Treasure in
a Tin Box
A Novel
“…where your treasure is there will your heart be also”” (Matthew 6:21).
Dorey Whittaker
This is the Back Story for Dorey’s popular novel, Wall of Silence
Copyright© 2015, by Dorey Whittaker
Treasure in a Tin Box
Dorey Whittaker
[email protected]
www.doreywhittakerbooks.com
Published 2015, by
Paperback ISBN:
Ebook ISNB:
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ISBN: 1517622166
ISBN 13: 9781517622169
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015917834
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 7 or 8 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
NOTE: All names, companies, cities and events in this novel are fiction when combined with the characters within this novel. Any similarity to anyone living or dead, except for Public Figures, is purely coincidental.
This novel is dedicated to Sandra Upton, whose belief in my talent has been unwavering, and to Linda Stubblefield, my superb editor.
This novel is also dedicated to all fifteen of my faithful “Treasure Readers.” You kept me going during twenty-six months of grueling research and development.
Thank you for your encouragement and patience; and for loving the Bascom family almost as much as I do.
Table of Contents
Section One The Invitation 1954
Chapter 1 The Invitation
Chapter 2 The 6:05 to Washington
Section Two TOBIAS: My Life in Harlem 1897-1904
Chapter 3 Two Train Rides
Chapter 4 Brother Jubilee Comes A Calling
Chapter 5 Grandpa’s Confession
Chapter 6 Why I Was Sent Away
Section Three TOBIAS: Atlanta Became My Home 1904-1906
Chapter 7 Meeting Ms. Pearl and Ms. Ruby.
Chapter 8 Letters From Home
Chapter 9 My Loss of Innocence
Section Four HANNAH: Me and Ms. Victoria 1824-1853
Chapter 10 Ms. Victoria’s Helper
Chapter 11 How I Married Charlie
Section Five TOBIAS: My Link To My Past 1951-1954
Chapter 12 Putting Faces to The Names
Section Six THE SISTERS: Life Without our Daddy 1853-1865
Chapter 13 Pearl Remembers When our Daddy was Sold
Chapter 14 Ruby Remembers Life with Ms. Elizabeth
Chapter 15 Pearl Remembers Back at the Stewart Plantation
Chapter 16 Ruby Remembers Hiding in the Caverns
Section Seven THE SISTERS: Learning To Live Free 1865-1904
Chapter 17 Ruby Remembers Life Above the Livery
Chapter 18 Pearl Remembers Freedom Has A Price Tag
Chapter 19 Ruby Remembers How Love Changed Things
Chapter 20 Joseph Tells His Story
Chapter 21 Pearl Remembers My Life With Joseph
Chapter 22 Ruby Remembers Arthur and I Had A Dream
Chapter 23 Pearl Remembers A Home for Us
Section Eight TOBIAS: Life Must Go On 1906-1922
Chapter 24 Anger Took Hold of Me
Chapter 25 Dissension in The Church
Chapter 26 The Whippoorwill Calls
Chapter 27 My Faith Was Tested
Chapter 28 The War in Europe
Chapter 29 Surprised by A Visitor
Chapter 30 Pushing the Color Barrier
Section Nine TOBIAS: With Ruth by My Side 1922-1941
Chapter 31 Ruth and I Got Married
Chapter 32 The Battle For Gladys
Chapter 33 Suffer or Surrender
Chapter 34 Surrendering Our Dream
Chapter 35 The Great Depression
Section Ten TOBIAS: The War Came To Us 1941-1945
Chapter 36 Shattered, But Not Destroyed
Chapter 37 The Gift of Wise Counsel
Section Eleven TOBIAS: A Legacy of Integrity 1945-1954
Chapter 38 Honoring a Great Lady
Chapter 39 Nothing is as it was Before
About the Author
SECTION ONE
The Invitation
1954
1. The Invitation
2. The 6:05 to Washington
CHAPTER 1
The Invitation
TOBIAS SMILED AS he parked his brand-new ’54 Chevrolet Bel Air in front of his house. He locked his car and made a run for his front door. Three straight days of downpours in Atlanta could not erase the smile from his face. Fifty-seven years old and today he had taken possession of his first brand-new car. He had owned many other cars since his first purchase in 1926, but they had all been well-used before he got his hands on them. Unlike most men his age, cars had never been very important to him. They were simply a means to get from here to there, so he was quite surprised at the euphoric feeling which overtook him as he drove this car home. He quickly unlocked the front door, reached over and pulled the stack of dampened mail from the letterbox, and closed the door behind him. He dropped the mail on a chair and hung up his drenched overcoat before removing his shoes. He knew better than to walk around Ruth’s house in wet, soggy shoes.
Turning on the living room light, he couldn’t resist peeking out the front window to admire his shiny Biscayne-blue car sitting out front. The wide whitewall tires glistened in the rain, and the memory of the ivory interior’s new-car smell still filled his nostrils. His intention had been to trade-in his ’37 Chevy for another used car, but a few years newer one. He had learned that with labor and hours under the hood, he could usually get a solid seven or eight years out of used cars, but the war had forced him to keep this one far longer than the rest. He never minded driving someone else’s leftovers, but he had to admit this purchase felt special.
While staring at his beautiful car parked in front of the house, suddenly trepidation replaced the feeling of euphoria. He knew he had not been impulsive; he could afford this shiny, new car. Tobias could not help but admire it, but he also knew it would draw too much attention. Being a black man who lived on Chesterfield Street in the Darktown section of Atlanta, he knew it was never wise to flaunt your success—not to your neighbors and especially not in front of the struggling whites of Atlanta. For three long years his deacon board had pressed him to get a new car. As pastor, he was always being called upon to drive out in the middle of the night to take someone to the hospital, visit a grieving family, or pick up someone at the train station. “You need a dependable car,” they had stressed.
He knew Ruth would have loved for the car to be Chevy’s new Romany red with an India-ivory top, but Tobias knew that the dark Biscayne blue would draw less attention; brand-new is still brand-new. As he walked away from the window, he chided himself, “Tobias, you are over-thinking this.”
All of his life he had been taught to work hard, do right, help others, and keep a low profile and that advice had served him well. “It is only a car, Tobias, don’t make this bigger than it is,” he chuckled as he checked his watch, “I have thirty minutes before I leave to pick up Ruth.”
He grabbed the mail, headed to the kitchen, placed the mail on the table, and poured himself a glass of water. As he flipped through the clutter of junk mail, he spotted a strange return address on an expensi
ve-looking envelope. He pulled the envelope out of the pile and studied it. The return address read “The Shepherd’s House, Washington, D.C.” He inwardly groaned to himself, “Who in Washington, D.C., would be sending me a letter? I’ve heard of The Shepherd’s House. That’s a large black church up in D.C. Why would they be writing to me?”
Tobias tore open the envelope and quickly unfolded the letter to check the signature on the bottom. As he did, something slipped from the letter and fell to the floor. He bent down and picked up what looked like two very fancy tickets. He tucked them back into the envelope and focused on the letter, which had been sent from a Michael Stoddard, the events coordinator for The Shepherd’s House. “I remember Michael,” he thought. “He was one of Aunt Pearl’s boys. I’m glad to see him doing so well. We lost track of him after Aunt Pearl passed away.”
Tobias thought about how this church was known for being very political—an avenue he had always tried to avoid. He wondered why he was being invited to their biggest event of the year—the celebration of the passage of Brown v. The Board of Education. Curiously, he read the letter.
Dear Pastor Bascom,
You probably do not remember me, but I had the distinct honor of being one of Ms. Pearl’s first brigade boys back in 1928, and her influence changed the direction of my life. I was ten years old and heading for trouble when she challenged me to join her new brigade. Eleven boys showed up that first day, and I was one of them. At first, all of us boys mocked and jeered at this elderly woman, but not for long. I remember her saying, “Reading can take you places this world will not let you go and will open doors for you that no one can close.” Ms. Pearl repeated this phrase at the start of every brigade meeting until every young boy understood what it meant. My adopting that mantra has certainly been proven true in my life.
As a young black boy growing up in Darktown, neither my mother nor I saw any value in school. I loved my mother, but she, like so many others, believed that learning was only for whites. Ms. Pearl proved we were both wrong, and she did it brilliantly. I understand that for many years now—at least in the Darktown, Ms. Pearl has been lovingly referred to as “The Reader.” Those of us who joined her first brigade are now grown men. We had the privilege of sitting at her feet and listening as she made books come to life. As she shared the gift of reading with us, indeed doors were opened that no one can ever close again. I am not telling you anything you do not already know.
I am sure you are aware of all the hard work Thurgood Marshall has done to bring down the “separate but equal” laws throughout this country. He has spent his legal career fighting this injustice. In December of 1952, he argued his case before the Supreme Court. He reargued the case Brown v. The Board of Education before the court on December 9, 1953. Victory finally came to us this past May 17, 1954. The law has finally been struck down, but we are far from feeling its reality. We will continue to fight for the implementation of justice; however, we are also aware of another fight we must address- and win—if this new law is to become successful—hence, the reason for this invitation.
During a strategy meeting, I shared your great-aunt’s story with the committee, and we feel it is something we need to promote. We can fight for new laws, but if our own people do not believe that education is our pathway to freedom and equality, the laws will lie dormant. Ms. Pearl understood this and awakened the love of learning in the hearts of young boys who had been told learning was a waste of time. She did not lecture us; she simply read exciting stories that fueled our imagination and drove each of us to want to read.
We would like to start many “Pearl’s Book Brigades” all around the country, and we would be honored to have her last surviving family member in attendance when we announce this plan. Would you and your wife honor us with your presence? Would you consider addressing the audience? We would love to hear her story as told by someone who truly knew her. We have set aside between seven and ten minutes in the schedule for you. Would you be willing to do this? If so, we would be honored to put you up at the home of one of our members and provide a driver to take you around Washington.
Pastor Bascom, Thurgood Marshall himself has stated he would be honored to meet the grand-nephew of Ms. Pearl Bascom-Lagolaei.
Yours Respectfully,
Michael Stoddard
Events Coordinator for “The Shepherd’s House”
Tobias sat stunned for a moment. Names like Thurgood Marshall were not casually tossed around in his world. Never one to seek attention, Tobias knew this invitation was not about him; rather, it was all about the remarkable work done by his Great-Aunt Pearl. Noticing the time, he put on his overcoat and shoes, grabbed the letter and headed out to pick up his wife.
Tobias pulled up to the back entrance of the Atlanta General Hospital as Ruth walked out of the back door. Tobias chuckled to himself, “Funny how quickly things can change. Forty-five minutes ago, all I could think about was showing Ruth our brand-new car, and then I read this letter. Now the car is of little importance because I cannot wait to share this letter with her. Having known both Aunt Pearl and Aunt Ruby for most of her life, Ruth loved them dearly and will appreciate this letter as much as I do.”
Ruth made a dash toward Tobias’ usual parking place. She has been the head bread-and-pastry chef at the hospital for sixteen years, and every day at the end of her shift, Tobias has been waiting for her. She smiled at the look of excitement on his face, assuming it was because of the beautiful new car in which he was sitting. Ruth was instantly thankful that because of the rain, she had made sure she dusted off all the cake flour from her shoes and uniform before stepping outside. Nothing was like a Georgia rainstorm to turn cake flour into sticky glue. She made a dash for the car and climbed in. “Wow! Tobias, this is beautiful!”
Barely acknowledging her comment, Tobias shoved the letter into Ruth’s hand and said, “Read this, Ruth.”
Not grasping the importance of the letter in her hand, Ruth smiled as she looked at the fancy dashboard and questioned him. “I thought you were going to buy another used car, Tobias. Didn’t you tell the deacon board we didn’t need a new car?” Rubbing her hand across the spotless ivory interior, Ruth added, “I’m not complaining, mind you. I’ve said you deserved one for several years now.”
Seeing the look of consternation on Tobias’ face, Ruth asked, “What is it, Tobias? Did the salesman pressure you into buying this car?”
“Of course not, Ruth, you know me better than that. It was a good price and is a well-built automobile.” Pointing back to the letter, he again pleaded, “Just read that letter, Ruth.”
After reading it Ruth laid back her head and uttered, “Oh, my goodness, Tobias! What a wonderful honor!” Then overcome with giggles, she added, “And oh, how Aunt Pearl would have hated it.”
Joining Ruth in laughter, Tobias agreed. “Yes, she would have. Even though the Brigades were Aunt Ruby’s idea, Aunt Pearl’s tenacity made the idea happen. All my life, Aunt Pearl said I should write down the Bascom family story. She wanted the world to know what my Great-Grandma Hannah went through as a slave. She also wanted the world to know how wonderful her big brother, my Grandpa Samuel, was. She did not want any attention; she wanted the focus on people like her twin sister Ruby, Ms. Estée, Joseph, Arthur, and Mr. Washington.”
Ruth turned and looked directly at her husband. “You are going to accept this invitation, aren’t you, Tobias?”
“Yes, of course, I must. I just don’t know how I can do it in the allotted seven to ten minutes they have offered me.”
“Tobias, you can’t tell her whole story, so simply focus on how rare it was for a slave child to become a reader and how she used reading to help so many others.” Checking the letter again, Ruth gasped, “This event is set for six weeks from now. Are you thinking of driving this new car up to Washington?”
“No, Ruth, it wouldn’t be wise. I think it would be best if we were to take the train. There are so few places we can safely stop along the way to eat
and even fewer places will rent us a room. A black couple driving a shiny new car through the Carolinas is just asking for trouble. Michael Stoddard has arranged a driver for us up in Washington, so we won’t need a car there.”
“Are you nervous about talking in front of so many important people, Tobias?”
“No, I’m not nervous; I’m completely undone. Those people will surely intimidate me, but my greatest problem is my speech. Not so much deciding what to say, but rather, what to leave out.”
CHAPTER 2
The 6:05 to Washington
AT FOUR IN the morning, every light was on at the Bascom house on Chesterfield Street. For the past six weeks this trip was the main topic of discussion on Chesterfield Street. All of Darktown knew that today was the day Tobias and Ruth were heading for Washington. Ms. Pearl had been well-loved and admired in this community since 1869, when the Bascom kids moved in, all the way until her death in 1932. This neighborhood remembered its own. Darktown was a place where not only did a neighbor know his neighbor; he more than likely knew his neighbor’s momma, his auntie, and his grandma as well. This “Southern way,” as it was termed, was certainly true on the colored side of town—and especially on Chesterfield Street. The houses on this street have been proudly owned and occupied for generations. Their deeds read like a genealogy of their families. Sitting on one of these porches on a Sunday afternoon is like signing up for a history lesson, served up with pride and sweetened iced tea.
At 5:00 a.m. Tobias walked into the kitchen. “Ruth, you have been baking all night. Are you just about done?”
“Yes, just have to box things up. I have a box of goodies for our host, and one for our Washington driver. Also, should I have an opportunity; I have made one for Thurgood Marshall.” With a giggle, she added, “Did you ever imagine we might meet that man, let alone be able to talk with him?”
“Ruth, I would remind you that he puts his trousers on one leg at a time like every other man, but I know how you feel. I feel a little starry-eyed as well to think he knows who Aunt Pearl is or was.”
Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1) Page 1