
yes we know each other well since we’re both Walkers without Dogs and all
Walkers without Dogs know each other well. It should be also noted that Tiffany
has no car, has no job, needs no job , needs no car, lives close to downtown,
has no worries, and I envy her.
After I get through the manufactured traffic problem I see
the Gujarati hotel to my right, which used to be Mt. Horeb’s high end hotel,
right, chandeliers, great Olympic size pool and area, and was principally used
by people who would come from all over the world to be treated at the Gonstead
Clinic of Chiropractic Medicine. Yep,
one guy named Joseph would fly in from Stockholm once a year for an adjustment.
At least that’s the story.
The Chiropractic business fell off a bit about 20 years ago, and
with it went the fortunes of the The Gujarati, however, it is still an
extremely interesting place, probably more so than when it was ‘high end’. You
see, the owner, Ranjit, who is a great guy, rents the rooms out to people who
need temporary shelter, and charges pretty reasonable monthly rates, but
doesn’t ask any questions. No deposit, no last month’s rent, no application, no
ID check, nothing. You give him money, he gives you a room. Simple, that’s the way it SHOULD be. You also get Wi-Fi and free Cable. The pool is
empty and cracked now, but nobody cares, at least nobody that lives there cares
since they’re not typically the swimming type. The location is also fantastic
since it’s right next to Walgreens, McDonalds, and the Mt. Horeb Library so it
works for a lot of people, and he keeps the place full. I too would live there
if I could Hindu him down on the price a little more and get Anne to agree to
downsize. Also, Anne IS a swimmer. Most of the people are smokers, but if you
have some type of small mammal then that costs 10 dollars extra PER NIGHT for
urine cleansing. Almost all the tenants are smokers for some reason, but I
think they have to smoke outside because I’ve noticed a significant number of
cigarette butts on the outside window sills, mostly Camel Non Filters, probably
due to the rich taste.
My interest in the The Gujarati is not insignificant. As a
member of the Life Church helps ministry this place allows me to provide
shelter to people that might otherwise be homeless at a rate the church can
afford. In addition, the people there
seem to be a humble lot, which helps with my role as an evangelist, since humility is a prerequisite for conversion. At least some. I am
considering holding a Bible study there on Saturday’s right there in the
‘courtyard’. Which brings me to the topic of Cairo, since there are indeed some
parallels between Cairo and the Gujarati of Mount Horeb. They both had former
glory now dissipated, and both contain poor majorities, except in the case of
Cairo the majority are minorities.
Cairo used to be a bustling town of 15,000 people situated
on a peninsula that’s juts out into the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi
Rivers. Due largely to hatred between the Caucasians and the Negroes, as well
as a drop-off in ferry traffic, the town self-destructed years ago, with
investments removed as well as people. A shell still exists, but most of the
establishments in the shell are now closed, but while only a shell exists the 2,500
people who DO live there are not shells at all but full blown human beings, as
complete or as incomplete as you and I. I had been there a few weeks ago, just
passing through but today it IS my destination, and I’m excited to return.
Before I do however I must drive through the ENTIRE state of Illinois, since
Cairo is situated at the extreme southern end, poking itself precariously into
the waterway confluence between Kentucky and Missouri.
Interstate 57 is just a couple miles away from downtown, but few get off at Exit One to visit, since
there is next to nothing TO visit. The schools are in the Cairo Unified School
District 1, which has the highest number of students below the poverty line of
any school district in Illinois, and the 15th highest in the nation
at 60%. Some houses are in a heap, as if hit by tornados, but the tornado just
dropped the debris in a pile. Some are
still intact, but black inside, no screens on the windows, and sometimes no
glass. There are some decent homes as well but there are an inordinate number
that are not decent. Sometimes you can tell a house hasn’t been occupied in
years due to the window treatments or lack thereof, plus the blackness therein
is much blacker than the dark windows of inhabited homes. You can just tell. I
don’t know why, but when the lights are out in an inhabited home, it looks
black from the outside. When the lights are out in an uninhabited home, somehow
it looks even blacker from the outside. Hard to explain, it’s one of those
things that just ‘are’, and yes I’m taking my cue from the plural as opposed to
the singular. I’ve seen the same type of
think it the little huts along Interstate 15 as you cross the California border
headed toward Los Angeles. Fascinating, yet eerie group of ‘homes’ along that
stretch.
Like I mentioned, I had been here a couple of weeks ago just
passing through, but now I’m actually headed to an actual event in town, hosted
by The Mighty Rivers Worship Center advertised as a Sunday night Dinner and
Movie. I had met the white librarian on my last visit, but I hope to meet a
more representative segment of the community on this more purposeful trip.
The event doesn’t start until 6:00 PM but it’s only 4:00, so
I decide to check into the Quality Inn at the edge of town, over by Exit One on
I-57. The black lady behind the counter smiles, welcomes me and checks me in. After
the customary exchange of ID and Credit Card, she hands me the plastic key and
says “Room 101”.
I laugh and ask, “What, are you in the Ministry of Luuuv?”
drawing out the vowel for ebonic flavor.
“Whatchu talking bout?”
she retorts with a bewildered half smile. I realize now that my comment could be misinterpreted so I explain.
“In the book 1984, Room 101 is the room in which the
Ministry of Love tortured people, using their worst fears to determine the type
of torture to be applied. Do you remember that book?”
She laughs, “Never heard of it.”
“Ok, I’ll send you a copy of it after I get back home.
What’s your name?”
“Mahogany.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mahogany. My Name is Bill, please
don’t let them torture me. Since you’re probably the only Mahogany working in
this hotel I’ll just address it to your first name."
Umph, I love people that don’t need a last name. Anyway I’m sure she thinks that I am nuts and
will continue to think so until April 14th, 2017 which is when the package with the
book will arrive at the Quality Inn. She also probably thinks that I won’t send
it, but I will. I know I will. It only
bothers me a little bit that she will think I’m crazy during the interim, but
I’ve dealt with worse. At this point I
have decided to adopt Mahogany as one of my friends.
People talk of guardian angels but I believe there are also
guardian friends as well, and that God, through his Holy Spirit may assign you
several people that YOU are supposed to watch over, not as an angel but as a
regular caring human being. You can’t do this with everyone since with too
large a number you would become ineffective, but seven or eight works well. She
will be my first one in Cairo. Maybe there will be others, but one is enough
for now. Letters should work fine, but we’ll start with 1984 in a USPS package.
Room 101 turns out to be just fine, meaning that it doesn’t
smell good and it doesn’t smell bad. That’s really all I ask of a hotel AND all
that is all I hope for in places like this. Sometime these ‘two stars’ smell like either urine or perfume on top of
urine. The smell you want is “No-Smell”.
Turns out, everything else is fine as well, hot water works, most light
bulbs are in working order, in-room coffee pot, soap, and the bed is made, and
no visible infestation. I suspect that the maids have peed in the plastic
drinking cups, which used to bother me, but as long as you know it going in you
should be good. Just give them a little
extra rinse before using them.
Reminds me of when I worked at Bill’s Pizza on the Manasquan
Boardwalk. We used to let the flies land on the pizza, then put it in the oven
at 550 degrees. At 550 the flies would lose their internal moisture and
therefore their shape, becoming deeply charred, taking on the appearance of
black peppers or oregano embedded in the pizza. The clientele couldn’t tell the
difference but our boss Billy Acker thought it was hilarious. So did we. It’s the little things that make work
enjoyable, so I kind of get the peeing hotel maids and would probably be one if
I were female, and of the similar mindset to my pre-Christian self.
I decide to rest
since the trip top to bottom through Illinois, was four hundred and thirty four
miles long and took SEVEN hours, through Rockford, then Peru, Normal,
Champaign, Mattoon, and finally to Effingham, where I usually stop for a
Starbucks. Hardly anybody knows how long this state is
but I do, and I understand it deeply since I have experienced it so many times.
As I lie here on my hotel bed here in Cairo I consider the significance of
Effingham, since it is the halfway point between Rockford and Cairo, and is at
the intersection of Interstates 70 and 57, which is probably why it exists. I
LOVE Effingham, lots of features besides being the halfway point. Here are the
top ten.
1. Halfway point when driving north to south in
Illinois
2.
Good Starbucks with nice workers and comfortable
seating area to the left of the counter
3.
Firefly Restaurant, fantastic food and outdoor
seating by the drainage ditch.
4.
Lots of Cheap Hotels and Cheap Restaurants all
within walking distance of each other.
5.
Bucolic walking path near the Firefly Restaurant
that meanders for miles through central Illinois.
6.
Cheap living, so good retirement place
7.
Name that can be easily made fun of
8.
It’s is unsuspectedly right in the middle of
Illinois, see point one.
9.
The High School boy’s teams are called the
Eff-ers. The girls teams are called the
Lady Eff-Ers. You can imagine what they call the Moms. The Dads are just called
Dads.
10.
They sell T-Shirts at the gas stations that say
Eff-This and Eff-That and it is so Effing ridiculous it’s funny.
In any case I ALWAYS stop in Effingham, whether I need to or
not.
In one of my earlier ruminations I had spoken disparagingly
about Illinois, (not Chicago), but I had done so with limited knowledge, in
other words ignorance. I am still ignorant but the difference now is that I
have an interest in what this place is made of. It’s strange but lately my
interest in a particular locale is inversely proportionate to the apparent
emptiness, as if the state is trying to hide something of value. Once you
realize that something is being hidden, your interest in finding it is
heightened, even if the object may not be that valuable. When you find a gem in
a gem store it is not as fun as finding a lesser gem at the town dump. I am
starting to believe that this state is full of gems, and I DO intend to find
them. Probably lots along the Rivers, those being the Illinois, the
Mississippi, and the Ohio. This summer. Yes, this summer I will explore it.
Illinois. I will explore it.
It’s now getting close to 5:15 PM here in Cairo and although
I’m still pretty beat I decide that I’d
better start thinking about my evening attire, which can be tricky when
attending a church with which you’re not familiar. Since I know that the city is 62% black, I
figure that it’s probably a black church or at least mixed, and since I also
know that people of color tend to dress up for church out of reverence for God
I figure I should wear something other than my Under Armour sweats and Rook
Coffee T-shirt. I look in my bag and find a nice pair of gray Haggar slacks, a
deep blue Brooks Brothers button down, and my burgundy Eccos. No tie, but I’m
sure the black folks will understand since they know how whites dress for
church and may even appreciate the effort. Still, a tie would be nice. Maybe I
could still pick one up in town, but then remember that the only places still
operating in Cairo are the public utilities, Talk of the Town, the Dollar
Store, and hold on, it’s Sunday to only the Dollar store is open. Oh well,
again, I hope they understand about white people, which I’m sure they do since
Cairo is 36% white. Actually I’m getting excited, because I kind of like being the only
white guy in all black places. Can’t really explain it. The Brooklyn tabernacle
is kind of like that. So is downtown Newark. In fact I tend to rank churches by
their racial makeup as follows:
1.
Churches with an even mix of blacks and whites.
2.
Churches that are all black
3.
Churches that are all white
Yes, I know that I’m sounding like a teenage white girl with
a bad outbreak of internalized racism, but at least I recognize it, which I
know doesn’t excuse it.
Unfortunately the first type of church is rare and is my
favorite. It is my favorite in that it shows that Jesus can overcome racial
acrimony, and it creates a framework whereby blacks and whites have to come out
of their respective neighborhoods and work in harmony to further the kingdom.
This DID happen in Brooklyn. It could happen in Cairo, and I’m hoping that it
has. IT won’t happen in Mount Horeb and any other predominantly white
neighborhood because people mostly go to churches in their own neighborhood
which is fine, but they live in separate neighborhoods which is not fine, they
go to separate schools, and even if they go to the same schools they eat at
separate tables if there is a significant black population there.
The past pattern has been that when blacks move in, property
values decline, so whites move out, lowering prices, allowing more blacks to
move in, and so on . Yep, still happens today. To reverse this I think that the
onus is on the Christian whites to move into the Black neighborhoods and take
it upon themselves to integrate. That’s
what my friend Ron Dotzler did and his wife Twany. Ron is white, Twany is
black. Twany was born in the same hospital as me, which is Muhlenberg hospital
in Plainfield, New Jersey. Ugh, I’m now
realizing that while I’m all high-minded about this, I probably won’t act on
it. Why? Not because I don’t want to but
because I’d have to sell my house which is a hassle and I’m lazy. What a
pathetic white person I am, and just because I admit it does not make it noble.
It almost makes it worse. Pray for me. On second thought, don’t. Not for that.
Let me see if I can do it on my own first. If I can’t I’ll issue another
request.
The Mighty Rivers Worship Center
Since I had been to Cairo before I already know exactly
where the Mighty Rivers church is located, so I pull my red Chevy 2500 Vortec 8
Cylinder Extender into the side lot where it barely fits within the parking
line indicators, but I don’t see too many people around. There’s a few WHITE
people heading into the side door, so I follow them into an open cafeteria type
room, and as I enter I realize to my internalized racist dismay that this is a
predominantly white church, at least on Sunday nights, and also that I’m am one
of the younger ones of the group, and I am not that young. There are a number
of long folding tables placed end to end to form three really long rows of
tables with plastic white table cloths with white fuzz underneath, and
fluorescent lighting, with a big movie screen on my right hand side. People are
bringing in crock pots with food and plugging in their cookers or chafing/warming
trays. Seems like kind of a pot luck type thing but I have brought nothing, but
then again, I’m a guest and could I really be expected to bring a chafing tray
full of baked beans all the way from Mount Horeb, Wisconsin?
Many of the people are seated, about 25 totally whites, one
barely white lady, and one totally black lady. Not exactly the mix I was after.
I go ahead and seat myself in the middle of the center table, and just sit
there, staring into space, not wanting to make too much eye contact. Eventually
a man comes up to me and introduces himself as Henry, asking my name.
I look him in the eye and say, “My name is Bill, nice to
meet you.”
“Phil?, your name is Phil?”
“No”, I replied, “Bill”, like in William.
“Oh sorry, Dell?”.
“NOOO, Bill, as in William”.
“Will?”
“No, Bill as in Billy”.
“Milk?” he questioned, “your name is Milk?
”
It’s at this point that I just want to acquiesce and say,
“Yep, my name is Milk. My parents owned a large dairy concern in Northwestern
New Jersey, and in order to promote their product they decided to name their
firstborn Milk, which is me, ’Milk Magnesia Snyder’.” I was then reminded that I am the guest here
and should not lead with sarcasm, and this is a church and I am a Christian, so
sarcasm would not be the most loving response in this situation. But what am I
supposed to do? Is the name ‘Bill’ that uncommon? Do I have a speech impediment? Am I slurring
my words? Is it my Wisconsin accent that I don’t even have? Do I have to write it down on a napkin or
something, but if I did that then I would offend this older gentleman. Ok then,
one more try…
“B I L L, with a ‘B’ as in Bumble BEE!”, I nearly shouted
but with the greatest articulation that I could muster as if I were teaching a
Mongolian how to say English names which contain consonants.
“Oh, BILL, nice to have you, my name is Henry, Henry Aaron
and this is my wife Betty!
What a relief! Anyway, I wanted to make a comment, like “and
all these years I thought you were black” but then I figured at 83 years of age
he had heard enough comments plus I feared another dialogue like the one
illustrated above. I also had to consider that he might have been one of the “White
Hats” which in years past had banded together to combat the Unified Front during
the Cairene Racial Wars of the 60’s and 70’s right here in downtown Cairo. Please don’t think that I am overstating what
happened here, since it is one of the principle reasons that Cairo borders on
being a ghost town today.
It is reported that it all started with Robby Hunt (Robert),
a 19 year old boy of Negroid origin. On July 16, 1967 Robby, while home on
military leave, was found hung by a deeply soiled T-shirt in the Cairo police
station. Then on July 17th, the incensed black population burned
down three or four buildings, plus damaged many others. In reaction to this
riot, the white Cairenes formed a group called the White Hats, a group of about
600 men who wore white construction helmets, and they assumed the role of law
enforcement, patrolling the streets of Cairo to maintain order. They were even
officially deputized by the Sheriff. Mind you, this is 1967 in Illinois, barely
Illinois, but Illinois nonetheless.
According to many, the White Hats deployed bullying and
harassment tactics so therefore in early 1969 the blacks produced their own
group called the United Front led by the folks who lived in the Pyramid Housing
project and a man named Charles Koen. The United Front was comprised of black
individuals from the Pyramid Project, the NAACP, and a couple of the Cairene
street gangs. They decided to boycott all white businesses in Cairo, and the
boycott lasted about 10 years, which would be damaging in any town but
especially here since the businesses were owned primarily by whites but the
blacks are the majority not the minority of the populace.
It should also be noted that early in the morning of
December 6th, 1969 there was a two and half hour gun battle between
the police and the black residents of the Pyramid Housing project. It is said
that the firefight started by Pyramid residents shooting firefighters who were
fighting a nearby blaze. A lot of people
got shot, including the Cairo Chief of Police. Bad situation.
I could go on, and this is a story in and of itself, but it
is against this backdrop that I watch how I color my humor regarding race, and
therefore back off the Hank Aaron “always thought you were black” comment. As
Yuri Slapanovich once said, “there are times when humor needs to sit in the
back.” THIS is one of those times and
actually the comment wasn’t that funny anyway.
Henry then introduced me to the others, and none of the
others had any trouble understanding HIM, so maybe I’m not as articulate as I
had previously supposed, in other words I am the problem. This is also the
reason I use the name ‘Raoul’ at Starbucks as opposed to ‘Bill.’
The leader of the Sunday movie/dinner event, Larry Potts, a tall
good looking white haired man in his mid- eighties leads with a prayer of
thanks for the food, and then we get up, fill our plates from the chafers, and
sit down to eat. I filled up on the macaroni salad that was topped with some
type of crispy crusty breaded stuff, and a bunch of green beans for my health,
and just a little bit of chicken. Also mashed potatoes since they had real
butter. It upsets me when places serve mashed potatoes and don’t have real
butter. They have some manufactured substance that looks like butter, and even
the packaging says something like, “I can’t believe it’s not butter”, but you
know what, it’s NOT butter, and I can’t stand that, and I can’t stand that they
are trying to make you think that it’s just like butter when it’s not. It’s always called something like what I just
quoted or buttery spread, or margarine, or some other obnoxious name.
As I sat down, Henry sat on one side of me, and his wife
Betty on the other, so all three of us were sitting in the same direction like
in the Last Supper, with no one facing us because of the orientation of the
movie screen so we all had to face the same direction. As we sat there eating,
waiting for Larry to start the movie, Henry and Betty explained to me who was
who in the room, and a little bit about what had happened to Cairo. Henry had
lived here all his life so was around during the horribly violent times in the
late sixties and seventies, but was also here in the forties and fifties when
the town was bustling before the demons of racial strife had destroyed the
place. Henry was also in charge of the levees in Cairo, which is a pretty big
job when you live on the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers AND your
town is on a peninsula, AND your town is the lowest point in the state of Illinois,
which has a lot of low points.
The movie for the night is called War Room, and I can
readily tell that it’s a Christian movie since it’s labeled PG and for other
reasons that I can’t explain. I’m not sure why it’s not just G since I can’t
see any reason for Parental Guidance. Sometimes I disrespect Christian movies
as inferior, not real movies, and yes this is a false notion, but nevertheless
a notion that I own. As the movie progresses I am drawn in. It’s the story of a
black family who is having marital problems, mostly the fault of the dude who
is an executive pharmaceutical sales person, giving his life to the job, with
nothing left over for his wife or daughter. The wife is a real estate agent,
who meets an older black woman while trying to sell her house, and during the
sale process the younger woman shares her problems with the older one, who then
begins a tutoring process on the attributes and power of prayer. Meanwhile the
husband is in the nascent stages of an affair.
Ostensibly, the tutorial is for the younger woman in the
marriage and certainly for those watching the movie, but really it is for me.
Did I really need to travel 500 miles to start thinking about how to be a
proper husband, and to start realizing again the importance of prayer. I’m
reminded of what Eric Clapton said when asked why he prays on his knees.
"I was in complete despair," Clapton wrote.
"In the privacy of my room, I begged for help. I had no notion who I
thought I was talking to, I just knew that I had come to the end of my tether …
and, getting down on my knees, I surrendered. Within a few days I realized that
… I had found a place to turn to, a place I'd always known was there but never
really wanted, or needed, to believe in. From that day until this, I have never
failed to pray in the morning, on my knees, asking for help, and at night, to
express gratitude for my life and, most of all, for my sobriety. I choose to
kneel because I feel I need to humble myself when I pray, and with my ego, this
is the most I can do. If you are asking why I do all this, I will tell you …
because it works, as simple as that. “ Yes, a lot of people don’t know that
Eric is a Christian.
Anyway, the point that really hit home was the fact that if
a couple takes marriage seriously you are essentially, albeit willingly,
trapping yourself AND your partner into a supposedly beautiful monogamous
relationship from which there is no escape, and from which you don’t want to
escape. The idea is that you want them to be trapped in a good situation, but
if you are a jerk to other partner then you are trapping them in a bad
situation, and are therefore condemning them to a type of hell on earth, which
is such an evil thing to do to another person, ruining their ENTIRE life, and
this causes me to examine how I act toward MY wife. As if on my death bed, I
replay all the mean things I have said, or mean looks, or disparaging comments,
or whatever and think, ‘would I want to be trapped with myself and be forced to
hang out with me?’ No way. Is this why I’m in Cairo, not for me but for
Anne? Well for me to because of the
prayer thing, in addition to the marriage thing, which is probably for her.
There is really nothing wrong with Anne, and no I’m not saying that tongue in
cheek. There really isn’t. I wish there were so that I could have an excuse for
my behavior.
Then I think of the others that I know, where the wives or
husbands are trapped in a marital hell, and for a number of reasons there is no
way out. I’m crying openly at the table now, among these unknown Cairenes,
onto the plastic tablecloth with the furry stuff underneath it. I can tell that
the Cairenes are crying also since I hear an inordinate amount of sniffles, but
I don’t dare look them in the eye, nor them me. Crying in front of strangers is
difficult, especially if the place is well lit. The movie theatre is usually
okay since it’s dark, however if you are sobbing, like I did a couple months
ago during Hidden Figures, that is embarrassing as well. You would think, “well
I’ll never see these people again”, but for some reason embarrassment is an
emotion that can defy logic or at least our ability to explain it. Or maybe you
just dread someone approaching you and asking if everything is ok, or can they
help, and you hope that they would in a way, but you just want to be left alone
now, but there’s no way for them to know that and you don’t want to be mean AND
embarrassed, so you just go to the bathroom and sit in the toilet stall even
though you don’t need to but that is the only private space.
The tears are subsiding now, I pick up my paper plate and
take a few empty plastic cups from the other Cairenes, toss them in the trash,
shake the hands of the few people I had met. They graciously thank me for
joining them this Sunday evening to which I replied “the pleasure was mine.”
They implored me to come back on a Sunday morning sometime, which I promised I
would, so I will. I try not to just say things to graciously end a
conversation. Again, as Yuri Slapanovish says, “It is poor form to graciously
exit your conversations by stating false intentions.”
I’m pondering the concept of Church now, even ones that seem
lame upon initial inspection. Just think if Larry, Laura, Henry and Betty and
all the others decided that church was a waste of time, and there was not Movie
and Dinner tonight. I would not have felt the touch of God in this, Anne would
not have the benefit of a better husband, and who knows where it would go from
there.
What if there were no
church at all, anywhere. It would obviously mean the absence of a place for followers
of Jesus to congregate, but it would also mean an absence of events where you
could get to know the locals like I was doing tonight. It also seems like for
those that ARE seeking God and wanted to find out more info there would be no
public place to go to. You’d just have to figure it out somehow, find out where
the Christians lived, and go knock on their door and very few would really do
that. Churches serve to provide a welcoming place for both believers and
unbelieving seekers. It is disparaged as organized religion, but if there was
no organization then I wouldn’t have known what time to show up. I’d have to
just get there early in the morning and wait on the steps until someone showed
up, which would be unorganized religion. We used to call that stupidity.
It now strikes me that there is certainly nothing wrong with
unbelievers not going to church, since it really doesn’t make much sense. I
mean why would you want to go and regularly hear about a person that you don’t
even believe in. On the other hand, if you were curious, it WOULD be nice to
have a place nearby where you could go and investigate and ask questions, but
that’d be only on occasion if at all. In other words it is perfectly normal for
non-believers to not attend church, and for them it is not a sin. Killing
people, Stealing, Fornication, Gossip, and Adultery are still sins for them,
but not church abstention since it makes little sense with the exception of the
seeker as previously explained.
This is NOT the case believers in Christ, and I would go so
far as to say that it IS a sin if THEY abstain from church. No, I don’t mean
it’s a sin to miss every once in awhile since that’s just legalistic and ignant,
but I mean general abstention, like for months at a time. The reason I say this
is that there are passages in the Ancient Scriptures where it says not for
forsake the assembling of ourselves (Christians) together, and it does so
repeatedly, which means church. That church could be in a public building or
someone’s house, but there’s no denying that the holy writings command
Christians to get together in groups on a regular basis. The reason is that we
all benefit from each other due to the variety of spiritual gifts, so while we
partly attend church for worship and to hear the message, we are also there to
give of ourselves to the other believers, to comfort and encourage each other.
You have to BE THERE to do so, and you have to BE THERE at the same time as the
others for interaction to occur, hence the ‘organized’ part. Church should be
as much a time for giving as it is for receiving. Whether I ‘like’ my church or
not is not too germane if I am there principally to give to the others whom are
present.”
Anyway, for believers to abstain from group fellowship (church) is to disobey the
scriptures and it says that whatsoever if of disobedience is sin or something
like that. Tonight I am so grateful for GIVING churchgoers like Larry, Laura,
Henry and Betty for being faithful, well into their advanced years, in
something as seemingly minor as a Dinner and Movie night.
Carolina
As I exit the movie room, I make a mistake and enter the
sanctuary since all the doors look the same in here. It’s dark so I activate my
cell phone for some light and leave through the side sanctuary door, and as I
do I almost bump a woman, sitting on the stoop in the dark, smoking a Doral
Gold. I actually recognize her as the mulatto woman who had been inside, so I
say, “nice movie huh? “
“Left early, didn’t stay for the movie,” she replied, “I
just come for the dinner”.
“Well you should have stayed, it was meaningful, at least to
me”.
“Yeeees, I suppose you’re right but I don’t go for all that
Christian stuff, just need a home cooked meal every now and then, which they
always seem to have here. Plus the people are nice, misguided, but nice. Did
you meet Larry Potts? He real nice.”
“Yes, briefly, but mostly I talked with Henry Aaron. I
suppose you know him, right”.
“Have a seat right here boy, c’mon, I don’t bite” as she
patted the stoop with her left hand.
“Actually I have to get back soon” I lied.
“Nonsense, sit your scrawny white ass down, I know you got
nothing goin on tonight and now I feel like talking. See Mahanony is my
granddaughter, and she told me about the whole 101 thing, and what you doin
down here.”
I sat down and dutifully listened since she was correct, AND
for some reason she seemed like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with even if
she DIDN’T bite.
“Yeees,” as she blew
some rings, ”I know Henry pretty good, nice man and his wife’s a saint, but
he’s got a half-brother thas meaner than a sex starved hog in late July.”
I pondered the statement, “never good for ANYONE to be sex
starved regardless of the month.” She chuckled, so I could tell she was warming
up to me. Pretty soon I’ll have her eating out of my hand I thought. “Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Well years ago as a kid he was a fairly likable guy, but
after the Albright incident he got insecure and then downright mean. Nobody liked him. He had inherited money,
didn’t need to work, and could eat his meals at restaurants all the time.
Treated the local waitresses here like dirt, like they was beneath him, and
then, if he didn’t like the meal, which he never did, he would pitch a fit and
say he wasn’t going to pay. Make a big stink. Embarrassed his wife and family
to death. Never left a tip either of
course. He had lots of other problems as
well but that’s for another time, I’m just scratchin the surface. Plus as a
Christian you shouldn’t be listening to gossip, should you? What’s your name again, Snyder your last name
right?”
I hesitate on how to treat this question due to the
awkwardness described earlier, and then say “BeeeeeeL”, ebonisizing the name by
enunciating the consonants and elongating the solo vowel.
“Bill”, she said angrily, “What. You trying to talk all
black and everything on my account?” Just talk normal, white normal, I know I look like some ignant old Doral
smokin crack addict, but actually I have a Master’s in Mathematics from the
University of Michigan and my niece still lives there way up in the Upper
Peninsula. People aren’t always as they appear BEEEEEEL,” ending on a mocking
note.
“And what is YOUR name?” I asked.
“Carolina, Carolina pi.”
“Carolina Pie? You mean like the state of Carolina and a
piece of Mince Meat Pie?”
“There you go tryin to sound black again, you really need to
knock that off. Plus I really appreciate that you used the nastiest pie on the
planet as an example, nobody likes it so why use it in reference to my name? Anyway you got the first part right, but no,
it’s pi as in 3.141592653589793238462643383279, and
yes BEEEEEEEL, I could keep on as long as you like, and now you surprised Bill
that some dumb skanky nigra can extend it that long, ain’t ya? Plus you don’t
capitalize the “P” so every time I sign my name I just leave it small, you
know, lower case. Print it that way too. Say it however you want as long as you
keep the vowel long. People have gotten hurt making it short.”
As I ponder what I’m dealing with here and looking away off
to my left toward the Dollar Store I say, “You know what Carolina? You remind
me of Lyndon Baines Johnson when you say NIGRA like that.”
Immediately I feel a cold piece of metal poking me hard, up
under my right jaw bone. “Looky here you filthy piece of white trash, you need
to watch yo smart mouf or Mr. Nine Millimeter here will be inside it taking out
yo Adam’s apple and a significant portion of your cortex. Now just because I
say Nigra don’t mean YOU can, and that goes for any derivation of the
word. You got that, you slimy white piece
of sheeit? Now let’s just see if you can
carry on a civil conversation, without using pejorative racial slurs and I’ll
do my best to make sure that Mr. Nine Millimeter here is on his best behavior.
We cooo? “. It was odd the ways she fluctuated effortlessly between ebonics and non-ebonics.
“Ok, Ok, geez, yes, geeeeez, please, please, put that thing
away, I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.” I’m now remembering that pi is an
irrational number since it can’t be expressed as a fraction, which is not
comforting considering the current context.
Putting the Glock 43 away she says sheepishly, “Sorry if I’m a
little sensitive tonight, ran low on my meds today, and I kinda overacted. Ain’t
even loaded. Normally it is but I’m a little short a cash right now and can’t
afford anymore ammo till my retirement check comes in. I’m retired from NASA.
Feeling a little better I ask, “you worked for NASA?”.
“You ever see the movie about them NASA Ladies BEEEL?
I nod affirmatively, not feeling as verbose as I was before
the Glock incident.
“Well I was one of them Computers, and yes I knew Katy
Johnson. We weren’t exactly friends but I knew her, and the others as well. You
see, as a child with a last name like pi, people just assume I’d be good at
math. Yeees, stupid I know, but it’s one of those self-fulfilling type things. They would put me in the
advanced classes in grade school, and sho nuff, I WAS good. Maybe the slave
owner that named my great great great granddaddy know what he was doing. From
what I understand he was an astronomer of some sort. Anyway, after working at
Langley I had to come back to Cairo to take care of my mother who died in 1980,
but I just never left. I could of, but I didn’t. Not sure why, just didn’t.”
“Anyway, I know you been snooping around town asking
questions about what happened here, and I don’t know if you’re a reporter or
something but I want you to know the truth. You smoke?” she asked extending a
cigarette.
“No thank you, I’m good” figuring I should let her talk as long as she
likes, considering the situation. Plus, I’m not really sure the Glock’s not loaded and in order to ensure the health of my cortex I
let her continue.
Albright’s Beer
“People think that the whole situation started with Robby
Hunt, but actually it’s a bit deeper than that. Robby was really just the
spark, kindof like Duke Franz Ferdinand getting shot by that Serbian Gavrilo Princip
to start World War One. The underlying conditions were ripe, like a dry forest
waiting for lightning. In any case the real culprit was a white boy named Bobby
Albright, a tall, blonde, husky but not fat, good looking kid at the time. So
one Friday night, July 14th, 1967, there was this party at Jimmy
Manser’s house on the east side of town by the Ohio River, mostly Catholic
kids, but all white, no blacks. Jimmy’s parents worked in the horse semen
business and were at a conference over in Paducah that evening. Anyway, Bobby Albright went to ALL the
parties, and he specially liked the Catholic ones since they tended to be the
wildest, so he was there at this one. The Catholics usually had plenty of kegs
on hand, however sometimes they would run out due to the number of kids, and
knowing this Bobby would always bring an extra case of Schlitz as a
contingency. Being somewhat greedy he wouldn’t bring the case indoors in case
others decided to prematurely help themselves so he usually hid the case
outside, and on this night it was not very well hidden underneath a dumpster in
the alley behind the house, because he was anxious to see Mary Anne Piano who
was inside. Anyway, after ‘hiding’ the
case, Bobby went into the house party, drinking with the others from the keg.
While Bobby was partying inside, another kid came down the
alley named Eugene ‘Bubba’ McCue, a portly white boy who was known to have
digestive issues. At the time Bubba was a well-liked kid, and some called him
Bubba Mac or Bubba Macaroon since he was extremely fond of that cookie or
whatever it is. Anyway, while Bubba was walking to the Manser party with his
friends Dicky Baily and Brian LaCasio, he noticed the poorly hidden case
sticking out from underneath the dumpster. Immediately he knew that it was Bobby’s
since he knew Albright pretty well and also knew Bobby’s contingency routine
from past experience at other keggers. Anyway, when Bubba saw the case of
Schlitz he lit up like the fourth of July and shouted with glee, ‘Albrights
Beer!’
”
‘Yeah, so?’ said Dicky. ‘you gonna steal it?”
“‘No, better than that, Bubba says, ’I kinda gotta go right now and wouldn’t it be hilarious if I went right on top of
this case of Shlitz! Get it? Schlitz? Anybody got
any tissues or napkins on em?’”
“’Hold on there,”said Dicky, ‘what’d Bobby ever do to you
that would make you want to contaminate his beers man? Bobby’s a good guy. And if he ever finds out NOBODY would want to BE you.’”
“’Puhleeees Dicky, it ain’t as bad as stealin em, and
anyways Albright’s always doing this type of stuff to everyone else and frankly so are you. Besides,
if he gets thirsty he can just hose em off later with Mr. Manser’s garden hose
right there on the side of the house. Now, who’s got some type of paper,
cleanex, anything.’”
“’I do’ said Brian, offering some used moist kleenex.’”
“Repulsed, Bubba says ’That’s nasty, I don’t want your snot
touching ANY part of my body.’”
“’Guess you’ll have to just be a man then’,
Dicky interjected, ‘because I don’t have anything else, and no I’m not letting
you use my T-shirt. That’s all you got
bro.’”
“Bubba paused. Dicky’s comment gave Bubba an idea, figuring he
could use his OWN T-shirt since it was a hot night, so he removed his outer Polo
shirt, took HIS OWN V-neck undershirt off and handing it to Dicky said, ‘here,
hold this’ and then put his polo back on. Dicky and Brian just started cracking
up, saying that no way would Bubba do it, but now that Bubba was unbuckling his
belt they started to recoil in horror,
averting their gaze. To make a long story short, Bubba slid the case out from
underneath the dumpster and released his ordnance all over the top of
Albright’s case of Schlitz. After taking his V-neck
from Dicky and cleaning things up, he threw his soiled Hanes into the
aforementioned dumpster, but it only went partway in, with the sleeve
hanging on the lip of the container. The trio then joined the party inside the
house as if nothing had happened.”
Carolina paused to take another puff of the Doral. At this point I’m getting tired and a bit queasy but I’m intrigued. Carolina flicks the butt of her spent Doral into the puddle on the meager lawn, and lifts another from the pack as she continues.
Carolina paused to take another puff of the Doral. At this point I’m getting tired and a bit queasy but I’m intrigued. Carolina flicks the butt of her spent Doral into the puddle on the meager lawn, and lifts another from the pack as she continues.
“As the festivities progressed the keg DID indeed run dry,
Bobby WAS getting thirsty, and the party host, Jimmy Manser shouted, ‘KEGS
DRY’. Bobby happened to be occupied at the time with MaryAnne Piano in the linen
closet, but could hear Jimmy through the door, so he excused himself,
whispering to MaryAnne, ‘wait here a minute, just leave them on the floor for
now, I’ll be right back’, as he shut the door behind him. It was 10:20 PM.”
“As Bobby walked towards his case in the alley he happened
to see a guy who looked like Leroy Coleman, a black dude that he knew from
grade school years ago in Cadiz, Kentucky. Leroy looked like he was running toward
the Burger King, but Bobby didn’t think much of it at the moment other than
what in the world is Leroy doing over here in Cairo. However, as he approached
the hidden case of Schlitz he could see obvious signs evidence of tampering,
plus it was no longer underneath the dumpster where he had placed it. When he got
close and realized by the smell what had occurred, coupled with seeing Coleman
running down the alley, he jumped to conclusions, of course blaming Leroy for
the soiling of the Schlitz. Walking away disgusted, saying ‘Nooooo, Noooo,
Whyyyyy, a Whole Case, Noooo!’ he went
back inside the house, furious, cussing, shouting Leroy’s name, punching the
walls, and telling everybody what had happened
and whom he suspected. He grabbed his smokes and left in a really bad mood a
few minutes before 11. Bobby was never the same since that night, and I can’t
really blame him. A man should never soil another man’s Schlitz. But that’s not
what messed Bobby up in the end. Hmmm, maybe it did indirectly though.”
Carolina paused again, taking another drag saying,” before I
go on there’s one thing you should know about Leroy Coleman. See, as I referenced
earlier Leroy was from Cadiz where Bobby used to live when they was jus li’l
chitlins, but over time Leroy developed an acrimonious attitude about black
people, even though he was black himself. Nobody could explain it, but he
started talkin white and dressin white, you know cardigan sweaters, cargo
shorts, playing tennis, all that, kinda
like Carlton in Fresh Prince of Belair. The main difference between him and
Carlton though was that Leroy was a mean individual, so none of the blacks OR
whites in Cadiz would ever dare call him an Uncle Tom. That happened ONE time
when big Joe Cottman called him that, and now Joe only got one eye. Lucky he
didn’t lose em both. Oh, and Joe only got the top half a left ear also. Leroy
kept the bottom half with the lobe as a memento. Kept it in a mason jar with
formaldehyde where it sits today over in Cadiz. Oh, and one other thing. Leroy didn’t like men
who wore hats for decoration. He was okay with hats that dudes would where to
keep warm, and baseball caps were ok too, but he really had a severe distaste
for decorative hats like beanies, berets, Ascots, Berettas, French driver hats,
stuff like that. Thought they were gay, which was odd since Leroy himself was
queer as a three dollar bill but he’d do the ladies too if he was in the right
mood and it didn’t matter too much what they looked like. Not very
discriminatin in that department. Anyway Leroy hated everybody that was like
him, which meant blacks and gays, and especially black gays. Sick individual.
And mean like I said. ”
"Anyway, one of the girls at Manser’s party, Maggy (Margaret)
Moon, had heard Bobby cussing about Leroy soiling his beer, told the whole
story to her Dad, who thought it was hilarious. Anyway, Mr. Moon told one of
his friends on the police force who then called Enloe Jones, then the assistant
Chief of Police. Due to the Chinese telephone tag translations, the story did
not sound so hilarious to Enloe, and therefore he sent Officer Randall Carver
who found Leroy by the Burger King, and locked him up in the same cell as
Robert Hunt, the boy from Urbana who was visiting friends here in Cairo. Randy
never reported that he locked up Leroy so as far as anyone knew Robby was the
only one in the cell. That was on the
evening of July 15th, day after the party. Well, most know the story
about how Robert was hanged in his cell there in the Cairo Police station by a
T-shirt on the morning of July 16th, 1967.”
“Most say that Robert Hunt hung himself, some say the cops
did it, but I say that Leroy did it. See
Robby had three things going against him. One, his cellmate was mean Leroy
Coleman. Two, Leroy Coleman hated black people, they call it internalized
racism. Usually it happens with teenage
white girls but not this time. Three, Robby was wearing a beret. What they also
don’t tell you is that Leroy was found unconscious in the cell, due to some
type of cranial hemorrhage. Robby must have kicked him in the head or something
while he was hangin there or something. Nobody know for sure. Anyways now
Enloe’s got one dead colored and one almost dead on his hands and zero explanations. As
you may already know this is what kicked off the violence, the boycott and the
sad state that you see here today.”
“Another odd thing was that the shirt was a V-neck and was
somewhat soiled, like deeply soiled, you know what I’m sayin? I don’t think it
were Robby’s T-shirt since Robby Hunt wore a crew neck and Leroy wasn’t wearing
one at all.” Point is that probably the whole mess with the boycott and all would
never have started if Eugene ‘Bubba’ McCue had stayed away from Albright’s
beer. You ever hear of the Hurricane Effect? Yep, that’s exactly what this was,
ending up in the devastation you see here today. The ironic thing is that
neither Robert nor Leroy were from Cairo yet somehow due to those two Nigras
(and white Bubba McQue) the whole place is a ghost town. Enloe and the Police were probably innocent
this time. You can read the rest of the
story in them books that they got at the Library, but I’m telling you what led
up to it and was never reported. The reports never named Leroy as the cellmate
either. Strange Beel, very strange.”
My head is now spinning, “Wow, that’s awful, awfully tragic.
Umph. But I can’t figure out why any of
them would want to string Robert up. Makes no sense, unless there was something
wrong with Leroy.”
“Exactly my point Beel. Now as far as what they did with
Leroy, I hear they gave him a free ride over to Kentucky and dropped him off on
the other side of the Ohio River bridge. Apparently he survived and last
anybody heard he got a job as one of those bathroom attendants at the Charlotte
airport. That’s a whole story in.”
Just then the side sanctuary door opens and the elderly
partly white lady holding her chafer steps out onto our stoop, looks at Carolina
and says, “you filling our visitor with your lyin stories again Carolina? Don’t
pay her no mind Mr. Snyder, they should have left her up in Anna where she
belongs. The problem with Lyin Carolina is that part of the stuff she says is
true. You just gotta figure out WHICH part.”
Carolina looked up at her and said, “We’re ALL liars Leetha,
just a matter of frequency and degree.”
Leetha gave her the most sinister blood curdling look I had
ever seen, then turned around and continued towards her fuchsia Dodge Dart with
her warming tray. I said to Carolina,
“how come you didn’t defend yourself, she was much more disrespectful than I
was?"
Carolina sat there and thought for a moment, then with a
subdued sigh said,”Beeel, thas Leetha. Used to call her Leethal. Was my cell mate up there in Anna for li’l
bit. She all Christian now, but if she were to ever backslide for just 5
minutes, I’d rather be one of Albright’s beers than be within 500 miles of her.
Better just to leave well nuff alone, and not reverse her born again situation.
My mama told me you should never stoke a
fire that you can’t extinguish.
After a moment of silence I asked Carolina, “What ever
happened to Bubba McCue and Bobby Albright?”
Carolina lit her newly retrieved Doral, and said “Bubba… he that
sex starved bastard I referred to earlier. Used to be married to my daughter, but she threw
his mean ass out then she got all bisexual
and everything. Moved up to Michigan, like way up, Upper Peninsula with that
nastyass skank girlfriend of hers. Works at a coffee shop or deli or something
now. Bubba is obviously here in Cairo workin at the Bunge plant. Bobby’s still
up in Anna at the Mental facility where me and Leetha cohabitated for awhile.”
“You said your daughter’s in the Upper Peninsula” I asked. “What
town?”
“Manistique. Chlòe, the McCues, and Bobby Albright are all
long stories. I only jus scratchin the surface. How much time you got?”
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