Reading with Patrick

by Michelle Kuo

  Out on the porch we talk freely, as we always have out here. He knows why I’ve come. He says, I’m sorry, Ms. Kuo. I tell him, You don’t need to say you’re sorry. He promises me he’ll go back again. I tell him, Keep your chin up. At this, he lifts his head, as if the phrase is meant literally. I tell him, I’ll be here to see you graduate. He nods. I tell him that the Boys & Girls Club just opened; wouldn’t he like to apply for a job there? We can even play Ping-Pong. I joke, Hey, I’m Asian, Ping-Pong is in my blood; you don’t stand a chance. He smiles because I no longer seem angry. Tomorrow he’ll prove himself. He’ll show me his word is good. He rises to escort me to my car.

  In my imagined life, I do not leave the Delta; he does not drop out of school. The night Marcus might have been killed, Patrick has decided to stay inside, studying for a test. He is focused and alert, because he has a task. Nobody asks him to look for his sister. When his father hears rustling noises outside, he gets up from the couch and says to the man, Get out of here, or I’ll call the police. Marcus leaves. Patrick hears the commotion but thinks nothing of it; he continues reading. Nothing happens on the porch; the porch is just a porch. A place to chat when the weather is warm.

  —

  I KNOW WHAT I am doing: wishful thinking, crazy thinking. I know that maybe nothing would be different if I had stayed, that Patrick might have kept living his life and I mine. And I know it sounds as if I think I could have saved him, as if I think I’m so important in his life. It’s not like that.

  Or maybe it is, in the sense that the alternative, the rational thought, would be to say to myself, You can’t do that much, you’re not that important, there are so many forces in a person’s life, good and bad, who do you think you are? That’s what I said to make myself feel better after I left the Delta, and sometimes I still say it. But then what is a human for? A person must matter to another, it must mean something for two people to have passed time together, to have put work into each other and into becoming more fully themselves. So even if I am wrong, if my dreaming is wrong, the alternative, to not dream at all, seems wrong, too.

  It’s not that I, in particular, could have altered the course of Patrick’s life or that Patrick, in particular, would have responded to me. Rather, I have to believe that two people can make a powerful impression on one another, especially in a certain kind of place, where so many have left, and in a certain time, when we are coming of age, not worn down or hardened. In these times and places we are fragile and ready.

  —

  HABITS BEING HARD to break, he’d skip again. Driving along, I might catch him in the act, wandering along Valley Drive, while I run errands during my lunch break.

  Patrick recognizes my car. I pull over, guiltily aware that I would not stop for just any student. I lean toward the passenger door and open it. Patrick climbs in and fiddles with the music, waiting for a reprimand. My hands grip the steering wheel. We drive a bit. He rolls down the window. Looking out, his eyes linger on what he sees. A homeless man squatting in the heat; a kid on a bike. I sense his shame––he feels he disappointed me, and himself, too. With shame one must be gentle. I turn off the music and ask simple questions. How are you? Where are you going? In the quiet of the car, we make plans for tomorrow.

  I taught myself to feel free

  I taught myself to feel free and alive

  to wake up thankful to be here

  and to know everything is a blessing

  from my food, my family, and visits.

  When the old man moans in his room

  and the white guys tell sad stories,

  I insist I’m fine.

  I have perfect health and happiness.

  I instantly realize the peaceful insects

  flying across the room noiseless

  and the bright light bulb

  that shine like the sun for me every day

  inside the county jail downtown

  Only to a newcomer is it all startling.

  If you ask me I’m not here

  Just in my own world.

  PATRICK, April 2010

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  * * *

  I AM INDEBTED TO THE PROFOUND work of historians who investigate African American life in the rural South. This list is not exhaustive, but I hope it recognizes sources that influenced me and points curious readers to the right places. Leon Litwack’s Trouble in Mind: Black Southerners in the Age of Jim Crow (Knopf, 1998) and Robin D. G. Kelley’s Hammer and Hoe: Alabama Communists During the Great Depression (University of North Carolina Press, 1990) were among my first introductions to Southern history and formed a lasting impact. I found indispensable Steven Hahn’s A Nation Under Our Feet: Black Political Struggles in the Rural South (Harvard University Press, 2003), which powerfully chronicles the organizing of black rural poor in the South and brings to light the vibrant black social movements in Phillips County, Arkansas. Jeannie Whayne’s Delta Empire (Louisiana State University Press, 2011) and A New Plantation South (University of Virginia, 1996) were essential to understanding broader socioeconomic transformations in the Delta from the nineteenth century to the middle of the twentieth century, as were Nan Woodruff’s American Congo (Harvard University Press, 2003) and James Cobb’s The Most Southern Place on Earth (Oxford University Press, 1992). I thank Jeannie Whayne and Paddy Riley for their generosity in pointing me to incisive and helpful sources.

  On Frederick Douglass’s opposition to the Black Exodus and to Back-to-Africa movements, I found helpful Waldo Martin’s The Mind of Frederick Douglass (University of North Carolina Press, 1986) and Nell Irvin Painter’s Exodusters: Black Migration to Kansas After Reconstruction (Norton, 1976). On the Back-to-Africa Movement in Arkansas, I consulted the work of Steven Hahn, Adell Patton, Jr., and Kenneth Barnes, which suggests that the rural black poor formed the early and most devoted constituency of Back-to-Africa Movements. I’m grateful to the work of Donald Holley on migration to Arkansas in the early twentieth century, and to S. Charles Bolton, Willard Gatewood, and Carl Moneyhon on inequality in Arkansas. On the Great Migration, Stewart Tolnay and E. M. Beck’s studies comparing the economic status of those who migrated and those who stayed were eye-opening. Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns (Random House, 2010) and Nicholas Lemann’s The Promised Land (Vintage, 2010) offered panoramic views of the Great Migration that helped me contextualize and contrast the experiences of those who left with those who stayed.

  On the first black institution of higher education west of the Mississippi, Thomas Kennedy’s A History of Southland College (University of Arkansas Press, 2009) illuminated a fascinating local history of Quakers who came to teach and live in Phillips County and more broadly of black education in Arkansas. Randy Finley’s From Slavery to Uncertain Freedom (University of Arkansas Press, 1996) offered a moving portrait of the Delta immediately after emancipation. I am grateful for Finley’s research on the role of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee in Arkansas.

  On the massacre in Elaine, Arkansas, and racial violence in the Delta, I turned to Grif Stockley’s Blood In Their Eyes: The Elaine Race Massacre of 1919 (University of Arkansas Press, 2001); Woodruff’s American Congo; the research of Karlos Hill; J. W. Butts and Dorothy James, “The Underlying Causes of the Elaine Race Riot of 1919,” Arkansas Historical Quarterly, 20 (Spring 1961); and Jeannie Whayne, “Low Villains and Wickedness in High Places: Race and Class in the Elaine Riots,” Arkansas Historical Quarterly, 58 (Autumn 1999).

  On Japanese internment in the Arkansas Delta, I am indebted to Calvin Smith, William Anderson, Russell Bearden, and Jason Morgan Ward, and the oral histories at Densho (densho.org). On the experiences of Asians in the Delta, I consulted James Loewen’s The Mississippi Chinese: Between Black and White (Waveland Press, 1971) and Leslie Bow’s Partly Colored: Asian Americans and Racial Anomaly in the Segregated South (New York University Press, 2010).

  On the history of criminal justice in the Delta and more generally the South, I turned to David Oshinsky’s Worse
Than Slavery (Free Press, 1996), Michael Klarman’s From Jim Crow to Civil Rights (Oxford University Press, 2004), and Hortense Powdermaker’s After Freedom: A Cultural Study in the Deep South (Viking, 1939).

  On incarceration and justice in urban areas, I turned to William Stuntz’s The Collapse of American Criminal Justice (Belknap Press, 2011), Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow (The New Press, 2010), Randall Kennedy’s Race, Crime, and the Law (Vintage, 1996), Khalil Gibran Muhammad’s The Condemnation of Blackness (Harvard University Press, 2011), and Elizabeth Hinton’s From the War on Poverty to the War on Crime (Harvard University Press, 2016). On moral luck and criminal justice, I turned to Nir Eisikovits’s work, published in Law and Social Justice (MIT Press, 2005). I deeply appreciated Lisa Pruitt’s work on the dire shortage of lawyers in rural Arkansas.

  I am grateful for the work of the Arkansas Advocates for Children and Families. Its February 2013 report on school discipline found that black students receive in-school suspension almost three times as often as white students, out-of-school suspension more than five times as often as white students, and corporal punishment almost twice as often as white students. On the battle for desegregation and the Civil Rights Movement, Richard Kluger’s Simple Justice (Knopf, 1976) and Derrick Bell’s work were formative. Robert Carter’s essay was published in Shades of Brown: New Perspectives on School Desegregation, edited by Derrick Bell (Teachers College Press, 1980). On education policy and law more broadly, I find James Ryan’s work penetrating. Richard Hofstadter’s Age of Reform (Vintage, 1959) helped me think through the rural-urban divide. To understand challenges facing present-day rural America more broadly, I relied on Patrick Carr and Maria Kefalas’s Hollowing Out the Middle: The Rural Brain Drain and What It Means for America (Beacon, 1999). We urgently need more research on criminal justice and education in the rural South today.

  Mary Beth Hamilton’s In Search of the Blues (Basic Books, 2005) formed an enduring influence on my own thinking about the Delta, and more broadly I admire the work of Ted Gioia, John Jeremiah Sullivan, and Elijah Wald in helping me understand the culture, history, and music of the Delta.

  I thank Aida Levy-Hussen for pointing me to illuminating sources for over a decade and for her own penetrating work, How to Read African American Literature (New York University Press, 2016). Her work has pushed me to understand the place of slavery in the American imagination and brilliantly articulated the projects of writers in the post–Civil Rights era. On Richard Wright’s development, I consulted Michel Fabre’s The Unfinished Quest of Richard Wright (University of Illinois Press, 1973) and Lawrence Jackson’s The Indignant Generation (Princeton University Press, 2010). Robert Stepto’s From Behind the Veil (University of Illinois Press, 1979) explores the relationship between African American narrative and literacy.

  The Arkansas History Commission, in particular Tim Schultz, has provided microfilm of Arkansas newspapers. On desegregation and De Soto, I turned to Helena newspapers. For advertisements of slavery, I looked at Southern Shield. For a portrait of black life in Arkansas, I looked at The Miller Spectator. Thanks to Kevin Schultz for generously sharing materials on James Baldwin.

  I have changed names of most people in this book to protect their privacy. No person in this book is a composite. I thank the patience and generosity of people in the Delta who shared their experiences and answered my endless questions. Those who have stayed, locals and interlopers alike, I view with admiration and esteem.

  In one of his letters, Patrick quotes his favorite lines from Mary Oliver’s poem “Mysteries, Yes” (Beacon, 2009). Here is the poem in full:

  Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous

  to be understood.

  How grass can be nourishing in the

  mouths of the lambs.

  How rivers and stones are forever

  in allegiance with gravity

  while we ourselves dream of rising.

  How two hands touch and the bonds

  will never be broken.

  How people come, from delight or the

  scars of damage,

  to the comfort of a poem.

  Let me keep my distance, always, from those

  who think they have the answers.

  Let me keep company always with those who say

  “Look!” and laugh in astonishment,

  and bow their heads.

  For my mother and father,

  Hwa-Mei Lin Kuo and Ming-Shang Kuo,

  with love and gratitude

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  IT HAS TAKEN ME A long time to finish this book and I have incurred many debts while writing it. I first thank Patrick for trusting me to write this story and sharing so much of himself with me. I’ve learned from his insights, stories, and faith, and I am grateful for all the years we have known each other. I hope readers will encounter his extraordinary qualities as I have. I am deeply grateful to Patrick for giving me permission to share his words and writings in this book, and I honor his generosity with contributions to the Boys and Girls Club of Phillips County and a fund for his advancement. I thank also Patrick’s family for sharing their stories with me. And I thank my students at Stars for the sensitivity, intelligence, and humor they brought to class and to my life.

  Aida Levy-Hussen, Tim and Liz Schuringa, and Kathy Huang encouraged me to write, and I owe them profound thanks. Aida Levy-Hussen has read basically every word I’ve written for over a decade now; probably the earliest version of this writing began in email correspondence with her. Her fierce intellect, passionate and independent mind, generous friendship, humane imagination, and penetrating scholarship have shaped this project and formed a lasting impact on me. I’m indebted to Aida in ways I cannot measure. I thank as well the irreplaceable Tim and Liz Schuringa, the sort of people whom everybody dreams of having as friends. Since I met them in Arkansas, their kindness, wry humor, gentle temperament, home-cooked meals, and searching conversations have sustained me. I always measure the warmth of my home with theirs in mind. Thanks to Tim for his discerning comments on my writing for all these years, and hugs for Max and Owen. And I thank deeply Kathy Huang, my jie jie and a force of nature. For as long as I’ve known her, Kathy’s grit, fearlessness, humor, courage in confronting life, and desire to live with integrity have inspired and emboldened me; I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t look up to her.

  Deepest thanks to the home team, Kristin Naragon Gainey, Monica Castillo, Jennifer Leath, Sae Takada, and Rachel Rutishauser. Kristin Gainey’s support and love are unfaltering and heroic. It’s not a surprise that everyone I know turns to her for guidance and compassion. Monica Castillo’s irrepressible humor, loyalty, and gentle wisdom have given me delight and comfort over the years. I treasure her friendship. Jen’s passion and joy are infectious, and I can’t think of a time when her presence hasn’t generated intense laughter. I thank Sae for her wise encouragement; she is the steadiest of friends, and I am grateful to know her. And I thank Rachel for her uplifting spirit, indefatigable and seemingly unconditional empathy (let’s keep testing it!), and glorious cooking.

  Dror Ladin provided critical support, reading early and late drafts, and I’ve depended on his insight for a decade. Conversations with Dror give me the kind of joy and pride that comes with knowing truly amazing people and being able to claim them as your friends; it’s hard not to be in awe of his clear mind, pursuit of justice, and capacity to leaven any situation with wit. Thanks, Dror, and with love to the warm and thoughtful Jenny Bress. I thank Julia Chuang, who provided much light and relief as I tried to write and guidance on drafts at crucial stages. Discovering Julia was one of the happiest things to happen in the past few years of my life, and I’m constantly marveling at her mixture of soul and analytical virtuosity.

  I thank Chris Lim and Sarah Raff, ideal friends. Chris is the perfect comrade; his integrity, hilarious sense of humor, passionate beliefs, and friendship have encouraged and urged me on. I love Sarah Raff’s lum
inous mind and sly brilliance, and send a hug to Aphra. I also want to express my deep affection and admiration for James Sheehan and Margaret Lavinia Anderson. Jim and Peggy welcomed me into their home, a site of warmth, wit, generosity, genius, and good cheer.

  I am grateful to the generous people I have met in Arkansas and Mississippi. Peggy Webster has been a dear friend, offering music, a huge heart, and kindness. I was devastated by the loss of Maude Cain Howe and Jimmy Webster and think fondly of Maude’s open and active mind. Thanks to Doug Friedlander and Anna Skorupa, who are still in the Delta, and whose dedication fills me with admiration. I love Grace Hu’s spirit, loyalty, and wry observations. Noam Osband’s humor, spirit, and poetry club were uplifting. Cathy Cunningham’s dedication, warmth, and boundless energy are inspiring. Monique and Brian Miller are rock stars: I’m grateful for their friendship and thoughtful conversations. Amy Charpentier shepherded me through teaching, and her compassion and warmth have always inspired admiration. I’m in awe of Maisie Wright and Todd Dixon, who arrived the year I left and are both now principals in the Delta. Thanks to Ben Steinberg and Alexandra Terninko for their kindness and generosity. Mike Martin and Edlyn Smith, my mentors at Teach for America, were exceptional and dedicated. Sanford and Amanda Johnson, in Mississippi, have always inspired me with their passion and energy. I’m in awe of John Ruskey’s work at the Quapaw Canoe Company and his joy in expanding knowledge of the Mississippi River and commitment to environmental justice. Orlena Hill’s love, faith, and sense of humor are fantastic. I thank Elijah Mondy for his generosity, help, and generally enlightened state of being. Thanks to Joseph Whitfield for his generosity in speaking with me and for his inspiring words. Thanks also to Jacob and Katie Austin, Holly Peters, Harris Golden, Amoz Eckerson, Martin Mudd, Tom Kaiser, Luke van de Walle, Orlena Hill, Dr. Joyce Cottoms, the First Presbyterian Church of Helena, John Bennetts, Ann and John King, Carissa Godwin, Suzanne Rowland Brothers, Sarah Campbell, Emily Cook, Carrianne Scheib, Lauren Rush, Liselotte Schluender, Zipporah Mondy, Ollie Neal, Steve Mancini, Jay Barth, Warwick Sabin, Richard Wormser, Catherine Bahn, Ida Gill, Michael Steinbeck, Krystal and Michael Cormack, John Hsu, Joshua Biber, and Ron Nurnberg. Thanks to the Boys and Girls Club of Phillips County and Jason Rollett for their support and work; the Phillips County Library; Joshua Youngblood at the University of Arkansas; and the Arkansas History Commission and Tim Schultz for providing microfilm on Helena. I thank Jeannie Whayne for sharing her lovely spirit and consummate knowledge about the history of the Arkansas Delta.