The Man Called Brown Condor

by Thomas E. Simmons

  Ras Mebratu must have sensed John’s thoughts. He broke the silence and began to discuss the recent history of his country.

  “You know, Mr. Robinson, Ethiopia is the only African nation that has been exclusively under black rule for at least three thousand years. It has been a Christian nation since 400 AD. Because of that, and the fact that we have been surrounded by natural boundaries of mountains, deserts, and swamps, and by countries of the Islamic faith since 700 AD, we have been mostly isolated from the modern world.

  “Since Ras Tafari became Emperor in 1930 and took the name Haile Selassi he has worked even harder to awaken our land to the modern century. In 1931 he gave Ethiopia its first written constitution. But you have to understand that for Ethiopia, as for much of Africa, the bridge to the twentieth century spans a vast distance and must be crossed slowly if a culture is not to be ripped apart. Justice was traditionally in the hands of the chieftains of each district. They are still powerful and many look upon reform as a threat to their power as do many leaders of the Coptic Church.”

  John accepted a cup of tea and several plain cookies from a silver tray offered to him by a servant dressed in white. They passed the border of French Somaliland into low hill country. The train swayed and jerked on the narrow-gauge rails, slowing almost to a mule’s pace as it struggled up the grade in its climb toward the highlands. On the rocky hillsides John could see an occasional round hut made of stones or mud and wattle, the walls often whitewashed, the structure covered with a conical straw roof.

  “You will see many such structures,” Ras Mebratu explained. “They are called toucouls, sometimes spelled tukuls in English.” John nodded, still looking out the window at weird-looking cacti scattered across the surrounding semi-desert of which much was covered in black lava sands. Ras Mebratu took a sip of tea and continued.

  “The emperor has outlined administrative reforms and has enlisted the aid of such experts as de Halpert of Britain, Auberson of Switzerland, General Virgin of Sweden, and Evertt Colson of your own country, but as I have said, changes must come slowly. The emperor cannot overwhelm his people and still retain their loyalty. I am afraid you may see slavery in practice while you are here. The Italians use that sad fact against us in their propaganda. His Majesty has worked many years to stamp out its existence. Nevertheless, a practice so long rooted in custom is not easy to abolish, as the history of your nation clearly illustrates. His Majesty has set up a bureau to administer the repression of slavery, but still the Italians use it against us before the League of Nations.”

  Mebratu paused, giving Robinson a chance to ask a question that was foremost on his mind. “What of your military situation? I have heard that some feel the emperor may have placed too much faith in the League of Nations.”

  His host was very quick to point out that it was not his place or desire to comment on the judgment of the emperor. He then smiled. “But it is my task to inform you of the situation here and I will be candid. We had hoped to receive some aid from England and France in the event the League of Nations cannot prevent war. Now we realize we will receive very little aid if any. What is worse, the League of Nations has declared an arms embargo against both Italy and Ethiopia. That must make Italy happy. They manufacture arms, tanks, and aircraft. We have only agricultural products and must import all manufactured goods including, of course, modern arms. We have an army of maybe three hundred thousand men. Only a quarter of them have had any form of modern military training. Some of our young officers have been trained in England, some in France, some trained here by a Belgian military advisory group led by Colonel Leopold Ruel. Most of our armies will be led by their chieftains, those loyal to the emperor. We have four hundred thousand rifles of various types, very few machine guns, about thirty light and heavy antiaircraft guns, Oberlikons, Schneiders, and Vickers. Most of our two hundred or so artillery pieces are antiquated. Ammunition and spare parts for such varied weapons is a problem. We have a small mixed batch of Ford and Fiat armored cars. The Imperial Guard is well trained and equipped, but it is not large and is used to protect the emperor.”

  John had known before he left home that the situation in Ethiopia would not be promising if war actually occurred, but he was stunned by the facts being given to him. “I just read that there are one hundred thousand well-armed Italian troops already on your border, with more on the way. The article said they are backed by two hundred trucks and tanks and two hundred aircraft. If war comes, what can you do to hold against such odds?”

  “You are certainly straightforward with your questioning.” Mebratu smiled. “But why not? You have come a long way to offer your help. But I must caution you. There will be journalists and others in Addis Ababa that will want to talk with you. Your question and my answer must remain between us.”

  Robinson nodded that he understood.

  “The emperor has withdrawn his troops from the borders to avoid any further incidents that could be used by the Italians as an excuse to attack. If there is war, it will come from the Italians and the world will know it. If the Italians cross our border, we will withdraw still further to lengthen their supply lines. We have few roads. Their mules will be of more use than their trucks over much of our land. To use mechanized vehicles, they will have to construct roads and bridges in many places. Our advantage is in our rough terrain and our soldiers: We have not been beaten in two thousand years by any outsider. Our warriors need little. They are tough, and they are zealous in their honor. In battle you will find them desperately courageous. They are fanatical fighters. They will stand or die for their homeland.”

  Mebratu fell silent a moment. “But to win against modern tactics using mechanized infantry, planes, tanks, and artillery all coordinated together in the attack? Who has faced that? Could France or England or Poland win against such strength and tactics? Who knows?”

  Mebratu paused again to gather his thoughts. “If war comes, the emperor will try to delay the enemy’s advance and appeal to the leaders of the Western world to stop the fighting. If they will not or cannot, we will fight for our country as long as we can.”

  John sat stunned. For the first time the reality of the circumstances that he faced lay stark and naked before him. His ambition and enthusiasm to find an avenue by which he could prove beyond doubt that a black pilot could handle any challenge in the air had landed him in an ancient land facing war against terrible odds.

  Well, Johnny boy, you got what you asked for. You gonna do the best you can. Nothin’ else you can do now. Ain’t gonna run. Just have to crawl over your fear. That’s the first thing you got to do, and I reckon you got a mountain of it to crawl over.

  John hoped the fear that had crept up his spine did not show in his face. He looked directly at his host. “I’ve come a long way. Can you tell me where I will be needed and what I will be asked to do?”

  “Of course, Mr. Robinson. We have only a few radios, our telegraph service is poor, and we have few roads linking the outlying areas of our country due to lack of money and the very rugged nature of our land. We will have to use every means we have to establish and maintain communications with our armies, even the ancient methods of drums and runners. We have less than two-dozen aircraft, none of which are suited for combat. None is even armed. With the embargo we are not likely to obtain more. But the aircraft are vital for this reason. Even the few radios we have do not work well in the mountainous regions. An aircraft can cross in one or two hours rugged terrain that would take days or even weeks for messengers to cross. Aircraft will often be our only means of rapid communication and liaison between the front lines and the capital. They will be essential for message delivery, observation, and vital transport, besides any special assignment the emperor may request.”

  Ras Mebratu paused to give John a chance to respond. Robinson’s mind was in a whirl. Less than two-dozen unarmed planes against Mussolini’s two hundred bombers and fighters. How the hell can we even begin to think about maintaining communications when the more
pressing question is how can we hope to survive against such odds? I don’t even know what kind of planes Ethiopia has. How will they maintain the ones that survive more than a flight or two? Where will they get parts? And, God help me, I’m going to fly them! John tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He had no reply.

  Mebratu continued. “His Majesty is anxious to meet you. You have come highly recommended. As you know, he was very disappointed in the flying ability of another black North American, Hubert Julian. Julian has returned to Addis Ababa.”

  John looked more than surprised. He looked startled. With a smile, Ras Mebratu waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  “Julian is assigned to the infantry and will not be allowed to fly. The emperor is not in a position to turn down volunteers, but he did firmly forbid Julian to fly. He should be no problem to you. The only value Julian has to Ethiopia is hopefully to enlist support and funds from America.”

  “Now, more to the point of your duty, Mr. Robinson. You will be offered the rank of captain to begin with, along with the authority you need to conduct air operations. We have, of course, some trained Ethiopian pilots now, and French aviators, but we expect the Frenchmen to leave if war is declared. It is the emperor’s hope that he will be able to rely upon more than your flying ability. He was particularly interested in reports he received of your leadership experience. We know you helped organize a black owned and operated airfield, a pilot’s organization, a mechanics school at Curtiss-Wright, and a flying school. It is the emperor’s hope that your experience will be put to good use.”

  John remembered the words of the Carolina pilot from the Great War whom he had met aboard the ship crossing the Atlantic. The man had said that when he volunteered for air service duty in France, no one was able to talk him out of it. With a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, John now knew what the man had meant. Everyone John knew had begged him not to go. He now wished he had listened. Ethiopia’s plight was far more serious than his worst fears. I had the foolish idea that by coming on this “adventure” I could help open the field of aviation to blacks. If I’m killed it will do nothing of the kind.

  Well, you’re here, Johnny. It’s too late to look back and I’m not gonna run away. You’ve been afraid before, John boy, but you’ve never been a captain. The thought struck him as funny and he laughed out loud, startling the somber group around him.

  At first the countryside that slid slowly past the window was drab and sparse with only an occasional round, thatched roofed house to be seen, but as the small engine pulled them ever higher, the vegetation became greener and there were more such farm houses. They passed the primitive villages of Aisha, Diredawa, Awash, and Hadama, all consisting of squat mud and wattle buildings, some whitewashed, most left natural. The train made frequent stops to take on firewood and water. John welcomed such breaks from the long hours of sitting in the rocking, soot-soiled coach. The stops gave him a chance to stretch his legs.

  From time to time they would see a goat herder or a farmer tending his fields with primitive tools. Robinson saw a graceful impala, later a wart hog, and was startled to see zebra. Once, they passed a small band of warriors clothed in white shammas, waving rifles, spears, and swords at the train in salute. Some had shields made out of animal skin. God almighty! thought John. The Arabian Nights in a contest against modern steel.

  He watched the sunset and thought of home as the train chugged into darkness, its hissing and puffing echoing off the hills and canyon walls.

  Chapter 14

  Addis Ababa, 1935

  FROM A DISTANCE, ADDIS ABABA STOOD IN THE DUSTY MORNING haze like an outcropping from the parched Abyssinian plain. The rainy season, which runs from June until September, had not yet given the city a cleansing bath or turned the high plain green. Unlike the circular farm homes with thatched, cone-shaped roofs that John had seen from the train, the structures on the outskirts of the city were mostly square huts of sunbaked brick or mud and wattle, some plastered, some whitewashed, most with corrugated iron roofs in various shades of rust. A few structures were two-story. Some had outside staircases leading up to rooftop galleries shaded by awnings. Nearer the center of the city there were Western-style houses, apartments, hotels, and shops. John was told that accommodations were waiting for him at the Hotel de France. One thing he noticed immediately was the mild temperature. The city might be near the equator, but it sat at an altitude of 7,600 feet. When he stepped off the train, the temperature was seventy degrees Fahrenheit and the air was pleasantly scented by the thousands of eucalyptus trees growing throughout the city.

  Ras Mebratu ushered John into an ancient taxi for the ride to the hotel. Robinson felt he had passed through a time barrier into a strange world that reminded him of the Bible picture books he had seen in Sunday School as a child. Caravans of camels and donkeys carrying everything from spices and foods to carpets, tins of fuel, firewood, and sacks of charcoal moved through the stony dirt streets. The marketplace was filled with merchants under awnings and customers milling about, all wearing the contrasting costumes of different tribes and peoples. John’s host pointed out Gallas and Danakils, Somalis, Tigres, Cottus, and the Hamites from north of Lake Tana, all identified by their clothing. The people spoke in multiple languages: Amharic, the official language of Ethiopia, Tigrinya, Gallinya, and ancient Ge’ez.

  Women wore brilliantly colored garments. Some had veiled faces. Others had gems in their noses or wore amber necklaces or gold earrings. John noticed a slim woman who wore a flowing white shamma. She flashed a quick glance at him with beautiful almond eyes and disappeared on the far side of a black-robed man who rode slowly along on a donkey in the shade of a huge umbrella carried by a servant who trotted alongside. Always a lady’s man, John would learn that many young women from the Amhara-Tigrean area of Ethiopia were slim, almond-eyed, and easily considered beautiful by Western standards. John recalled a term he had read about Ethiopia: Here I am in the capital of what some in the West call the Hidden Empire. It was all beyond his wildest imagination.

  The Hotel de France was located in a district that more closely resembled the modern West. The streets were made of hand-placed rocks similar to cobblestones. They passed the Cinema Empire. John would learn that both it and Cinema Adowa were owned and run by Eda and George Nageliz. The presence of other foreigner faranjis, the Ethiopian term for foreigners, was evidenced by the flags of various countries flying over consulates scattered helter-skelter about the capital.

  Upon his arrival at the hotel, Robinson was introduced to the owner, Monsieur Teras, and was shown to “one of our finest rooms.” It was small but comfortable. What made it “one of our finest” was the fact that it had a private bath, most rare in Addis Ababa. Before leaving, Ras Mebratu told John that there would be a small dinner gathering that evening where he would meet some of the people with whom he would be working.

  The first thing Robinson did was bathe the soot and dust of the train ride from his tired body. Afterward, he dressed in a clean shirt and trousers and ventured down to the hotel lobby with a bundle of dirty laundry. Using sign language, he got across to a hotel servant that he was behind in his laundry. The man bowed, took the bundle of clothes John handed him, and disappeared.

  From there, Robinson walked into the hotel bar. It appeared that the entire press corps of Ethiopia was waiting for him. So much for keeping things secret.

  Robinson was embarrassed to learn that he was already gaining a small amount of fame at home in the States in a way that was not necessarily to his liking. Some US news wag had dubbed him the Brown Condor of Ethiopia, and the sobriquet had caught on and would be used in future stories about him in newspapers and radio broadcasts.

  “Who the hell started that? How’d something stupid like that get clear over here ahead of me?” he asked “Shortwave radio travels a lot faster than ships,” someone answered, which was met with laughter from the crowd.

  That embarrassed John further. “Guess I asked a stupid quest
ion.”

  Every reporter who spoke English started shouting at John. He threw up his hands. “Gentlemen, I just arrived today. I don’t have answers for you yet. Y’all give me a little time.”

  “Just one question then, Mr. Robinson,” someone in the crowd said. “Did you have anything to do with the emperor’s decision not to let Hubert Julian, the Black Eagle, fly?”

  “Where’d you get that? I don’t know Julian and I have not yet met the emperor.”

  One of the reporters held out his hand. “Mr. Robinson, I’m Jim Mills of the Associated Press.”

  “Thank goodness, an American,” John replied, and he shook the man’s hand.

  Mills asked, “May I offer you a drink? “

  “I’m not a drinkin’ man, but if they have something with ice I’ll take it,” John answered. “What a relief to meet an American. You staying here?”

  “I’m afraid us lowly reporters can’t afford the tariff. Most of us were sent over here with little time to prepare when it looked like we might have a war to report. None of us knew what to expect. Some of us, including me, couldn’t find Abyssinia on the map. You ought to see what some of the boys brought with them: jungle gear, including tents, suitcases full of medicine for exotic plagues, pistols and hunting rifles, mountain climbing gear, riding boots, and of course typewriters and cameras. One guy arrived with a string of six mules. Laurence Stallings of Fox Movietone News arrived with a red Indian motorcycle with sidecar. Wish I had done that. There’s only one commercial wireless in the country. We have to wait in line to get out a story. All of us are staying at the Imperial Hotel. It’s not so imperial . . . more like a long two-story barracks, one bath to the floor. It’s owned by a Greek named Bollo Lakos. Now that’s a name for you.”

  Still standing at the bar, John asked Mills, “Where’d they dig up that question about Julian? I’ve not met the emperor yet. I sure couldn’t influence any decision about Julian or anything else.” Robinson took a sip from a glass of mineral water. “I will admit after I was told he was over here, I was relieved to learn he won’t be flying. He’s done enough to damage Negro aviation back home.”