A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond

by Percival Everett

  You see, I know you better than you suppose, know and sympathize. But I have trouble keeping you apart. You are two separate people, right? One of you writes and the other grubs facts? But which of you thinks? I don’t mean that as an insult exactly. It would help if you answered my previous question: which of you is black? I ask not because I assume that knowing race I would know all. I wouldn’t be the one to suppose that if Kincaid were black, for instance, he would be able to play for the Washington Wizards (a basketball team), that he would have children scattered all over the West Coast, or that he would have a huge dangler of a tommywhocker. Nor, to continue this, would I assume that Everett, if white, would be insecure, inept on the court, and hardly able to find his equipment when doing the old hobble and gobble.

  I am, you see, no racist. None of my best friends are black, but that’s a matter of accident and what you might call geography. The black people who are in my immediate world, that is the Senator’s office, are numerous but not quite my thing, if you follow me. Were they the right thing, they would, some of them, be my best friends. I thought perhaps Juniper McCloud, who works for that Snell person, was black. But I’ve seen him and he is not. Well, to be honest, I never supposed he was. “Stop dissembling, Bub!”

  But if I knew which of you was black—you couldn’t send photos, could you?—I could form a mental picture. Once I have a mental picture, that’s all I need. I dwell on it and I know. Are you aware, either of you (perhaps the fact-finding one?) that Thomas Carlyle wrote his celebrated lectures “On Heroes and Hero Worship” by gazing at pictures of heroes like Cromwell and Luther (not exactly a hero in my view) and Napoleon (who is to argue with that choice?) and letting his mind burrow into the soul of the image? Then he wrote. Just wrote from inside. He didn’t do mundane research; he stared and depended on his own inner resources to supply the rest. Did you know that? Anyhow, that is the process I would like to follow with you two, Percival and James. Hey, do you have nicknames? Should I create nicknames of my own? I mean, Percy and Jim, which is likely what you have now, don’t inspire much soul-gazing, now do they?

  I suggest Spike and Panda.

  So, without knowing exactly whom I am addressing, but still knowing what I know, I will move to your concerns. I gather that your concerns fall into three areas:

  —the form, that is, what kind of history is it?

  —the position to take, that is, how political is it and what is the political brand?

  —the flow of information and authority, that is, who feeds whom?

  In order:

  —My view is that it should be a rather informal history, factually accurate without being dull. It should be relatively discontinuous, not concerned with filling in every little nook and cranny, but concentrating on those areas the Senator regards as vital, which are generally those in which he has played a part. It should emphasize the Senator’s role in the shaping of this country and the strong position now enjoyed by African American people. In that sense, it is what we might call a history of a man, which enfolds the history of a race, which charts the history of a country. I have no objection if you use that sentence early on in the book to explain what it is, though of course I expect full credit.

  —Politics will play a part. I don’t want you telling me that there is no such thing as objectivity, since I’ve heard all that post-structuralist stuff and heartily embrace it. Of course the history will be political, through and through. The Senator is, as you know, a Republican, was the leader of the powerful third party movement in the 40s, and was previously a Democrat. But it’s not politics in the sense of party that we’re talking about. You don’t need to tell me that. I know it. We are talking more about what I like to call “ideology,” and that is harder to get at and more pervasive. The Senator’s ideology is, for the time being, my own. That is a bald statement but true, which leads us to—

  —the question of the flow of information. Since I have adopted the same set of assumptions and operating procedures (that’s what “ideology” means) as the Senator, there really is, as I keep saying, no need to getting panty-wads over dealing with me. I don’t represent him. I AM he, in this sense, the only sense that, one might say, makes sense for us. Of course our experiences have been different and our life spans vary considerably, as do our families, hobbies, and taste in modes of outdoor recreation. Still, when it comes to writing a history of the African-American people, as an overflow of the Senator’s life and times, I think you will get from me exactly what you would get from him. I have tried to be patient on this point, but I do not know how many different ways I can say this and do hope this is the last time we will have to do karate chops on the loins of this tiresome subject.

  Not wanting to ignore anything in your letter, from the most important obfuscation to the faintest whine, I move now to the questions you raise about the materials I have been kindly supplying you. It seems that you—both of you? just the white one?—resent what you regard as “writing exercises,” as if I were a high-school composition teacher and you were both 16-year-old studs in low-slung baggy pants with your undies showing above. Please understand that these materials are just that—materials for the history. They are not meant as a test. If it helps, I am willing to say that I trust you—either or both of you—to know what you are doing as regards research and writing a rough draft. Polishing is another matter, but we’ll even waive that for now.

  So, do know and wholeheartedly believe that I am not testing you. Find calm and peace and stop fretting. Go to a Japanese garden if there is one close or, if not, buy yourselves two of those little gray sand things that come in a box and are complete with the tiny rakey wooden scratchers and take them home and make lines and curvy patterns. Very restful, I hear. If you cannot afford two, buy one and share. I think, though, they are quite reasonable. You do have Japanese where you live, if I’m not mistaken. Tidy people.

  Don’t forget the photos and try to find happiness. Do you two take Thanksgiving dinner together?

  Love,

  Baabaa

  FROM THE DESK OF PERCIVAL EVERETT

  November 20, 2002

  Jim:

  Well, the mails are working fast—or Wilkes misdated his letter. You got it too, right? And the one from Martin? And the one from McCloud?

  I hope you aren’t all red in the face and yelling. Assume that I share your feelings on all this, which relieves both of us from exposing them.

  Martin’s letter we should ignore, I think, as it tells us nothing.

  Wilkes’s letter, if you look close and stop fuming, is by far the clearest thing we’ve gotten. It isn’t clear at all, you’ll say, and that’s true. But compared to what he spread on us before, it’s heavenly sunshine. Besides, don’t you think it’s as good as we’re going to get from him? I’m not saying it gives us an indication of what to do; I’m just saying that there’s no point hammering Wilkes about it. He’s got nothing more to give.

  McCloud now. That poor bastard interests me in a petrifying way. Frankly, I’m afraid of him. Why don’t you make him your project? You could handle him in your special way, privately. See if you can rescue him from Wilkes, give him some of your good advice.

  Where do we go from here? You don’t want to hear this—but wait. Wait and see. Too bad we aren’t working with McCloud as, hysteric that he is, this weeping child seems to be the steadiest of the lot. But Snell will never loosen his grip on the project and Wilkes will keep doing what he’s doing.

  BUT, Jim, there is a publishing house involved. Sooner or later they will sort this out and get us moving. Nothing we can do.

  I see you’re strongly in favor of remodeling the faculty lounge. There’s a surprise.

  P

  Interoffice Memo

  November 20, 2002

  Percival:

  I don’t think you need to take such a patronizing tone with me. I just got your note in my mailbox, and the first thing I noticed: its patronizing tone.

  If you’d waited until
I wrote to you, you’d have seen that I think we should wait too. I believe I said that some time back, and didn’t need you instructing me. It was my idea to begin with, Polonius!

  So we’ll wait.

  I’m not ashamed of supporting the idea of shifting money from grad student stipends to give us something decent in the lounge department. I mean, why should grad students live in luxury while faculty have ratty old couches and not enough magazine racks?

  You really think I can help McCloud? It was a heartrending letter. He has no place else to turn. OK. I’ll see what I can do, though not for a few days. I have that student hearing, the one who filed a complaint against me that I told you about. Just between us, I may have told that joke in class, but I am confident I can show that only a paranoid witless idiot would regard it as in any way offensive—“racist and obscene,” the student said. My ass!

  Jim

  November 20, 2002

  Juniper:

  Hi honey. I’ve been missing you so much and wondering how you’re doing. No, I don’t want money, and no I’m not in trouble. I don’t know why you always think that.

  You’re so cute, you know, and I think I have found just the dolly for you. She’s more subdued than the one you didn’t like, Michelle, you remember, that I introduced you to. Michelle was a little wild, I guess, or just not too mature. But you have to admit she was a lot of fun, in her way. But her way was not your way, and maybe not any sane person’s way. Michelle was not the one for you. Sorry. She’s engaged now, by the way, and you should see the place they have picked out for the wedding. It’s an old garage—I mean the kind where they fix cars. They are going to have themselves lifted on one of those racks that go up when they change your oil, along with this Justice of the Peace or something, and read their own vows from that perch. So—my mistake.

  Anyhow, this other girl is named Ritzi, which does not indicate anything about her, as I know how quick you are to judge people, especially on names. Her Mom and Dad named her Ritzi because they had parents, her Mom and Dad did, who liked the comic strip Ritzi Ritz and they, Ritzi’s parents, wanted to pay a sort of tribute to their parents. But Ritzi is quiet and very well educated. She’s pretty in a different way from Michelle.

  So, Juney, who is this Barton Wilkes? He says he works for a Senator and that he, Wilkes, is your dearest friend. That’s how he puts it, your dearest friend. Somehow that doesn’t seem likely. Anyhow, this Wilkes calls and I answer (the first time) and he goes on and on, real pleasant but without making a lot of sense that I could figure out. He says he’d like to get together and “see if we can get our Jell-O in the same mold.” What does that mean? I have no objections to clever talk, but I’d like to be more at home with it. Suppose I say my Jell-O will fit in the same mold with his Jell-O? What then?

  Anyhow, this Wilkes guy scared me a little, so now I’ve been screening my calls until I could check with you. I’ve been avoiding him, except for once, when I picked up without thinking and there he was, asking if I didn’t think you were very cute, did I look at all like you, and did I ever get to Atlantic City. He also said some stuff about Risk, which I thought was him propositioning me but which turned out to be some kind of game. He said you two played it? I am an easy-going person, but I don’t want to go out with a guy who is going to gaze at me and see YOU! But more than that, I just get a funny feeling about this guy and hope you are safe. Don’t be mad at me, please. I know you don’t like me meddling, and I don’t mean to. I just hope you are OK with this guy and not in any danger. If you need help, please call me. I know you’ll hate me saying that, but I don’t want you needing help and not having anywhere to get it. I can’t stand to think of that.

  Please tell me what’s what, little brother. I promise not to bother you any more than I can help, as I know it annoys you and you don’t like me very much. I wish you did.

  All my love,

  Reba

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  November 20, 2002

  Dear James and Percival,

  Just a brief follow-up.

  I acknowledge receipt of your humorous comments on the Senatorial buzzings re the book and am pleased that you are willing to play ball.

  Was my letter to you regarding your various confusions and concerns fully adequate? I didn’t receive from you an acknowledgement of receipt, so I assume it was fully adequate.

  Yours faithfully,

  Mart

  OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND

  217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515

  November 20, 2002

  Dear Percival and James,

  Now that we are all clear on the nature of this documentation, I am providing material for the book and not a “writing exercise”—I think I can give it to you straighter, as it were. Without so much commentary, I mean.

  Here is some more material, then, meant to aid you in the development of the writing, which I assume is proceeding apace.

  I think, really, I shall give you but one piece this time, from a John Merrick speech in 1898. Mr. Merrick, as you see, is from North Carolina. Since there is only one bit this time, I will give you a little more to swim in, though still not a whole lake.

  “There has been lots and lots said about the Negro and his condition in North Carolina. So much so that I think that the least of us have a perfect right to give vent to our feelings if we wish; and on these grounds, I take the privilege to say a few words about me and my people the way I see it.

  “We are here and we are going to stay. And why not stay? We have the same privileges that other people have. Every avenue is open to us to do business as it is to any other people. We are allowed to own homes and farms, run farms, do banking business, insurance, real estate business and all other minor businesses that are done in this Commonwealth…. Now to show you why we have not been benefitted [sic] by politics and why we ought to let them alone: In the first place, our good men and lots of our best men have turned their attention to party and office. A man goes into politics a good man and he goes to pulling the wires and soon is classed a politician. This naturally makes him lose interest along business and industrial lines; then he has to stick to it for protection, and that settles him as a businessman. This happens with very few exceptions…. What difference does it make to us who is elected? We got to serve in the same different capacities of life for a living…. We got to haul wood, and don’t care who is elected.

  “Now let us think more of our employment and what it takes to keep peace and to build us a little house and stop thinking we are the whole Republican Party and without us the whole thing would stop.

  “Now don’t the writers of the race jump on the writer and try to solve my problem. Mine is solved. I solved mine by learning to be courteous to those that courtesy was due, working and trying to save and properly appropriate what I made.

  “I do think we have done well and I think we could have done better. Now let us make better use of the years we have left than we have the years that have past, as we have the past to look back over and see the many mistakes.”

  Add this to the recipe. Stir and make a sunshine cake!

  Toodle-oo,

  Beeuuttee

  OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND

  217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515

  November 22, 2002

  My dear Minty Juliper,

  Just a note re our weekend.

  Don’t regret a thing. I know I don’t.

  And you know what they say about what comes to those who wait.

  Atlantic City will always hold for me a special—well, you guess.

  Never let it be said that I gilded a lily.

  Puss-puss,

  Big Blan

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  November 22, 2002

  Dear B
arton,

  I opened my suitcase and out fell several game pieces. I enclose them, not recalling with any confidence which of your many games they came from. I also had $1000 of play money in my shirt pocket. I meant to return that, but it got all gummed up with other stuff. Sorry.

  My sister contacted me, saying you were calling her and asking me about you. I just want to say that I warned you about her. She is EVIL. That’s my opinion. But you are certainly welcome to get scorched by her, if you like.

  The one thing I will not tolerate is getting into the middle. Should you two get involved, fine with me. Just keep me out of it, hear?

  Hope all goes well there in Washington.

  Yours truly,

  Juniper

  FROM THE DESK OF PERCIVAL EVERETT

  November 23, 2002

  Jim:

  Let’s keep our focus here, lest we become adrift in a wide, wide ocean far out of sight of land.

  The latest from Wilkes—that speech. Can you tell me if it’s accurate and who John Merrick was? Wasn’t that the name of the Elephant Man?

  Percival

  p.s. Has the hearing been held yet? You need a character witness?

  Interoffice Memo

  November 23, 2002

  Percival:

  Way ahead of you.

  I found out where Wilkes is getting his stuff—from a famous anthology of documents compiled by Herbert Aptheker. Anyhow, according to Aptheker, John Merrick of Durham, North Carolina “had been put in business by two Southern millionaires, Julian S. Carr and Washington Duke.” “The speech,” he adds with acid spraying, “is fittingly ‘reasonable.’”

  That’s interesting about the Elephant Man, whose name was George Merrick, not John. The physician attending him and writing about him, Frederick Treves, always called him John, which says something about the quality of his concern and compassion, I’ve always thought. Anyhow, the book and the plays and movies about the Elephant Man all call him “John,” so it’s understandable that you’d make that mistake, egregious as it is. For accuracy in information, consult a scholar.