The sitting member for Doornfontein, who included Ellis Park in his constituency, attempted to get a special act of parliament passed in which, for one day only, half the white toilets at Ellis Park changed colour. This was immediately thwarted by the minister representing the Department of Community Development who pointed out that this would only be constitutionally possible if half the white toilets all over South Africa became black for the same period of the fight, between four o'clock and nine o'clock in the afternoon on the 26 April. The speech, quoted directly from Hansard, was reported in all of the newspapers the following day:
If this iniquitous private members' bill is allowed to pass in this house then civilization as we know it will have come to an end in South Africa. Decent white people will be confronted with a dilemma when trying to go to a public toilet on the afternoon and evening of 26 April 1956. All of a sudden, toilets which yesterday were white are now black. But not only that! Which toilets? Suddenly a black man will be able to walk into any white toilet he likes; when you apprehend him, all he will have to say is, 'Sorry MaS, I thought this white toilet had turned into a black toilet.' 'No!' you say, 'Not this one, that one.' But which one is that one? Who are you to say which white toilet has turned black and which one has stayed white? What we have here, coming all of a sudden out of a clear blue sky, is the potential for black people to use white toilets just whenever they 'like! I put it to you, how would you like your daughter to use a toilet where a black woman has just two minutes before sat? Now I hear you saying it is only for one time, a few hours, but you are wrong, man. It is a precedent! Once a black man has sat on the nice clean seat of a white toilet he will think suddenly he is all high and mighty. Next thing he will be sitting at the table with his knife and fork in his hands wanting to eat with your family! One thing is for sure, there is no telling where something like this will end. As it says in the bible; 'Those who sow the wind will reap the whirlwind!'
The solution, when it came, was simple. The pupils at The Voortrekker High Technical School, an Afrikaans institution in Pretoria famous for its boxing and rugby, taking the initiative, did a crowd study during the Natal versus Transvaal provincial rugby match held at Ellis Park. They discovered the ratio of urinal users to toilet users was fifty-five to one. The major problem it seemed, therefore, was the dispersal of urine for a period of some four hours. They offered to build, in return for twenty tickets to the fight and cost of materials, three zinc temporary urinals one hundred foot in length. The city council quickly passed a by-law amending the Urban Sanitary Health Act to allow for the temporary structures to be built. The second largest problem was solved. The largest remained; permission for fifteen thousand black people to congregate in one place. The decision rested with the commissioner of police for Johannesburg and the East Rand, Major General Bul Van Breeden and the Minister of Native Affairs.
Unlike Bokkie Venter, the fifty-two-year-old Van Breeden, relatively young for the senior position he held in the police force, was a man with strong convictions who took a delight at thumbing his nose at Pretoria. He was also of the old school with very little time for the 'Hitler Youth' breed of policeman, as he referred to the young officers rising to positions of seniority in the new police force. He thought of himself as a good Afrikaner and a loyal member of the Nationalist Party but he was an exception; he was not a member of the Broederbond and didn't allow politics to interfere with his judgement as a policeman.
He'd also boxed at the 1924 Paris Olympics as a light heavyweight where he was defeated by an American negro named Barnstable Jones, nicknamed 'Barnstorm Jones' for his attacking style, in a memorable bout in the semi-finals. Major General Van Breeden saw Peekay's loss to Jake 'Spoonbill' Jackson as not dissimilar to his own. Barnstorm Jones had gone on to take the gold medal in a fight which wasn't anything like as hard as the semi they'd fought. All his life the police commissioner had imagined a return fight and, in his mind, Peekay's opportunity to fight a second time for the world title was the return fight he'd wanted so badly himself.
When Hymie had requested an interview with Van Breeden and asked if he could bring Gideon's manager Mr Nguni along, he'd welcomed the opportunity to meet the young Jew who'd played such an important part in Peekay's success. Nguni was known to him as a successful businessman who controlled boxing and soccer among the black people on the Rand. He'd run a check on his local record and, apart from a minor infringement concerning a stamp on his pass two years previously, his record showed that he was straight. It was a shrewd move to bring him along.
The three men got on well and, in principle, it was agreed that the fight with an equal number of black to white fans could take place at Ellis Park. A police captain named Give McClymont was appointed as police liaison officer for the fight and Van Breeden introduced them to him in his office.
McClymont seemed a nice, quiet sort of chap in his mid thirties and was an expert in crowd and traffic control. He'd listened quietly and then asked several intelligent questions. Hymie found he liked him immediately. The general had grinned when he'd introduced them. 'Don't worry, Mr Levy, we didn't pick McClymont because he's a rooinek, but because he is the only police officer in the traffic division who knows nothing about boxing. There's going to be a lot of heat generated over this decision, might as well have a police officer with his mind on the job, what do you say, hey?'
Hymie asked if he could give Van Breeden four ringside seats. The police general grinned broadly. 'Normally yes and thank you, Mr Levy, but we've got ourselves a hot potato issue here. Pretoria won't be happy; better make that a firm booking for four ringside seats and I'll pay for the tickets myself.' He turned to McClymont. 'Please make sure you get a personal cheque from me and deliver it to Mr Levy yourself.' Hymie grinned to himself. Major General Van Breeden was one helluva smart cop who wasn't going to let a careless detail trip him up. McClymont was his witness that his ringside seats were kosher.
Soon after they shook hands formally in the Afrikaner manner, symbolically sealing the deal. The policeman was careful to shake hands with Mr Nguni as well. He rose from his desk and walked with them to the door. 'It's a pity you couldn't have brought Peekay, I'd like to meet him,' he said as they stood waiting to depart.
'Of course! Some other time,' Hymie replied quickly. 'He's not in Johannesburg at the moment, sir. He's resting, away from it all, mending his body. Did you know he comes from Barberton?'
'Yes, I did. Yesterday he climbed to Saddleback. That's a hard climb; he's feeling a lot better, I think?'
Hymie's eyebrows shot up. The police major general seemed to know more about Peekay's whereabouts than he did.
'Ag, it's not good police work, Mr Levy. Scratch an Afrikaner and you find a blood relation just below the surface of the skin. When I knew you were coming in to see me I called Captain Smit of the Barberton prison, he is my second cousin. You probably know that he gave Peekay his first formal boxing coaching when he was seven years old. Wragtig! He worships the ground that young man walks on.'
'It's kind of you to take an interest in Peekay, sir,' Hymie said to the general.
Ag, Mr Levy, in my business it is sometimes better to know the people involved than to assess the evidence. It is people who make things right or wrong, who make things good or bad. Allowing fifteen thousand black people and fifteen thousand white people in a sports ground where a white man is fighting a black man, on the evidence available, is asking for trouble.'
He grinned. 'But I think not. This will be the first time that the black fans will be on the white man's side. It seems to me we have a remarkable young man here. Any person who can do this in South Africa we must allow to proceed. There is more involved here than boxing.'
The police general turned to Mr Nguni. 'I am told you were the leader of the black fan club who followed Peekay and turned him into the Tadpole Angel. Is this true?'
'It is not true, sir. I am a Zulu and also I am a boxing promoter.
But the legend of the Tadpole Angel, I did not make this. This is written in the smoke and in the bones. I am just taking the people to see who is the Onoshobishobi Ingelosi, the Tadpole Angel.'
'You people believe in this thing then? You believe a white man will come to lead the black people?'
The huge Zulu spread his hands. 'It is told who has the power, it is this one,' he said simply. 'This power? It is forever?'
'Who can say this thing? Maybe the sangoma, they can change this, I do not know, I am not sangoma, sir.'
'So it will be all right. I mean when Peekay fights the American negro, the blacks will behave themselves?'
'I think I can guarantee for you, it will be orright, sir, the people, they want the Onoshobishobi Ingelosi to win.'
'You manage the black fighter, Mandoma, don't you?' the general asked suddenly.
'Gideon Mandoma, the black Welterweight Champion of Africa, he is my fighter,' Mr Nguni said, suddenly proud.
'Black Africa!' Van Breeden answered with a slight edge to his voice. 'If I remember correctly, he was beaten by Jannie Geldenhuis, the South African Welterweight Champion.'
Mr Nguni shook his head, his grin spreading, 'Hayi, hayi, hayi! He is very clever this policeman, Geldenhuis. I don't think he wants to fight Mandoma again. Mandoma he wants to fight, but Geldenhuis will not fight I think.'
'Is that so?' Van Breeden said Smiling. He pushed his chair away from his desk. 'Well Mr Levy, Mr Nguni, it's been nice to meet you both. I'm pretty sure we're in business. All you got to do now is go to the Boxing Control Board and ask them, as a formality, to get a permit from the Minister of Native Affairs.'
Two' days later a letter arrived from the South African Boxing Control Board saying that their request for a mixed audience to take place at Ellis Park had been refused. No further explanation was added and a phone call to the board revealed little more, other than that they'd already sent in a letter appealing against the decision.
Hymie called Clive McClymont who arranged for a second interview with Major General Van Breeden. This time Hymie was instructed to attend alone.
The general lost no time in getting to the point 'Look, man, I have called the minister, he is not willing to allow a mixed audience of this size.'
The general looked up at Hymie and spread his hands. 'I'm sorry, Mr Levy, my hands are tied.' He smiled. 'Things could be worse; whatever happens the fight will be a sellout, even with a white audience.'
'I guess it's a matter of conviction, general.'
'I appreciate your convictions in this matter, Mr Levy, but surely the compromise has been forced upon you? It's not of your own making. Your conscience is clear.'
Hymie laughed. 'Ha! Try telling that to Peekay.' He rose from his chair and extended his hand to the general. 'Thank you, sir, I appreciate that you did all you could to make it happen.'
Van Breeden took his hand. 'What will you do now, Mr Levy?'
'London! We'll fight in London. It will be a sell out at Wembley Stadium and the simultaneous TV hook-up will make us twice the money we can hope to make here, sir.'
The general was too wise to show surprise but he released Hymie's hand. That's a great pity. World championship fights don't come along every day.' He shrugged his shoulders, smacking his lips. 'It's a blerrie shame, but I don't know what else I can do.'
The general looked up suddenly, squinting slightly. He was a big man who'd more or less kept himself in shape; the grey was beginning to win in what was once jet-black hair and his dark eyebrows emphasized his intelligent, sharp brown eyes. Major General Van Breeden wore his uniform well. 'You know, maybe there is a way.' He indicated the chair. 'Sit! Let's think this out.' Hymie sat, saying nothing.
'Well, maybe we can make a deal here. Not me and you, you understand, you and me with the Special Branch: 'How, sir?' Hymie asked, leaning forward.
Jannie Geldenhuis, the South African Welterweight Champion, is a lieutenant in the Special Branch. Why don't we promise him a fight with Peekay after he's fought the American?'
Hymie laughed. 'Nice one, sir! Why didn't I think of that!' He frowned suddenly. 'If Peekay wins the world title from Jackson, he will only defend it once before retiring from the ring.'
'So let the fight with Geldenhuis be the once.'
'It's not quite that easy, general. Mandoma has met and beaten more fighters. than Geldenhuis. Also a couple of higher-rated welterweights, for instance, the Mexican Manuel Ortez and the Italian Bruno Bisetti. Geldenhuis, you will remember, was involved in a car accident and couldn't fight for nearly fourteen months. Ring magazine rates him number twelve while Mandoma is rated equal ten. If Peekay become world champion, the World Boxing Council won't approve the fight.'
'What if Peekay loses to Jackson?'
'If Peekay loses to Jackson he won't fight again, no matter what.'
'I tell you what!' Van Breeden said suddenly. 'Let Geldenhuis fight Mandoma on the underbill! The winner to fight Peekay?'
Hymie stuck his hand out. 'You've got a deal, sir! If Peekay wins the title he puts it on the line against either Mandoma or Geldenhuis. Whatever happens, we still get to see who deserves to be the overall Welterweight Champion of South Africa, Geldenhuis or Mandoma.'
Later, when Hymie phoned Mr Nguni in Meadowlands where he'd built himself a rather grand new house, he said, 'Well the plan worked. Van Breeden figured it out, Gideon's got his fight with Geldenhuis.'
Nguni had thrown back his head and laughed, his big Zulu voice thundering down the phone.
He finally managed to say, 'You are very clever, Hymie.
Gideon thanks you, and me also, I thank you.'
'Forget it, it wasn't clever at all. Just two businessmen who discovered they both had something to sell to each other. As my father would say, "For business like this, maybe is coming down an angel and kissing me!'"
TWENTY-FIVE
On 26 June 1955, two weeks before Peekay sat for his final exams at Oxford and when Geldenhuis had just been promoted and transferred to the Special Branch in Pretoria, the Congress of the People took place in South Africa. It was the most momentous peaceful occasion in the history of the fight against apartheid, for it brought together all the serious opposition to this heinous system of government.
As world-shattering events go, it must have seemed a modest affair. The Congress of the People had as its venue a bare, dusty stretch of ground near a place called Kliptown, a ramshackle collection of African houses, mostly shacks made of beaten tin, about ten miles southwest of Johannesburg. The veld, natural grassland, which in the early morning whitened the approaches to the village with hoar frost, had long since worn away, so the bare earth surrounding the shamble of houses and shanties was like scar tissue: hard, lifeless skin on the rump of the surrounding countryside. In the cold dawn of the June high veld mornings, its few inhabitants would emerge from their hovels, hunched over against the bitter wind, their shirts and cast-off cardigans stuffed with newspaper against the cold.
Kliptown was one of the most unpropitious places on earth and nobody seemed to know quite why it was selected for the Congress. It was a smudge of despair on the ugly apron of a large city. But, as one of the delegates told Gideon, 'It is perfect, man! Kliptown represents everything we have been given by the white man and nothing we aspire to own.'
A small tent city rose at Kliptown; everywhere the black, green and yellow colours of the ANC were on display as some three thousand delegates arrived. Doctors and lawyers, clergyman, teachers, trade unionists, businessmen, city workers and country peasants, all came to sing hymns and dance and talk and listen. They seemed not to feel the biting high veld wind or concern themselves with the sudden dust devils which came at them across the veld, irritating their eyes and leaving them feeling gritty and uncomfortable. They were freedom bent and the glory of the occasion showed in their eyes and harmonized their voices in song. It was the beginn
ing of something - not a funeral like so many times before, but a new start, one step in the journey of a thousand miles. And so it was the happiest of all possible occasions.
For two days the meeting continued and finally the text of the great Freedom Charter was read out in Xhosa, Sesotho and English, with each clause approved by a show of hands and often a roar of delight. It didn't seem to matter that many of the clauses were patently impractical.
In a country where most black families went hungry it promised no hunger and abundant food for all. For families where two out of three children died within their first three years of life from malnutrition or disease, it promised free medicine. In a society where few people owned their homes but lived with the constant harassment of rapacious landlords and the constant threat of police eviction, it promised low rents and easy home ownership. Slums would be abolished and new houses built for everyone. Banks and mines and monopoly industries would belong to the people and every adult man and woman would have the freedom to vote and be free from discrimination.
No suggestions were put forward as to how this would be done; but Freedom Charters are written with the ink of emotion, love and hope, not with the blood, sweat and tears of practical implementation.
Late in the afternoon of the second day the police arrived. They wrote down names, searched delegates, confiscated documents and took photographs. They even confiscated the banners and two signs from the soup kitchens which read, 'Soup with meat' and 'Soup without meat'. You never could tell what might be useful in a future court of law. But none of this mattered, the downtrodden and the dispossessed had managed to get together. The underclasses had made a stand and declared themselves. It didn't matter that the government declared the Freedom Charter to be subversive, and that the demands for full bellies, homes, free medicine and schools were claimed to be the building blocks of subversion. The people had made their presence felt. They existed. They had a charter to prove it.
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