by Darrel Bird
himself a sandwich and a pot of coffee, and sat down at the desk in the corner of the room. He had found an old Crosley radio in the bottom of his closet under some sacking. He hooked it up, and it worked. He found a station that was giving the news, and he heard the announcer say that President Johnson had called for more troops in the escalation of the Vietnam War. He knew he was subject to the draft, but he figured the “no good gov’ment” probably couldn’t find him, as he was not even sure where he was.
“Oh Father, give me the chance to do what I need to do here for these people,” Jerry prayed. He had learned that the previous teacher, who had lived there three years, had been a recluse, and he had only taught one token day each week. The sum total of his teaching appeared to have been hatred, which might help to explain the prevailing suspicion of Jerry. He wondered if the Lord had sent him to teach or to preach. Probably both, he thought. Or maybe neither, as he had only one grown student to teach so far. “Well…that’s one,” he said to himself.
He also decided to hold church in the schoolhouse. He would teach during the week and preach on Sunday, complete with Sunday school. He would announce it to whoever showed up for school the next day.
The next morning, as he carried his cup of black coffee toward the schoolhouse, he noticed an old bicycle standing next to the front door. He entered the schoolhouse, and there were nine kids of different ages standing around Sarah Johnson, watching her breast-feed her baby. He counted four boys and five girls, who all turned to stare at him as he came through the door.
“Good morning, kids. My name is Jerry Brooks.”
“We know who you is, Mr. Cherrybooks. Sarah done tole us,” the oldest boy replied. The rest of the children went silent as they stared at him.
“Where are your books?” Jerry asked.
One of the oldest girls picked at her fingernails and looked shyly up at him. “We don’t got no books, ’cept Wayne there. He got a geography book with pictures in it.”
Jerry’s heart dropped like a ton of lead as he looked at these children. The ‘no good gov’ment’ has abandoned these poor kids, he thought. Well, I have always been resourceful, if nothing else.
“How many of you have a Bible?” he asked.
“My mamma got one,” said one child.
“My grandpa got one,” said another.
The rest of the kids turned and looked admiringly at the two who had spoken.
“What we want an ol’ Bible fo’?” the oldest boy asked. He looked to be about twelve. “We cain’t make out the words on it.”
“I’ll teach you how to read it,” Jerry replied.
“Boy, won’t that be something! We could pretend like we had us a church ag’in,” one of the girls offered. And as Jerry looked around at these starved souls, Mr. Cherrybooks felt himself called to be more preacher than teacher.
By the third day they had scraped up four Bibles, including his own, and a plan began to formulate in Jerry’s mind.
“OK, kids, lets all gather around my desk, and we will begin learning your letters and numbers. The first letter will be J, for Jesus, the second letter will be M, for Moses and the third letter will be S, for Sarah.” Jerry began to plot his course. He began reading the Bible to them, teaching them letters and numbers as he read to them. He would teach school straight out of the Bible: J for Jesus, M for Moses, D for David, in a singsong fashion. “J for Jesus, slap your leg! P for praises, raise your hands!”
The day after he found the radio, Miss Ella had marched into the schoolroom and evicted little Grover from his seat and sat down. They had ten school desks, but Miss Voodoo wasn’t about to fail to show who was boss.
“Good morning, Miss Ella,” Jerry greeted her. And the kids were already so used to miming what he said that they spoke in unison, “Good mawnin’, Miss Ella.”
It confused the old voodoo woman, and she almost fell out of the small seat she occupied. But she said nothing, just sat there glaring at him out of her coal black eyes.
Jerry continued, “Let’s pray.” He prayed for the kids and the community, and he sent up a special prayer for their guest. Then he pulled out his Bible, and the kids gathered around his desk. Little James promptly sat down next to him and peed his pants. Oh, well, they would just have to contend with the smell for the rest of the day.
“Whut dat you teachin’ out of, Whitey?” Voodoo asked. Sarah looked back at her then hung her head in embarrassment. The children went silent. The old building gave a creak in the rafters as if it were about to blow its top.
“Miss Ella, this is the Bible. We have one geography book and four Bibles in this whole community, and so, with respect Ma’am, it is the Bible.”
Miss Ella fidgeted in her chair. “I don’t lack dat. I don’t lacks dat at all, Whitey.”
“Miss Ella! My name is Jerry Brooks.”
“I don’t keer who you is, Whitey, you ain’t teachin’ my babies outa dat book!”
Her eyes burned like two coals in a black bucket. Jerry prayed silently for the answer.
“Miss Ella, perhaps you could go over to Mound and purchase some school books for us? We would all appreciate it, wouldn’t we kids?”
The kids hung their heads, but all mumbled “Yes’m.”
“I sho’ would like one, Miss Ella,” Sarah said, looking right square into her eyes. Sarah was sharp and she had caught on. Old Voodoo looked confused and agitated. She knew she didn’t have a dime and she was going to admit that to nobody, not Jerry nor the devil himself. She looked off over at the corner of the room and pursed her lips trying to think while she recovered.
“I guess we gone have to use de Bible, since de no good gov’ment done cheated us ag’in.” And she got up and marched out the door, head held high.
“Mistuh Cherrybooks, I is sorry for the way Miss Ella acted tawed you.”
“Am sorry, Sarah. A for Aaron. Am. Don’t let it bother you.”
The children all looked at her and shook their heads in unison.
“Am,” she said.
That very next Sunday Jerry held his first church service in the old school house. A few people came besides the children, and Miss Ella was one of them. She took a chair from one of the adults and glared at Jerry out of her coal black eyes. Jerry preached about the salvation of Jesus Christ. It was his first ever sermon on that topic, or on any topic, for that matter.
The next morning, Monday, two more adults showed up as school was beginning, and soon they were reciting right along as the children repeated in their sing song fashion: J for Jesus….
The next week Jerry ran out of seats. It seemed to him that half The Island broke out to get some schooling, old Voodoo among them. By that time he had them singing, “J for Jesus,” clap, clap, clap! “P for his praises,” slap, slap, slap!
He had students sitting all around on the floor, and that’s when Miss Ella had had enough of it. She announced that someone was to go down to Lew’s place, on the other end of The Island, and tell him to make some cane-bottomed chairs, or else! Lew didn’t want to find out what the “or else” was, and so he made eight cane-bottomed chairs and delivered them in his farm wagon. He ’lowed if Miss Ella needed any more to “Jis’ holler.”
Miss Ella didn’t quite know how to respond to the change that began to take place. People began smiling at her as they passed her on her morning walk, so she just took to smiling back at them.
“Howdy, Miss Ella. It sho’ is hot, ain’t it?”
“Laws Jake, ain’t it jis’ some.” She smiled like a mule eating saw briars. She didn’t know why she smiled, but she did.
The end of the month came and it was time for Jerry to submit his monthly report to Mr. Farnsworth over in Mound. He dressed in the best he had and waited by the docks for Mr. Glendening to come with the boat. By the time Mr. Glendening picked him up the sun was high in the morning sky. Egrets wheeled and dove over the water.
Mr. Glendening smiled at him as he pulled up to the dock and Jerry jumped on th
e boat. Mr. Glendening continued smiling at him as they rode along.
“Boy, I been hearin’ about you out heah.” All of a sudden his face turned very serious. “Boy, you got somthin stirred up heah, and you better watch yourself.”
Jerry gazed into the somber eyes of the old man.
“What do you mean Mr. Glendening?”
“Boy, you don’t improve the lives of these people ‘thout the Klan knowin’ about it. The Klan gonna come after you like flies on stink, and they may hurt you and them people.”
“Why?”
“Boy, that’s the way it is. They don’t want you helping them people. They just plain mean about it. They want to keep them down an’ uneducated an’ sich.”
“Why?”
“Boy, I jus’ told you, the Klan is just dog mean. They born that way, an’ they gonna die that way. Their mammies should of whopped their heads over a cypress root when they was borned.”
They arrived at the Mound dock about noon. Mr. Glendening looked around fearfully and then shook his hand.
“Good luck to you, son.” He had a strange look in his eyes as if it would be the last time he saw Jerry. Jerry wondered about this as he ate his first