“Prez! Are you punkin’ out on us, man?”
“What you sayin’, man? You ain’t gonna fight no mo’?”
“Damn, Prez. Did that shit up on the corner get in your head, man?”
Prez had no ready answer for any of those questions from his crowd. All he knew was that what Debra was saying about that preacher in the South was making him feel different than he had ever felt before.
“My daddy,” continued Debra, “says that it takes a braver person to be non-violent than violent.” For once Debra was catching a glimpse of a different person under the tough-guy face that everyone knew as Prez the street-fighter. For once she felt as though she was reaching a place inside of him that neither she nor anyone else had ever reached before. She felt a sense of power. But she was also scared of where this whole new thing would lead.
“Hey, is this a party? Ain’t nobody cut up on the dance floor in the last fifteen minutes. Let’s dance, y’all!” Tons was ever ready to dance and act the fool. “Where’s that Clyde McPhatter?”
Just then Tons’s father came downstairs.
“Ellis just heard; old man Chambers died.”
The floor of Tons’s basement became the subject of intense scrutiny again. Only Prez’s eyes locked onto Mr. Murray’s.
“Who’s gonna tell his family?”
“I don’t know, son.”
Mr. Murray turned to go back up the stairs.
“But somebody’s got to tell his family that the cops killed him!”
“Preston Junior!” Mattie had wisely thought to come downstairs behind Mr. Murray. “I’m sure someone will notify that poor man’s family. It’s a shame what happened to him.”
“Mama, they killed him like he was nothing. And then they shot Al down like he was a dog or something.”
“Preston Junior, I’m telling you that there’s nothing we can do about any of that. We just have to let things run their course.”
“What course is that, Mama? The same one you told me and Gussie was gonna tell us who killed my daddy?”
Mattie hit Prez so hard everybody felt it but Prez. “Mama, you should stop hitting me. You only hurt yourself, ’cause it don’t hurt me.”
“Listen, son, you shouldn’t talk to your mother like that.” Ellis had made his way downstairs with the rest of the adults. He went right up to Prez, got in between Mattie and Prez and pointed his finger at Prez, mashing his finger into the frontal knob of Prez’s nose.
Quicker than lightning, Prez swatted Ellis’s finger away and pushed Ellis back.
“Oh my god, Prez!” exclaimed Debra in a state of shock, “Have you gone crazy?”
“Get outta my face!” said Prez to Ellis. “You’re not my father!”
Prez lunged at Ellis. Mr. Murray grabbed him by the arm.
“Ellis, that boy is hurting.”
“I know, Wellington. I know.” He walked over to Prez with his arms outstretched.
Prez was frozen. He seemed to neither blink nor breathe. “I know you’re feeling bad, son. It’s not something that is easy to get over. Seeing someone you know, a friend, get hurt like that. Get shot. We’ve seen our share, haven’t we, Joe?”
“Sure have,” said Mr. Murray.
Mr. Murray placed his forefinger to his lips. Then he pointed over to where Ellis and Prez were standing. Ellis had his arms around Prez. Prez’s head was tilted back as if his body was wracked with pain. His fists were clenched. His mouth was wide open, but no sound emerged. Tears were streaming down his face.
Gussie went over to his big brother and hugged him from behind. “Don’t be sad, Prez. Okay?”
It was only then that Prez’s fists unclenched, his body relaxed, and he returned Ellis’s embrace.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Perkins. I’m sorry I pushed you.”
Then he turned around, bent down and said to his little brother, “Gussie, I’m never going to let those cops hurt you, ever. Okay?” Gussie gave him a big smile. Gussie could smile like the sun. It was impossible for Gussie to smile and it not become contagious. Prez smiled back at him and hugged him.
22
Washington, D.C., Fall 1959
At the home opener basketball game Prez had Debra’s dancing on his mind as he watched her swish her booty and kick up her heels as captain of Eliot Junior High School’s basketball cheerleaders.
It was halftime and a perfect moment for his boys to get on him about his feelings for Debra.
“Hey, Prez. What’s happenin’, man? What you doing in that art class with the rest o’ them sop-assed sissies? What you tryin’ ta prove, my man? You tryin’ to show Miss Deb how sophisticated you can be o’ somethin’?”
“Yeah, man. You s’pose to be some bad-assed thumper and you already pussy-whipped by that sweet little Debra. Wid her phat self. Now, ain’t cha, Prez? C’mon, man. You can square wid us, man. We yo’ boys.”
“Ah, man. She sure can shake that booty, though, Prez. Check it out, man. Look at that action. That’s the only reason you come to the games. Huh, Prez?”
There were eleven other girls on the cheerleading squad and they were all fine, phat, and funky with their stylish, sensual athleticism. But, to Prez, none of them even came close to Debra.
“Y’all should be cool, you know. Stop buggin’ me about Debra. And leave my art class alone. You know? Just shut up about all that stuff, man!”
“Look out, y’all. Git ready ta run. Prez is gettin’ a little peed off, now.”
“Hey, man. I got my hat. I’m ready to fly, man.”
“Hey, Prez. You wouldn’t whup on your own boys, now would ya . . . jus’ ’cause you all hung up on sweet Miss Deb, now?”
As the game clock wound down, Eliot Junior High was leading Peabody Junior High by just a few points.
Someone on the Peabody side obviously thought they could rattle the Eliot team with catcalling, booing, and threats. Prez looked across the floor at the loudest mouths and took note. Some of them he recognized as being members of the Anacostia Serpents and well into their high school years. This bothered him because he knew there was going to be trouble after the game and he couldn’t enjoy being there, not even with sweet Debra in front of him.
“Y’all check out those Serpents over there?” queried one of Prez’s crew in a rather excited voice.
“You’re just seeing them, now Dee Cee?” said Prez. “Man, they’ve been there the whole game.”
“What ’cha think, Prez? Why all them Serpents here, man?” inquired “Sticks” Wheeler, who would have been playing if it were not for deep animosity between himself and the coach.
A few of the Serpents took out rubber bands and used them to shoot broken paper clips all the way across the gym floor and up into the bleachers. One of the Eliot players had been struck and was bent over holding his face. Prez and his crew stood and glared at the Serpents on the other side of the gymnasium.
His attention was drawn to a seated figure whose face was buried beneath the brim of a cap. He sat slumped in the front row with his hands jammed down into his pants pockets. He only sprang to life when, by customary show of friendship, the two cheerleading squads swapped sides and the Eliot Junior High School Strutters went over to the Peabody side of the gym to perform. Just as Debra was making her way past the bleachers where the Serpents were sitting, this fellow stood up right in Debra’s path and took off his baseball cap. She stopped and looked into his face with surprise. It was obvious that they knew each other. This fellow, with his moderate height, light honey-brown skin, heavily lashed and browed eyes, and a head full of wavy hair, was “super fine” by the standards black girls imposed upon the Negro male populace. He swayed and swooned all around Debra as he spoke to her with a big toothy smile. There was an instant where a frown appeared when Debra turned and pointed over towards where Prez and his boys were standing and this fellow looked up. Just be
fore she turned to join her cheerleading squad, this fellow planted a big kiss on her cheek. She laughed and trotted off. He stood for just another moment and scowled at Prez. He then made two fists, held them waist-high and bowed ever so slightly at Prez as if a karate match were about to begin. Prez stood, made a fist with his right hand and extended his arm so that his fist pointed at this fellow. It was Prez’s signature gesture of challenge.
“Sticks. Hey, Sticks, man.”
“Yeah, Prez?”
“I want you to cut out, man.”
“What! What are you talkin’ about, man?”
“There’s gonna be some shit after the game, man, and I don’t want you involved.”
“Prez, man, what you talking about, man? If anything goes down I’m right here with you and the boys.”
“Yeah, man. I know. You one of us, always, but I don’t want you involved in this kind of thing, man. Basketball is your gift and getting into trouble isn’t what you’re supposed to do!”
“Prez, goddammit. I’m with y’all all the way, man.”
“Sticks! I said split, man. We’ll catch you later over at Tons’s place, okay? Now, cut out, man. Go on!” Sticks left, just as Prez knew he would.
#
One of the advantages of being the basketball coach and the vice-principal was that Mr. Schnapple could switch hats any time he needed to. Coach Schnapple, forewarned by an incredibly intuitive Debra, became Vice-Principal Schnapple, and followed the students out of the gymnasium and onto the schoolyard where Prez and “Super Fine” were going to fight.
There had already been some pushing, jostling, and missed punches thrown by members of both sides, but the showcase fight featuring Prez and the super-fine leader of the Serpents was about to get under way.
“You ready, shorty? You ready to get your ass whipped?” swaggered the Serpent.
Prez was in his trance-like state. He just stared at Super Fine. He noticed a prominent scar over his opponent’s left eyebrow and guessed that his opponent was susceptible to a right hand and would overreact to a feint to that side.
They squared off and Prez twitched his right shoulder, faking a right-hand lead, and came right behind it with a left hook. Bam!
Super Fine went down. Hard.
“Damn, Prez sure flattened that fool, man!”
“Oh shit, man, did you see that fake he put on the sucker, man? Oh, shit!”
“One punch, man. Prez just threw one shot, man!”
“I think Prez broke something on that sucker, man. Did you hear that crack, man?”
Super Fine had rolled over onto his knees. The leader of the Serpents mumbled as he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Don’t worry, punk, I’m gonna git up and whip your little, short, black ass.” He kept rubbing his jaw line, and then mumbled, “Oh shit, my jaw, man. You did something to my jaw! I’m really gonna kick your black ass, now.”
“Stay down, stupid, and I’ll just walk away and we’ll consider this over. But if you keep talking shit, you won’t leave here on your feet,” said Prez.
“I’m getting up, you punk.” His speech was even more of a mumble, and slurry now. “I’m gonna kick your ass! I know karate. You caught me when I wasn’t ready.”
“Well, alright then, get on up. Your karate ass is mine!”
“Frederick! Frederick! You stop that fighting right now!”
Just when the Serpent leader had righted himself upon two wobbly legs, Prez had simply walked up to him and let go with a thunderous uppercut.
“I said stop that fighting, Frederick!”
Mr. Schnapple turned to Prez with hateful scorn in his eyes and blurted out, “You’re just a common thug, a common street tough who needs to be put away!”
“Mr. Schnapple,” said a voice from the crowd, “the other guy started it.”
“Yeah,” said another, “he doesn’t even go to this school and he’s here causing trouble.”
“Frederick!” asked another. “Who the fuck is Frederick?”
“What’s with you, Mr. Schnapple? The other guy is wrong. Prez goes to our school, not the other dude!”
When he looked deeply into the face of white Mr. Schnapple, he realized that the Serpent he had just knocked senseless was Mr. Schnapple’s son. He looked around and saw the look of absolute horror on Debra’s face, and instantly knew that she knew the whole story, too. Prez sensed that his fists had just handed him a Pyrrhic victory.
“You’re fighting on school property, Mr. Downs. Your hoodlum ways are going to land you in big trouble this time. I’m calling the police!” Mr. Schnapple was livid.
“Preston! How could you?” blurted Debra. She had never called him Preston before.
“Preston? Who the fuck is Preston?” came a query from the crowd.
All the teachers called him Downs or Mr. Downs, and all the kids called him Prez. It was always that way. No one called him Preston except his mother. His grandmother and uncles all still called him Little Preston, or Preston Junior. But no one else called him Preston.
He walked over to Debra and looked at her with pleading eyes. “What’s wrong with you, Debra?”
“All you know how to do is beat people up. God, Preston. You could have killed him!”
The crowd was behind Prez all the way.
“Aw, what’s wrong with you, Mr. Schnapple, the other guy is wrong, not Prez.”
“Nobody supposed to come around our school from outside causing trouble.”
“The other guy is bigger and older than Prez, Mr. Schnapple! C’mon, man, it’s the other guy’s fault.”
Debra would not stop. “You didn’t have to hit him again, Preston. You could have just walked away.”
“He could’ve too, Debra. Stop calling me Preston, will you?”
“I’ll call you whatever I want. What are you going to do, beat me up, too?”
“Debra, what is wrong with you?
All of a sudden, Prez felt as if the crowd were spinning in an ever-tightening swirling mass around his head. Voices faded in and out of his consciousness. He started feeling dizzy and closed his eyes to regain his balance. Just then a big, heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Come into my office, will you, Mr. Downs?”
It was Principal Moses. In a strange way, Prez was relieved to see him. Prez followed him through the crowd, up the big, wide steps and down the “corridors of learning.”
Hot on their heels, like a man possessed, was Mr. Schnapple.
“John, I’m calling the police on that little hoodlum!”
“Wait a minute, Fred. Can we go into my office and talk about this? I do have the situation under control.”
“Well, you didn’t out there in the school yard. You weren’t even out there.”
“But you were, Fred. You were out there even before any punches were thrown and could have stepped in long before you did. Why didn’t you?”
This made Prez sit straight up and pay attention.
“Maybe we should come into my office and talk this whole thing over. That’s now a formal request, Vice-Principal Schnapple. Fred. Let’s go.”
Prez could hear a lot of shouting. Something banged on something. Then more shouting. Then a prolonged period of quieter conversation. After what seemed like a very long time, Prez heard a door open and looked towards Principal Moses’s office, expecting to see them both emerging, only to realize it was the sound of the main office door behind him opening from the corridor.
“How you doing, Little Man?”
Prez leapt to his feet.
“Uncle Cadge, man, oh, man! What’re you doing here? Oh, man. I’m so glad to see you. I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”
It had been about three years since Prez had seen his grandmother or his uncles. It had been about three years since his daddy died.
“Your mother called. She asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming over here to your school to pick you up today. She thought it would be a good idea if the two of us spent some time talking about things, you know?”
“Ahh, so you’re Preston’s older brother. I’m J.J. Moses, the principal here at Eliot Junior High School.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Cadgie Williams. Yeah, you got that right, his older brother, but not his oldest brother. That’d be Detroit. I understand he played ball over at Dunbar with your older brother way back when indoor gyms still had dirt floors.”
“Oh, man. You got that right,” chuckled Principal Moses. “Those guys are about that old, now aren’t they?” He chuckled some more. “Please come with me so that we can talk about your nephew.”
“Sure, Principal Moses.” He looked at Prez and gave him a wink.
Prez sat in the office waiting for the adults to finish their talking. At the base of his skull he felt the dull throbbing of an oncoming headache. He hadn’t had one since they’d moved from Sherman Avenue. He tried and failed to think of something pleasant. He realized that his pleasant thoughts seemed to revolve around Debra and today she had let him down. Now his thoughts of Debra only caused him pain. He resolved never again to have a girl as a pleasant thought.
“Let’s go, Little Man.”
Prez hadn’t even heard them come out of the office. He had been leaning his head back against a metal file cabinet. It was cold, and cold on his head always made it feel better.
“But before we leave,” said Cadgie, “You have something to say, don’t you? And it’s more than just, ‘I’m sorry.’ We need to know this won’t happen again.”
Vice-Principal Schnapple stared at him, stone-faced and rigid-jawed. Principal Moses seemed very calm.
“I’m sorry about what happened. Even though I didn’t start the trouble by myself, I’m sorry it happened.”
Prez turned to walk out the door, but his uncle blocked his path.
Prez grimaced at his uncle, then turned around and said, “And I won’t fight on school property any more . . .” Prez let that sentence trail off and felt like a punk for not saying everything he meant to say. Then he continued, “But I won’t stand around and let somebody beat up on me or any of my friends.”
Exile Blues Page 13