“Whose car is this, boy?”
My father said he was going to drive the gold Cadillac south into Mississippi to visit my grandparents.
“Look here, Wilbert,” said one of my uncles, “it’s too dangerous. It’s like putting a loaded gun to your head.”
“I paid good money for that car,” said my father. “That gives me a right to drive it where I please. Even down to Mississippi….”
We left the city of Toledo behind, drove down through the Ohio countryside and across the Ohio River to the bluegrass hills of Kentucky. Soon we began to see signs. Signs that read: WHITE ONLY, COLORED NOT ALLOWED. We saw the signs above water fountains and in restaurant windows. We saw them in front of hotels and on the restroom doors of filling stations. I didn’t like the signs. I felt as if I were in a foreign land.
Finally, we reached the Mississippi state line and soon after we heard a police siren. A police car came up behind us. My father slowed the Cadillac, then stopped. Two white policemen got out of the car. They eyeballed the Cadillac and told my father to get out.
“Whose car is this, boy?” they asked.
I saw anger in my father’s eyes. “It’s mine,” he said.
“You’re a liar,” said one of the policemen. “You stole this car.”
BOOKS BY MILDRED D. TAYLOR
The Friendship
The Gold Cadillac
Let the Circle Be Unbroken
Mississippi Bridge
The Road to Memphis
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry
Song of the Trees
The Well
The Gold Cadillac
MILDRED · D · TAYLOR
PICTURES BY
MICHAEL HAYS
PUFFIN BOOKS
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcom Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published in the United States of America by Dial Books for Young Readers, 1987
Published in Puffin Books, 1998
Text copyright © Mildred D. Taylor, 1987
Illustrations copyright © Michael Hays, 1987
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DIAL EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Taylor, Mildred D. The gold Cadillac.
Summary: Two Black girls living in the North are proud of their family’s
beautiful new Cadillac until they take it on a visit to the South and
encounter racial prejudice for the first time.
[1. Afro-Americans—Fiction. 2. Prejudices—Fiction. 3. Southern States—Race
relations—Fiction. 4. Race relations—Fiction.] I. Hays, Michael, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.T21723Go 1987 [Fic] 86-11526
Puffin Books ISBN: 978-1-101-65797-3
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that
it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
To Mother-Dear,
who has always been there for all of us
with her love and strength and understanding
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Author’s Note
My sister and I were playing out on the front lawn when the gold Cadillac rolled up and my father stepped from behind the wheel. We ran to him, our eyes filled with wonder. “Daddy, whose Cadillac?” I asked.
And Wilma demanded, “Where’s our Mercury?”
My father grinned. “Go get your mother and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Is it ours?” I cried. “Daddy, is it ours?”
“Get your mother!” he laughed. “And tell her to hurry!” Wilma and I ran off to obey as Mr. Pondexter next door came from his house to see what this new Cadillac was all about. We threw open the front door, ran through the downstairs front parlor and straight through the house to the kitchen where my mother was cooking and one of my aunts was helping her. “Come on, Mother-Dear!” we cried together. “Daddy say come on out and see this new car!”
“What?” said my mother, her face showing her surprise. “What’re you talking about?”
“A Cadillac!” I cried.
“He said hurry up!” relayed Wilma.
And then we took off again, up the back stairs to the second floor of the duplex. Running down the hall, we banged on all the apartment doors. My uncles and their wives stepped to the doors. It was good it was a Saturday morning. Everybody was home.
“We got us a Cadillac! We got us a Cadillac!” Wilma and I proclaimed in unison. We had decided that the Cadillac had to be ours if our father was driving it and holding on to the keys. “Come on see!” Then we raced on, through the upstairs sunroom, down the front steps, through the downstairs sunroom, and out to the Cadillac. Mr. Pondexter was still there. Mr. LeRoy and Mr. Courtland from down the street were there too and all were admiring the Cadillac as my father stood proudly by, pointing out the various features.
“Brand-new 1950 Coupe deVille!” I heard one of the men saying.
“Just off the showroom floor!” my father said. “I just couldn’t resist it.”
My sister and I eased up to the car and peeked in. It was all gold inside. Gold leather seats. Gold carpeting. Gold dashboard. It was like no car we had owned before. It looked like a car for rich folks.
“Daddy, are we rich?” I asked. My father laughed.
“Daddy, it’s ours, isn’t it?” asked Wilma, who was older and more practical than I. She didn’t intend to give her heart too quickly to something that wasn’t hers.
“You like it?”
“Oh, Daddy, yes!”
He looked at me. “What ’bout you, ’lois?”
“Yes, sir!”
My father laughed again. “Then I expect I can’t much disappoint my girls, can I? It’s ours all right!”
Wilma and I hugged our father with our joy. My uncles came from the house and my aunts, carrying their babies, came out too. Everybody surrounded the car and owwed and ahhed. Nobody could believe it.
Then my mother came out.
Everybody stood back grinning as she approached the car. There was no smile on her face. We all waited for her to speak. She stared at the car, then looked at my father, standing there as proud as he could be. Finally she said, “You didn’t buy this car, did you, Wilbert?”
“Gotta admit I did. Couldn’t resist it.”
“But…but what about our Mercury? It was perfectly good!”
“Don’t you like the Cadillac, Dee?”
“That Mercury wasn’t even a year old!”
My father nodded. “And I’m sure whoever buys it is going to get themselves a good car. But we’ve got ourselves a better one. Now stop frowning, honey, and let’s take ourselves a ride in our brand-new Cadillac!”
My mother shook her head. “I’ve got food on the stove,” she said and turning away walked back to the house.
There was an awkward silence and then my father said, “You know Dee never did much like surprises. Guess this here Cadillac was a bit too much for her. I best go smooth thin
gs out with her.”
Everybody watched as he went after my mother. But when he came back, he was alone.
“Well, what she say?” asked one of my uncles.
My father shrugged and smiled. “Told me I bought this Cadillac alone, I could just ride in it alone.”
Another uncle laughed. “Uh-oh! Guess she told you!”
“Oh, she’ll come around,” said one of my aunts. “Any woman would be proud to ride in this car.”
“That’s what I’m banking on,” said my father as he went around to the street side of the car and opened the door. “All right! Who’s for a ride?”
“We are!” Wilma and I cried.
All three of my uncles and one of my aunts, still holding her baby, and Mr. Pondexter climbed in with us and we took off for the first ride in the gold Cadillac. It was a glorious ride and we drove all through the city of Toledo. We rode past the church and past the school. We rode through Ottawa Hills where the rich folks lived and on into Walbridge Park and past the zoo, then along the Maumee River. But none of us had had enough of the car so my father put the car on the road and we drove all the way to Detroit. We had plenty of family there and everybody was just as pleased as could be about the Cadillac. My father told our Detroit relatives that he was in the doghouse with my mother about buying the Cadillac. My uncles told them she wouldn’t ride in the car. All the Detroit family thought that was funny and everybody, including my father, laughed about it and said my mother would come around.
It was early evening by the time we got back home, and I could see from my mother’s face she had not come around. She was angry now not only about the car, but that we had been gone so long. I didn’t understand that, since my father had called her as soon as we reached Detroit to let her know where we were. I had heard him myself. I didn’t understand either why she did not like that fine Cadillac and thought she was being terribly disagreeable with my father. That night as she tucked Wilma and me in bed I told her that too.
“Is this your business?” she asked.
“Well, I just think you ought to be nice to Daddy. I think you ought to ride in that car with him! It’d sure make him happy.”
“I think you ought to go to sleep,” she said and turned out the light.
Later I heard her arguing with my father. “We’re supposed to be saving for a house!” she said.
“We’ve already got a house!” said my father.
“But you said you wanted a house in a better neighborhood. I thought that’s what we both said!”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Well, you have a mighty funny way of saving for it, then. Your brothers are saving for houses of their own and you don’t see them out buying new cars every year!”
“We’ll still get the house, Dee. That’s a promise!”
“Not with new Cadillacs we won’t!” said my mother and then she said a very loud good night and all was quiet.
The next day was Sunday and everybody figured that my mother would be sure to give in and ride in the Cadillac. After all, the family always went to church together on Sunday. But she didn’t give in. What was worse she wouldn’t let Wilma and me ride in the Cadillac either. She took us each by the hand, walked past the Cadillac where my father stood waiting and headed on toward the church, three blocks away. I was really mad at her now. I had been looking forward to driving up to the church in that gold Cadillac and having everybody see.
On most Sunday afternoons during the summertime, my mother, my father, Wilma, and I would go for a ride. Sometimes we just rode around the city and visited friends and family. Sometimes we made short trips over to Chicago or Peoria or Detroit to see relatives there or to Cleveland where we had relatives too, but we could also see the Cleveland Indians play. Sometimes we joined our aunts and uncles and drove in a caravan out to the park or to the beach. At the park or the beach Wilma and I would run and play. My mother and my aunts would spread a picnic and my father and my uncles would shine their cars.
But on this Sunday afternoon my mother refused to ride anywhere. She told Wilma and me that we could go. So we left her alone in the big, empty house, and the family cars, led by the gold Cadillac, headed for the park. For a while I played and had a good time, but then I stopped playing and went to sit with my father. Despite his laughter he seemed sad to me. I think he was missing my mother as much as I was.
That evening my father took my mother to dinner down at the corner café. They walked. Wilma and I stayed at the house chasing fireflies in the backyard. My aunts and uncles sat in the yard and on the porch, talking and laughing about the day and watching us. It was a soft summer’s evening, the kind that came every day and was expected. The smell of charcoal and of barbecue drifting from up the block, the sound of laughter and music and talk drifting from yard to yard were all a part of it. Soon one of my uncles joined Wilma and me in our chase of fireflies and when my mother and father came home we were at it still. My mother and father watched us for a while, while everybody else watched them to see if my father would take out the Cadillac and if my mother would slide in beside him to take a ride. But it soon became evident that the dinner had not changed my mother’s mind. She still refused to ride in the Cadillac. I just couldn’t understand her objection to it.
Though my mother didn’t like the Cadillac, everybody else in the neighborhood certainly did. That meant quite a few folks too, since we lived on a very busy block. On one corner was a grocery store, a cleaner’s, and a gas station. Across the street was a beauty shop and a fish market, and down the street was a bar, another grocery store, the Dixie Theater, the café, and a drugstore. There were always people strolling to or from one of these places and because our house was right in the middle of the block just about everybody had to pass our house and the gold Cadillac. Sometimes people took in the Cadillac as they walked, their heads turning for a longer look as they passed. Then there were people who just outright stopped and took a good look before continuing on their way. I was proud to say that car belonged to my family. I felt mighty important as people called to me as I ran down the street. “’Ey, ’lois! How’s that Cadillac, girl? Riding fine?” I told my mother how much everybody liked that car. She was not impressed and made no comment.
Since just about everybody on the block knew everybody else, most folks knew that my mother wouldn’t ride in the Cadillac. Because of that, my father took a lot of good-natured kidding from the men. My mother got kidded too as the women said if she didn’t ride in that car, maybe some other woman would. And everybody laughed about it and began to bet on who would give in first, my mother or my father. But then my father said he was going to drive the car south into Mississippi to visit my grandparents and everybody stopped laughing.
My uncles stopped.
So did my aunts.
Everybody.
“Look here, Wilbert,” said one of my uncles, “it’s too dangerous. It’s like putting a loaded gun to your head.”
“I paid good money for that car,” said my father. “That gives me a right to drive it where I please. Even down to Mississippi.”
My uncles argued with him and tried to talk him out of driving the car south. So did my aunts and so did the neighbors, Mr. LeRoy, Mr. Courtland, and Mr. Pondexter. They said it was a dangerous thing, a mighty dangerous thing, for a black man to drive an expensive car into the rural South.
“Not much those folks hate more’n to see a northern Negro coming down there in a fine car,” said Mr. Pondexter. “They see those Ohio license plates, they’ll figure you coming down uppity, trying to lord your fine car over them!”
I listened, but I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why they didn’t want my father to drive that car south. It was his.
“Listen to Pondexter, Wilbert!” cried another uncle. “We might’ve fought a war to free people overseas, but we’re not free here! Man, those white folks down south’ll lynch you soon’s look at you. You know that!”
Wilma and I looked at
each other. Neither one of us knew what lynch meant, but the word sent a shiver through us. We held each other’s hand.
My father was silent, then he said: “All my life I’ve had to be heedful of what white folks thought. Well, I’m tired of that. I worked hard for everything I got. Got it honest, too. Now I got that Cadillac because I liked it and because it meant something to me that somebody like me from Mississippi could go and buy it. It’s my car, I paid for it, and I’m driving it south.”
My mother, who had said nothing through all this, now stood. “Then the girls and I’ll be going too,” she said.
“No!” said my father.
My mother only looked at him and went off to the kitchen.
My father shook his head. It seemed he didn’t want us to go. My uncles looked at each other, then at my father. “You set on doing this, we’ll all go,” they said. “That way we can watch out for each other.” My father took a moment and nodded. Then my aunts got up and went off to their kitchens too.
All the next day my aunts and my mother cooked and the house was filled with delicious smells. They fried chicken and baked hams and cakes and sweet potato pies and mixed potato salad. They filled jugs with water and punch and coffee. Then they packed everything in huge picnic baskets along with bread and boiled eggs, oranges and apples, plates and napkins, spoons and forks and cups. They placed all that food on the back seats of the cars. It was like a grand, grand picnic we were going on, and Wilma and I were mighty excited. We could hardly wait to start.
My father, my mother, Wilma, and I got into the Cadillac. My uncles, my aunts, my cousins got into the Ford, the Buick, and the Chevrolet, and we rolled off in our caravan headed south. Though my mother was finally riding in the Cadillac, she had no praise for it. In fact, she said nothing about it at all. She still seemed upset and since she still seemed to feel the same about the car, I wondered why she had insisted upon making this trip with my father.
We left the city of Toledo behind, drove through Bowling Green and down through the Ohio countryside of farms and small towns, through Dayton and Cincinnati, and across the Ohio River into Kentucky. On the other side of the river my father stopped the car and looked back at Wilma and me and said, “Now from here on, whenever we stop and there’re white people around, I don’t want either one of you to say a word. Not one word! Your mother and I’ll do all the talking. That understood?”
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