Assata: An Autobiography

by Assata Shakur

  Since i was now defending myself, i was entitled to a lawyer as an adviser. Everyone suggested lawyers, but most of them were white leftists. I wanted, if at all possible, a Black woman. Not just any Black woman lawyer, but someone who was in tune with the politics of the Black Liberation struggle.

  One of the names given me was Flo (Florence) Kennedy. She was a Black lawyer who was very active in the women's movement, well known on the speaking circuit from coast to coast and more renowned as a feminist and political activist than as a lawyer. She fit the bill perfectly. She was just what i wanted.

  Some argued against her.

  "But, Assata," they said, "she's not a trial lawyer. Flo is not a criminal lawyer. You need both, someone who can give you sound advice." I was unmoved by their arguments. "She's wild; she's flamboyant and eccentric; she might scare the jury."

  "She can't be any wilder than this case is," i countered. "Besides, i don't need a criminal lawyer because this isn't a criminal case. I need a political lawyer."

  I was in a wild mood and i was determined to handle the case the way i saw fit. I wasn't expecting any such thing as justice! This case was like something out of The Twilight Zone and i was convinced that it couldn't be treated like a normal, run-of-the-mill criminal trial. I was determined to use this case to expose the deceit and crookedness of the government. A meeting between Flo and me was arranged. Flo warned me over and over about her lack of trial experience.

  "You know, darling, that I haven't been inside a courtroom to try a case in years."

  "I don't care," i said. "You've been out in the world; you know what reality is and that's enough."

  Flo agreed to be my legal adviser. And i was ready to go to trial.

  Chapter 6

  My mother and stepfather broke up and my mother, my sister, and i moved to a new apartment in a housing complex in South Jamaica near New York Boulevard and Foch. One side was the projects and the other side was the co-op where we lived, but they looked about the same to me. Compared to Jamaica, Parsons Gardens, where we had lived, was a little black dot. South Jamaica, Jamaica, Hollis, Bricktown, St. Albans, Springfield Gar dens, South Ozone, etc., were all joined together to make up a Black city. You could live your whole life in Jamaica and the only time you'd see a white face was when you shopped on Jamaica Avenue or when the insurance man came around. At one time, Jamaica was all white. Black people had moved out to the Island to escape the ghettos of Harlem and Brooklyn. They bought old houses at exorbitant prices, only to find that, within a few years, their "nice" neighborhoods had turned into the crime-ridden, drug ridden, poverty-stricken places they had run from.

  I loved Jamaica, and i was just starting to get into the beat of it and to know my way around when my mother and i had one of our terrible arguments. I don't even remember what the argument was about, but i was hardheaded, stubborn, and under the im pression that a grave injustice had been done to me. The next day i got up, packed my clothes, and headed straight for the Village. Greenwich Village was where artists and musicians and all kinds of weird people were supposed to live. I was fascinated by the idea of beatniks and bohemians, even though i had never met any. I figured that if i belonged anyplace, it must be the Village.

  I walked around with my suitcase until i was exhausted. I remember thinking that people here didn't look that different from anybody else. I found a place to check my suitcase and spent the rest of the day going around door to door asking people if they had any jobs available. Most didn't even look up at me, they just gave a flat no. At the end of the day, i was tired, disgusted, and hungry. I had nowhere to live and not the slightest idea what i was going to do next. I went back for my suitcase, but the place was closed. After that, i just walked aimlessly until i reached a little park. I sat down on a bench, tired as hell and unable to take another step. After a while, a little white guy with bumps on his face sat down next to me and started talking. I didn't understand half the things he said, but he seemed nice enough. When he asked me if i wanted to go to a restaurant across the street with him, i gladly accepted. I was starving. It was an Italian restaurant and the scent in the air was heavenly. I ordered enough to feed a mule. The guy talked about all these people i didn't know and about his job. He kept saying people on his job were conspiring to get him fired.

  "I worked there for eight years and they didn't even give me any notice." He told me over and over that the company he had worked for had stolen two of his inventions and patented them and that when he tried to get paid for them and to get credit for his ideas, the company tried to get rid of him.

  "What did they do?" i asked.

  "They did everything. They stole my files and my papers and then spread rumors about me." He said he was some kind of engineer. "I should never have trusted them," he kept saying. "You can't trust anybody."

  When the food came i ate like i had spent a lifetime starving. "Doesn't this food taste funny to you?" the guy asked. I tasted some more and it was good.

  "There's nothing wrong with mine," i told him.

  "There's something wrong with this food," he said loudly. "What did they do to my food?"

  The waiter came and tried to calm the guy down. "I don't understand," the waiter said, "but if you'd like, I'll bring you another plate." Although the guy said it was better, he still thought it tasted a little funny. To change the subject, i told him a sad story about my mother being in the hospital and that i had nowhere to stay.

  "Oh, you can stay at my place," he said. Then, seeing how i was looking at him, he added, "I have an extra bed."

  "No funny business?"

  "No funny business," he promised. He paid the check and we left.

  His apartment was a tiny one-bedroom unit with a dirty kitchen and a green moldy-looking rug. The living room was neat and sterile. There was a plain brown couch that turned into a bed. I asked him for something to sleep in and plopped down into the bed. He kept talking, but i closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. After a while he went into his bedroom and shut off the light. I woke up during the night to go to the bathroom, stumbling around disoriented until i finally found it. When i came out of the bathroom, i went into the kitchen for some water. While i was there the guy came in. His face was all puffed up and red.

  "What are you looking for?”

  "Some water.”

  "Oh, no, you're not," he screeched. "You've been creeping around this house looking for something.”

  "What?" i asked. "You're crazy.”

  "Oh, no, my dear, that's what they want me to think. I'm not crazy in the least. What were you looking for? Who sent you? You didn't find anything, did you? Well, you can tell them, I haven't invented anything else for them to steal."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. Nobody sent me no place and i wasn't looking for anything."

  "Oh, no! You were just going for a little moonlight stroll. Do you think I'm some kind of fool? I took you in off the street, out of kindness, and here you try and deceive me. They really fooled me this time. I never thought they'd send a nigger. A nigger spy."

  "Your momma is a nigger," i told him, "and you're a crazy son of a bitch." I threw on my clothes as i cursed him out.

  "Spy. Spy," he kept saying.

  "Your mother is a spy, and you can drop dead as far as i'm concerned. "

  I slammed the door and walked out into the early morning. The sun was beginning to come up. I walked until i found a drugstore open and ordered tea and an English muffin. I bought a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some makeup so that i would look older. I was going to get a job if it killed me. I got my suitcase, found a bathroom to wash up in, changed clothes, and checked the suitcase again. I bought a couple of newspapers. This time i was going to be systematic about it.

  I saw an ad for a waitress and counter girl. That was something i knew i could do. The place was in downtown Brooklyn. I hopped on the first train in that direction and got there about 8:30 in the morning. The cafeteria was in a factory building and was solely for the f
actory workers. The manager had black and white hair and was big, fat, and sloppy. He wasn't so anxious to hire me at first, so i told him a sob story about coming from down South to help my mother who was in the hospital and that i needed a job as soon as possible. Finally, after looking me up and down, he hired me and said i could start right then and there. I was grinning from ear to ear.

  I was supposed to spend the morning making salads and sandwiches and other things for lunchtime. But around ten o'clock, all these men started coming for coffee break. The manager had me running around like crazy, toasting bread, buttering buns, and getting the men their orders.

  "Move faster, move faster," he kept telling me. Every time he told me to move faster i tried until it seemed that it wasn't humanly possible for anyone to have moved faster. Then i noticed he was always brushing against me. His hands were always "accidentally" touching my behind. I'd move his hand away but that only seemed to make him bolder. Every time i bent over to get something out of the freezer or off the food shelves, he would try to slide his hands up my dress. After a while, i began slapping his hands away. This, too, seemed to make him bolder. Finally i told him, in a nice, quiet voice, "Would you please keep your hands off me? Would you keep them to yourself?"

  "Whattaya talkin' about?" he said, acting surprised. "I ain't done nothin' to ya."

  As the day wore on, he accelerated his shouting at me. "Can't you move any faster?" he would yell. "Get that lead outa your ass." He stopped putting his hands on me for a while, but in about an hour he was right back to his old tricks. He acted like it was some kind of joke or something. I didn't think it was funny worth a damn. Lunchtime was super-busy and i was moving super-fast. After lunch, we started getting ready for afternoon coffee break and after that we started getting ready for dinner. Dinner was from 4:30 to 6:30, and 7:00 was quitting time. When dinnertime came, i was tired and miserable. I needed the job desperately, but the manager was driving me wild putting his hands all over me. When i told him to stop, he would grin, throw his hands in the air, and say, "What am I doing? What am I doing?" Then he started a new trick. He'd pull the elastic of my panties through the uniform and let it pop like a rubber band.

  "Stop it!" i yelled. "Just stop it!"

  "Stop what? What am I doin'?"

  By the time dinner was over i knew i couldn't take it anymore. Bad as i needed the job, i couldn't take that big fat pig's hands all over me. Just before i was ready to go home, i told him.

  "Look, if you can't keep your hands to yourself, i'll quit. I can't take it anymore."

  "Whattaya mean, you'll quit? You're fired. You got lead in your ass and you don't know how to treat your boss. Now get the hell outta here."

  "Just give me my money and i will."

  "I ain't gonna give you shit," he said, " 'cause you ain't did shit."

  "Look, mister, you gonna pay me my money. I worked hard and i want my money."

  "Come back at the end of the week.”

  "No, i want my money now. I need it now.”

  "You ain't gettin' nothin' now, I told ya. Come back at the end of the week.”

  "No, you're giving me my money now; i want my money!"

  "Well, you ain't gettin' it.”

  "I'll call the cops on you," i bluffed.

  "I'll call the cops on you," he said, "if you don't get your ass outta here.”

  "You better give me my money," i repeated, looking wild and about ready to jump out a real bag.

  Some people from the factory came in and stood at the back of the cafeteria looking.

  "Keep your voice down," he said, acting like he was going to be cooperative and pay me. "I'll tell you what. You come in the back with me now and I'll pay you for an extra day. I'll even let you keep your job, and, if you're good, I'll even give you a little extra change."

  "I'm not going any damn where with you. Just give me my money! "

  "Now, why do you want to be like that?" he asked, putting his hands on my shoulder. I was hot and fit to be tied.

  "Get your hands off me," i yelled. "You don't want nobody to know what kind of a dog you are. Well, i'm gonna tell everybody. If you don't give me my money, i'm gonna make you wish you had. I'm gonna tell everybody what you are." I started to walk to where people were working in the factory part.

  "All right, all right," he said. "Here's your goddamn money. Just get the hell outta here."

  The people who had been standing in the back moved up closer to see what was going on. The man went to the register and counted out my money. I was dead tired and felt like a fool, but at the same time i felt kinda good inside. I was still in the same boat, but i was thirteen dollars richer and i had enough self-respect not to let any old lecherous white man feel up and down my body.

  I had enough money altogether to rent a cheap hotel room. I got my suitcase and checked into a hotel. I think it was the Hotel Albert. After i had hung up my clothes and taken a shower, i decided to get something to eat. Downstairs in the lobby, there was this big, tall Black woman, dressed to kill. She had black hair with silver streaks running through it, long false eyelashes and a lot of makeup.

  "Well, look at the baby!" she said, looking straight at me. “Pa-lease tell me how you wound up in this joint? Are you straight from Alabama, dar-ling? Where are you going, honey?"

  I just looked at her.

  "Do you speak, dar-ling? Can you talk? Where are you going, honey?"

  "I'm going out to eat," i said, a little wary.

  "Where are you going to eat, love?”

  "I don't know.”

  "Well, come with me, honey. We can eat together. I'm having a starvation attack.”

  I just stood there looking at her.

  "Well, come on, love. You don't want me to die of malnutrition, now, do you? Do you like Chinese food?”

  "Yes," i told her, wondering why she was taking all of this interest in me and wondering how she knew i was new at the hotel. We walked around until we came to a Chinese restaurant. The whole time she talked nonstop. Suddenly i remembered how little money i had. I had intended to eat a hot dog or something.

  "Look," i told her, "i don't have enough money to go in there. This place looks expensive and i'm kinda on the broke side. Maybe another time i'll come eat with you."

  "Listen, love," she said, "I didn't drag you all this way to eat alone. I hate to eat alone so you're just stuck with my company. It looks like I'm gonna have to treat your broke ass to dinner."

  I was extremely grateful. Miss Shirley (that's what she called herself) was one helluva talker. She sounded sophisticated and country at the same time. She was from Georgia, but she had been in New York for a long time. She had lived in the Village for a long time, too, although she said she was a gypsy. I ordered something like chop suey, the cheapest thing on the menu.

  "What is you tryin' to do, honey?" she said. "Make me sick? Look, you sit there with your ears open and let me do the ordering." She ordered all this stuff and, when it came, we feasted. There was so much we could barely finish it.

  "That's better, honey. Now Mother can join the living.”

  The waiter came and asked if we wanted anything else.

  "If I can't have you," Miss Shirley said with a wink, "I'd like the check.”

  The waiter, a tall, thin Chinese man, blushed and hurried away. This is one bold chick, i remember thinking.

  "How long is your place rented for?" Miss Shirley asked. "Until tomorrow.”

  "What are you going to do after that?”

  "I'll find another job," i told her. Then i told her about my job at the cafeteria. She laughed her head off.

  "Well, honey," she asked me, "what in the hell are you running from or what in the hell are you running to?”

  I told her the sad tale about my mother in the hospital.

  "Do you actually expect me to believe that mess?”

  I swore up and down that it was true.

  "I ain't no fool, honey, and I been out in these streets long enough to know that you
running from something, and if you don't want to tell me, that's your business. But I like you and I'll try to help you if I can." I was grateful and i didn't know what to say so i didn't say anything.

  "Look, I've got this friend that works on Bleecker Street. He wants to take some time off to hang out with his friend, but he doesn't want to lose his job. You could work in his place until he comes back."

  "Fine," i said. I was down for anything-well, almost. We went to the care and a skinny white dude came up to us.

  "Sit down and rest yourselves. I'll be back in a minute.”

  We sat down at a little round table.

  "You want some espresso?" the guy asked.

  "Sure," Miss Shirley said. He brought two little cups of black stuff. I took one sip and thought i was gonna choke. Miss Shirley cracked up. "Well, I can see that you're not initiated. I'm gonna have to do something about your education."

  I arranged to take the guy's job for four days and he showed me what i had to do. "If you forget anything, or have any questions, ask the sailor," he said, pointing to a man with tattoos up and down his arms. I was to begin work the next afternoon at four. I still didn't know how i was going to pay my rent at the hotel for the next few days because i wouldn't be paid for my work at the cafe until the guy came back from his vacation. I told Miss Shirley what i was thinking.

  "I'll talk to Freddie," she said, "and see if he'll let my good friend have a little credit. If not, you can come up to my place and sleep on the floor. We went back to the hotel and found Freddie. He didn't want to give me any credit. Miss Shirley kept haggling.

  "How much money do you have?" she asked me.

  "Fifteen dollars.”

  "Well, give me ten and I'll lend you the rest so you can rent a room for a week.”

  I gave her the money and Freddie told me i had to move to another room, which was fine with me. The room was tiny, but at least it had a bathroom and i had somewhere to stay for the rest of the week. I was grateful as hell for Miss Shirley.