by Aaron Dixon
Rise from the ashes is what the Black Panther Party did better than any other organization. It was in our nature always to recover, always to land on our feet. It was the spirit embodied in the party’s philosophy, which was to dare to struggle, dare to win. The fight for freedom is one of the strongest desires on this earth, and with such a wind at our backs, we would provide the sails and ride this revolutionary vehicle as far as we could—and in most of our minds the ride would end only in victory or death.
Elaine laid down the strategy with confidence, empowering the rest of us. One of her first moves was to fill the vacancies on the Central Committee. Most of the new appointees were women, some of whom were the brightest and most commanding of the remaining party members—sisters like Phyllis Jackson from Tacoma, Norma Armour and Joan Kelly from Los Angeles, and Donna Howell from Boston, as well as Ericka Huggins, who was appointed director of the Oakland Community School.
Elaine had already begun to rebuild the military unit of the party by designating Comrade Bethune from Detroit as chief of staff. Big Bob from Boston and Flores Forbes were to be assistants to the chief of staff. I remember my first encounter with Bethune. It was at the child development center, the Panther day care at the big house on 10th Street in Berkeley, the same house where Tanya and I had stayed with the chairman and Randy Williams in ’69. I remember how dutifully and gently Bethune changed the diapers of the Panther babies, wiped snotty noses, and fed the children. In that environment he had been so full of humility; now, he was head of all the military and disciplinary aspects of the party.
Bethune and Flores came to visit me at Central several days after Elaine’s accession. I wondered what they wanted and why they were smiling.
“Hey, A. D.,” Flores called out, sticking out his hand for one of his very soft handshakes. “Hey, man. You were chosen to be Elaine’s bodyguard and to be on the squad.”
“Good. Right on, man,” I replied, unsure if I wanted this glorified position, knowing all too well the dangers of being on the security squad.
That night Flores came by the apartment where I was living with my new girlfriend, Lola. “Hey, man. Look through these books and let me know what kind of piece you want,” he said as he handed me several issues of Guns & Ammo. He pulled out his piece and handed it to me. “A. D., I have a 1911 Colt .45.”
The .45 automatic handgun was the preferred choice of most of the comrades; a few favored the Browning 9mm automatic. I finally settled on a Colt Combat Commander, which was shorter and more compact than the standard .45 automatic. With black rubber grips and a brushed silver finish, it was a beautiful weapon and would become my faithful companion for the next four years.
In the earlier years of the party, when the government was trying to annihilate us, every Panther was expected to take up arms and know how to use them, break them down, and clean them. There was no distinction between the day-to-day work and picking up a gun. As we shifted our focus to developing the Survival Programs and organizing in the churches, Black businesses, and political campaigns, the party began to shed the image of the urban guerrilla. In effect, we put our guns in the closet and instead drew upon the talents of our members to develop the programs and strategies for moving the community forward.
Now, the party’s weaponry was largely the province of the security squad, focused on protecting the party leaders, ensuring the security of the party’s facilities, and taxing the illegitimate capitalists, usually after-hours club owners or drug dealers. The toughest, most seasoned comrades were selected for the squad. I learned later that Flores, Valentine, and others had lobbied on my behalf for some time, but Huey had always objected. This had probably worked to my benefit, as the closer you were to the flame, the more likely to get burned. A handful of others were also newly recruited to the security squad: Clark “Santa Rita” Bailey; Tim Thomson; Allen “House Man” Lewis; Lamar and Leonard Donaldson, two brothers from San Francisco; George Robinson; Rollins Reid and Tex from Detroit; and Ellis White and his son Darnell White, who was the oldest of the Panther kids and now, as a young adult, was elected to be a full-time Panther. There was an attempt to reenlist Valentine, but we had no way of contacting him.
One of the first steps for Flores as head of security was making sure the party’s arsenal was secure. Before the collapse, about a year earlier, the Oakland police had raided the house on 29th Street and seized a cache of weapons. The rest had been scattered throughout the East Bay and only a few people knew the exact locations. Flores slowly began to secure the party’s illegal weapons, many of which had been left in deplorable condition. Working mostly in the dead of night, Flores traveled from location to location, cleaning, wrapping, breaking down, and concealing the armaments. He would take an assistant with him, constantly alternating assistants so no one aside from himself knew more than one or two locations of the weaponry. Over time, everything was successfully secured.
Going into my new position, I knew not to take Elaine’s mood for granted. I vividly remember the second time we met, at Central Headquarters on Peralta, right after the split with Eldridge. Tension and paranoia were running high. That day I was the acting OD, filling in for Robert Bay and trying to coordinate the rides for the morning activities, a task that could sometimes be very complicated. The two most important rides were those to take the Panther children and staff to school and, equally important, to get the layout of the paper to the printers. Through no one’s fault, the ride for the newspaper delivery was late. Elaine, who was the acting minister of information and had been working all night on the paper, lit into me with profanity. I had never been cursed out in such a manner. Having stayed up all night as well, I responded with my own barrage of profanity. Even so, the experience troubled me. Maybe I wasn’t used to such volatile exchanges between comrades, or maybe it was the fact that the person I was arguing with was Elaine Brown.
On a fall evening, I reported to work on my first assignment as Elaine’s bodyguard and driver. I had put on a suit and tie, as instructed, a cream-white, double-breasted suit. The engagement was the annual dinner of the California State Package Store and Tavern Owners Association (Cal-Pac), a large group of Black liquor store owners in the Bay Area. Former San Francisco 49er Gene Washington and his brother had founded the organization. Elaine, having announced another campaign for city council, felt it was highly important to garner the endorsement of Cal-Pac.
Elaine was an attractive person. She had a little-girl cuteness about her that men liked, yet when she opened her mouth she was an extremely articulate, decisive, and confident woman. She had facts and information to back up every point she made. I sat quietly as she addressed the audience of Black men, some of whom had been intimidated by the party in the not-too-distant past. Many of these liquor store owners had supported the Black lackey Otho Green, who had entered the mayoral race to draw votes away from Bobby Seale. Winning over these antirevolutionaries would not be easy.
After a dynamic speech and time spent talking with the leading members of Cal-Pac, it was quite evident that Elaine had won over not just Cal-Pac but, most important, the Washington brothers themselves, who owned the largest alcohol distributors in the Bay Area. The older of the two was Gene, a retired All-Pro. Another All-Pro, former Oakland Raider Gene Upshaw, also endorsed Elaine’s campaign. The Washington brothers not only threw their endorsement to Elaine but went on to sponsor many fundraising events for Elaine’s campaign.
After the near-victory of Chairman Bobby’s mayoral campaign, many Northern California politicians had taken note of the party’s ability to organize the community and get people to the polls. It was safe to say the Black Panther Party had a well-run political machine. A handful of Northern California state representatives and local politicians began to approach the party in the hope of gaining access to our ability to get out the vote, as well as receiving our endorsement.
The most significant candidate looking for support was Jerry Brown, a very unconventional politician, who was running for
governor. According to Elaine, Jerry Brown had worked with the Southern California chapter when he had served on the LA Community College Board of Trustees. The party gave Jerry Brown its support, and Elaine cultivated a political relationship that remained intact after he was elected governor in 1974. Upon taking office, Jerry Brown appointed as his right-hand legal counsel Tony Kline, who had also worked with the Southern California chapter as a law student. Elaine made frequent visits to Sacramento to meet with both of them. Jerry Brown was definitely not your normal, everyday politician. He turned down the traditional black limousine and driver, instead driving himself around in a light-blue ’73 Plymouth. He also refused to live in the governor’s mansion. He was a perfect fit at the right time for the party, and Elaine took smart advantage of this opportunity.
Within a year, Elaine had developed solid connections with many of the main power brokers in not only the Bay Area but Sacramento as well. Large corporations such as Clorox and its CEO, Robert Shetterly, a gray-haired white man who expressed an interest in the “new Oakland,” soon became additional feathers in the party’s cap. The time was ripe for Black political power in Oakland, and Elaine and the party represented the vanguard for the new Black politicos. The first victory for the party and the people was the election of John George, the party’s longtime lawyer, as the first Black member of the Oakland/Alameda County Board of Supervisors.
Under the guidance of Elaine, Ericka Huggins, and Donna Howell, the Oakland Community School gained a reputation as one of the finest community-based private elementary schools (K–6) in the country. Many of the students were poor and living in the projects, but a few were from middle- or upper-class families. The staff, a combination of Panthers and professional teachers, created a loving, encouraging environment. Most of the students flourished, eventually progressing academically beyond their normal age or grade bracket. Panther Joe Abron, an engineering graduate from Michigan State, created an award-winning science program, and the music program, under Charles Moffett’s genius direction, fielded an outstanding school band. The schoolchildren were provided with breakfast and lunch, and were picked up and dropped off by the school vans. Laundry services and clothing were provided for students from poor families.
Joan Kelly and Phyllis Jackson directed the Oakland Community Learning Center, housed in the same complex as the school. It gradually grew into an all-purpose resource for the community. With grant money, the center sponsored one of the first teen programs in Oakland, run by longtime community worker Johnny Stakes. The Teen Program engaged the most critical segment of the Black community: adolescents lacking the guidance and love to enable them to make it through the jungle of gangs, poverty, and racism. Employing several teens on the staff, the Teen Program blossomed, sponsoring weekly talent shows that allowed tremendously gifted young people an outlet for their creativity. The Teen Program also sponsored its own basketball team, coached by Panther Lonnie D, whose controlled coaching style bore a resemblance to that of Al Attles, the famed first Black coach of the San Francisco Warriors. Just like Attles, Lonnie D would walk around with a rolled-up newspaper in his hands. Two nights a week, the community center presented movie night, showing mostly Black flicks, charging fifty cents per person, and selling popcorn and hot dogs in the cafeteria.
Comrade Steve McCutchen from Baltimore, also known as “Little Masai,” ran the Martial Arts Program three days a week. More than a hundred young students from the 69th Street Village housing project and the surrounding community would line up in the cafeteria in their white uniforms, performing their katas. This was probably one of the community center’s most successful and most impressive programs. Not because it was teaching little Black kids how to kick and punch, but because it took these kids who were at high risk for gang- and drug-related activities and gave them discipline and purpose, as well as a strong sense of belonging.
Many notable and upcoming musicians used the auditorium for rehearsals: Lenny Williams, Frankie Beverly, Pete Escovedo, Sonny Rhodes, and John Lee Hooker. The community center also served as a meeting and conference site for many left organizations in the Bay Area, and it was not uncommon for the school to be visited by famous entertainers, such as Richard Pryor, or African dignitaries, including Sam Njomo of SWAPO, the Namibian independence movement.
The party received a large CETA grant that helped put about twenty comrades on the payroll, enabling them to afford to rent apartments or houses. This brought an end to the long-standing practice of communal living.
Elaine paid much more attention to the needs of the troops than had the earlier leadership. From the way things were progressing, it looked like we had a very real chance of capturing Oakland.
30
The Other Side of the Coin
There was a time, when peace was on the earth,
And joy and happiness did reign and each man knew his worth.
In my heart how I yearn for that spirit’s return
—Pharoah Sanders, “The Creator Has a Master Plan,” 1969
Enola Wilson, called Lola, was named by her retired military father after the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima. In spring 1969 Lola had left home, at the age of fourteen, and joined the Black Panther Party in Denver, Colorado. She survived the police raid on the Denver office before being sent to work in the New York chapter, where she worked under the tutelage of Sam Napier. On the chilly morning of April 15, 1971, she left the Corona, Queens, Panther office, heading into the field to sell papers. She left her son, little Damon, in the care of Sam Napier. When she returned, she found the office on fire, Sam Napier dead, and her son abandoned outside in the snow.
When I met Lola, in 1973, she was working in the party’s finance department in Oakland. She was pregnant by a comrade from Boston, Pete Alameda, who had left Oakland not long after the departures of Chairman Bobby and Tanya and Aaron Patrice.
I befriended Lola. I brought her all the things she needed for her newborn, and every evening I picked up Damon and Lola’s youngest sister, Valerie, from school, and brought them home. Soon after Lola had little Natalie, we fell in love. She was sweet, kind, and highly intelligent. Our relationship blossomed so much and so quickly that we became the envy of other comrades. In the party, few relationships lasted very long.
Having grown up in a two-parent family, part of me yearned for a more traditional family arrangement. I think many comrades at that time wanted a more family-oriented situation, particularly if there were kids involved. Yet we understood that, as such, it would need to fit within the revolutionary framework of our lives and work. Lola and I and the kids functioned as a family unit within the larger Panther family. These were some of the first times since joining the party that I actually sat down to watch TV. We went on picnics and sailed on Lake Merritt. We had many good times together. In the back of my mind, though, I always worried how long these good times would last.
When not with Lola and the kids, I was doing party work, and most of that time was spent with Elaine. Working for Elaine was the most difficult job assignment I’d ever had or would ever have. She was an extremely demanding perfectionist and at times very difficult to work with. My day would start at 8 a.m. with picking up Janice Banks, Elaine’s administrative assistant, who was from the DC chapter, then stopping at the newsstand on 14th and Broadway to pick up copies of the New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, and the Oakland Tribune. Next, we would stop at the home of Norma Armour, the party’s finance officer, to pick up Elaine’s $25 per diem. Then we would head to Elaine’s penthouse on Caldecott Lane in the Oakland hills, where she had her office. When we got there, Janice would go through the newspapers and cut out any articles that might be relevant to the party for Elaine to read.
My attire was always suit and tie. My hair and grooming had to be neat and perfect. Elaine met with many corporate heads to solicit money for the school and the campaign. And there were numerous trips to Sacramento to meet with Governor Jerry Brown, his legal affairs
secretary Tony Kline, and Speaker of the House Leo McCarthy, as well as the future speaker, Willie Brown, known as the best-dressed politician in Sacramento. There was the campaign trail and meetings in private homes and pool halls. Most weeknights I did not get in until 2 a.m. Saturday nights and Sundays I got to spend time with Lola and the kids.
While Elaine was making her mark on the political and social landscape of Northern California, another face of the party was at work in the underbelly. The military wing, or the “cadre,” as it was now called, was also establishing a new identity for itself. Under the leadership of Bethune, Flores Forbes, and Big Bob, the cadre attempted to maintain the party’s influence over the wild streets of the East Bay. That meant the continued taxing of illegitimate capitalists. I recall one early-morning excursion to ambush an individual who was resisting the taxation. Three of us waited in hiding outside the home of the owner of a large after-hours club who had stopped paying his dues. We wanted to send him a message. I was the driver, so when he came out, the others opened up with handguns. He returned fire, then retreated to his house and we took off.
Another time, two LampPost regulars, who fancied themselves hustlers, came into the restaurant. Over the course of their stay, they became disrespectful and boisterous, acting very insolent toward the comrades working that shift. Then they made some insulting references to Huey, Elaine, and the party and left. At the beginning of Elaine’s reign, it had been established that we wouldn’t take any shit from anyone. A couple of nights later, those two brothers learned the meaning of shotgun justice. Many late-night missions dealt with our enemies, and before long, respect was secured for Elaine and the party.