The Nigger Factory

by Gil Scott-Heron

  ‘He in the lobby?’

  ‘Somewhere down there.’

  Jonesy exited. The four remaining young men in black dashikis sat in silence. Baker ran his hand over his hairless head. Speedy Cotton, the lithe, coal-complexioned halfback, yawned broadly. Ben King sat frozen in his chair. Abul Menka looked out of the window.

  Jonesy came back in, followed closely by a short young man of medium build who wore thick glasses and a blue business suit. He carried a pad and a pen under his arm.

  ‘Hi, brothers,’ he said emitting a smile that looked like a cracking mirror. He was extremely nervous and uncomfortable with the five MJUMBE chieftains and they were all aware of it.

  The three seated members vaguely acknowledged his presence. Abul Menka remained silent. Johnson didn’t notice. He fidgeted with the pad, looking through it for notes that obviously did not exist. He wished he hadn’t allowed Baker to talk him into this situation. He had wanted the details for his story over the phone, but he had been bribed. Baker had promised him an inside seat and the real detailed story Victor wanted in return for two promises. One, that Earl Thomas not be interviewed until after Calhoun had been served with the papers. That demand had not bothered Johnson. He didn’t like Earl and had never received any real cooperation from his office. But the second point was a sore spot with him. Baker was asking to see the story before it was printed. That went against a lot of things. It went against professional ethics, objective standards, and everything else. Baker sounded intent on having his way however. So what could Victor Johnson really do? Nothing. He sat there, knees rattling.

  ‘Did’ja bring them numbers I ast for?’ Baker questioned, breaking the silence.

  ‘I, uh, already knew those numbers,’ Johnson smiled weakly. Naturally he wanted to be cool.

  Ben King was already on edge. He was tempted to reach across the table and slap the sniveling muthafuckuh! Those goddamn glasses and that bitch’s voice. Shit!

  ‘I’ll take ’um down. What are they?’ Cotton asked.

  Johnson handed Cotton the pad and pen.

  ‘Uh, Portsmouth Bulletin – TU 6–3090. Uh, Roanoke Tribune – UL 9–6200. What were the others? I forget?’

  ‘The Norfolk News and AP and UPI county offices.’ Baker snapped.

  ‘Yeah. Uh, Norfolk News – LO 2–0000. AP and UPI news services can, uh, be called through the Norfolk News. Extension six-nine-nine for AP. Extension eight-two-two-three for UPI. Uh, I donno what county this would be for.’

  ‘You got ’um?’ Baker asked Cotton.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Baker hoisted himself upright. He never talked to the group sitting down. He needed his hands and arms to gesture.

  ‘Everybody know what to do?’ he asked.

  No one commented.

  ‘All right then. One more time: Speedy, you an’ me go wit’ Johnson. While we gittin’ the paper t’gether you gonna be callin’ them people tellin’ Calhoun been served wit’ deman’s on Sutton University’s campus. Tell ’um tomorrow we expectin’ a answer. At that time we gonna respon’ to his responses.’

  ‘Right on.’

  ‘Ben? You ready?’

  ‘You know that,’ King said.

  ‘What you gon’ do?’

  ‘When Calhoun come out tuhmaruh, if he don’ say we gittin’ what we want, me an’ the guys gon’ start closin’ shit down fa’ the boycott.’

  Johnson’s eyes popped. ‘Boycott?’

  Baker laughed. For a minute the tension was knifed, stabbed, and floating melodramatically to the floor. Everyone except Abul smiled at the grotesque look of horror that masked the editor’s face and the awkward, choked question that had slid from between his tightly closed teeth.

  ‘Yeah,’ King growled. He was especially dramatic for the benefit of their visitor. ‘Tuhmaruh if shit don’ go right we callin’ off classes an’ we stop eatin’ inna cafeteria an’ alla resta that shit. People who don’ dig it can come see me. I’m gon’ be the complaint department.’

  ‘Jonesy? You ready?’ Baker asked.

  ‘Yeah. I got it done . . . the statements you want released to the press and whatnot been typed up by some sistuhs in the dorm. I kin git ’um anytime I need ‘um.’

  Baker smiled. He felt better. ‘We’ll want ’um t’night, okay?’

  Everybody laughed.

  ‘Abul?’

  Abul Menka swiveled away from the window with exaggerated slowness. The eternal question was in his eyes. Baker laughed again.

  ‘Captain? Captain, why you so damn cool?’ Baker almost choked on the words. ‘Johnson, why is this man so muthafuckin’ cool? Goddamn! This is the iceman an’ what have you.’ He turned to King. ‘Benny? Why?’

  ‘I donno, brother.’

  ‘I swear. Captain Zero! Ha! Tell me, captain, hahahahaha, iz you or iz you not ready?’

  ‘I iz, suh,’ Menka drawled slowly. ‘Tuh-ma-ruh afternoon iz in my con-trol. When I heard you needed a bit a my help I immediately stole the white boys’ quickes’ steed an’ hopped nimber-ly into the saddle. I iz gonna pass out copies a yo’ statements to the faculty hopin’ alla while ta pull a few insomnia cure-ahs ovuh to our way a thinkin’.’

  Johnson’s mouth fell completely open.

  ‘You the cooles’,’ Baker said.

  ‘Ultra cool,’ Jonesy chimed. Baker almost collapsed. Whoever heard of Fred Jones saying something without being asked?

  ‘Uh, what ’bout my story?’ Johnson asked, trying to capitalize on the upsurge of good spirits.

  ‘Ha! Baker, did this cat ast you somethin’ or am I gone completely outta my head?’

  ‘Vic, my main man an’ campus Waltuh Cronkite, I’m gonna give you a story to take the salt outta the shaker. After this muthafuckuh thay givin’ me a gig writin’ fo’ the Secret Storm. Ha!’

  Everyone was thinking the same way. ‘To hell with Thomas! To hell with Head Nigger Calhoun! We gonna step out there with a program God hisself cain’ do nuthing with. We bad! We Black! We MJUMBE!’

  7

  O’Jay’s

  Earl found Odds and Lawman engrossed in conversation when he joined them at a back booth in O’Jay’s, the most popular off-campus hangout. He slid into the booth casually.

  ‘Earl!’ Lawman exclaimed. ‘What in hell’s happ’nin’?’

  ‘A whole lotta bullshit,’ Earl said disgustedly. ‘Lemme get a beer an’ I’ll fill you in . . . where the hell yawl been?’

  ‘Nowhere. That’s the point,’ Odds grumbled, picking up his glass.

  A waitress came over with a pad and pencil.

  ‘Black Label,’ Earl said.

  ‘I’ll take one mo’,’ Lawman told her. She didn’t bother to write the orders down.

  ‘C’mon, man. Whuss up?’

  ‘MJUMBE iz up. My gig iz up. The jig iz up.’ Earl replied smiling wryly.

  ‘Start at the beginnin’,’ Odds said impatiently.

  ‘That iz the damn beginnin’!’ Earl said raising his voice irritably. ‘The beginnin’, the middle, the . . . Look, uh,’ he paused to light a cigarette, ‘I jus’ hit campus a l’il while ago, right? I don’ know shit.’

  The waitress arrived with two bottles of beer and one glass. Odds put a dollar on the tray. The waitress pulled thirty cents out of her apron pocket and laid it on the table.

  ‘I got a call ’bout seven,’ Earl continued. ‘It wuz King from MJUMBE. He sed they wuz havin’ some kind a meetin’ an’ they wanned me t’come over to the frat house.’

  ‘Thass where you were? We jus’ called an’ Zeke sed you wuz gone.’

  ‘Well, I wuz.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Earl was making patterns from the circles left on the rough-grained surface of the table by his beer glass.

  ‘This,’ he said sourly, ‘is what happened.’ He pulled a mimeographed sheet of paper from his pocket and placed it before Odds and Lawman.

  We, the student body of Sutton University, request that:

  (1) The Pride of Virgi
nia Food Services, Inc., be dismissed.

  (2) Gaines Harper, present Financial Aid Officer, be dismissed.

  (3) The head of the Chemistry Dept. be dismissed.

  (4) The head of the Language Dept. be dismissed.

  (5) The men of the present Security Service be forced to leave all weapons (clubs, guns, etc.) inside the guardhouse while making their rounds.

  (6) The supervision of the Student Union Building be placed under the auspices of the Student Government.

  (7) The book store be placed under student control.

  (8) The Music and Art Fund for Visiting Artists be placed under the auspices of the Student Government.

  (9) A Faculty Review Committee be established consisting of students and the heads of the remaining departments (exceptions being Chemistry and Languages) to review the performances of the present faculty. This committee’s findings would be honored by the university and all decisions forthcoming would depend on their decision.

  (a) A Faculty Interview Committee be established in order to carry out whatever necessary changes be recommended by the members of the aforementioned Faculty Review Committee.

  (10) A Black Studies Institute be formed at Sutton including courses in Racism, Black Literature, Black History, and Negro Politics. The head of this Institute would be hired by the committee mentioned in request 9a.

  (11) The Comptroller, Financial Aid Officer, Treasurer, Music and Art Department Head (of funds), Maintenance Staff Coordinator, and Student Union Director be forced to open their books to an auditor hired by the Student Government Association with Student Government funds.

  (12) The present medical staff be reorganized and made larger in order to facilitate the Black people within the Sutton University Community.

  (13) These demands be responded to no later than noon tomorrow.

  Lawman whistled and turned the paper over after reading the demands through. Odds slapped himself.

  ‘Noon tomorrow?’ Odds asked aloud.

  ‘In black and white.’

  ‘Thirteen demands,’ Lawman said to no one in particular.

  ‘How many of these things had you done research on?’ Odds asked Earl.

  ‘All of them and more. These are practically my words. I had a few more things jotted down with notes, but the whole damn thing is like a muthafuckin’ gypsy turned them on to my shit.’

  ‘A gypsy?’

  ‘Hi ’bout a gypped-up bitch?’

  Odds’s question smacked Earl in the face. ‘I donno,’ he coughed.

  ‘D’you think whut I think?’ Lawman asked, swallowing half a glass of beer.

  ‘I donno what in hell you think,’ Odds squirmed, ‘but I think that lazy bitch in Earl’s office turned Baker on to all the shit we had been tryin’ ta get together. I think that!’

  Odds’s voice was carrying like unleashed thunder. All three of the men seated in the booth turned to see who was watching and perhaps listening to their conversation. There was no one in the black half of the bar with them except the waitress who appeared to care less what happened.

  ‘Yes – it must have been Sheila,’ Earl said softly.

  ‘What’choo doin’ when you leave here?’ Odds asked nervously.

  ‘I’m s’pose t’be goin’ ta Calhoun’s wit’ these,’ Earl said shaking the paper.

  ‘I think it might be hip if you . . . look, when wuz the las’ time you wuz in yo’ office?’

  ‘Monday night,’ Earl said.

  ‘Did you check the papers we had written out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When wuz the las’ time you took a look to see if everything wuz in order?’

  ‘What?’ Earl lit another cigarette irritably. ‘Man, I don’ check on no goddamn papers every day. I ain’ got time fo’ that kinda shit! I’m runnin’ aroun’ this deserted muthafuckuh like a chicken wit’ no goddamn head already . . . I saw the papers las’ week. They wuz all there.’

  ‘Las’ week when?’

  ‘Las’ Thursday or so. Yeah, las’ Thursday.’

  ‘So, fah all you know Baker an’ MJUMBE could a had yo’ work since las’ Thursday? Right?’

  ‘For all I damn know, longer than that. They coulda been makin’ copies a all the shit fo’ a month.’

  The friends fell silent. Questions were appearing from nowhere and going nowhere. If Baker and MJUMBE had gotten to Earl’s notes inside the SGA office there was no telling how much of the information they had. Earl, Odds, and Lawman had been placing pieces of information in a filing cabinet in the SGA office since the beginning of September. There were five keys to that office that Earl knew of. Odds had one. Lawman had one. Earl had one. The maintenance staff had a fourth. The fifth key belonged to Sheila Reed, the SGA secretary. The demands listed by MJUMBE resembled so closely the things that the three men had been working on that they could not help but suspect that they had somehow been betrayed.

  ‘What about MacArthur?’ Odds asked.

  ‘Naw, man. Not Mac. He couldn’ let nobody in. That job iz all he got.’

  ‘So if Mac didn’ do it, it wuz Sheila.’

  ‘We’re jumpin’ to conclusions,’ Lawman said. ‘We seem to be assuming that MJUMBE got inta our files.’

  ‘Listen to Mr Law Major,’ Odds said, pointing a crooked finger at Lawman. ‘Whatta hell it look like ta you?’

  ‘Fuck whut it looks like,’ Lawman exclaimed. ‘How do we know that they been in the files?’

  ‘Go check?’ Odds asked.

  ‘What good would that do?’ Earl asked. ‘If they got in to take the stuff, they could git in to put it back.’

  ‘Somehow we got to know whether or not they been in there,’ Lawman realized. ‘We gotta know whether or not they got all our info or what.’

  Earl got up stiffly. ‘I gotta make a call,’ he said. ‘I came in here ta eat, but I don’ feel like I could take a bite without throwin’ up all over this joint. Matter of fact,’ he added, ‘when I dug this list I almost upchucked then.’

  ‘I bet’choo did,’ Odds laughed.

  ‘Get another round a beer,’ Earl said dropping a dollar on the table. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  O’Jay came by. He was a big man with a charcoal tan. His face was battered by the six years of professional fighting he had endured. O’Jay had been the fighter’s fighter. In thirty-nine fights he had never been knocked out. He had lost sixteen, but all of them had been by decision. He was very proud of that. Though he had never been ranked or made anything that resembled a main event, he had been in demand because he came to fight. He was never one for much cute, tricky punching. It was all or nothing for him. When he had acquired enough money and enough beatings to feel that his call was elsewhere he gave up the ring and bought himself a tavern.

  ‘Hi iz it, brothuhs?’ he drawled as he made his way toward the oval bar in the front of the tavern. He was hassling with an apron string that was frayed at the end and difficult to make stretch around his rather imposing stomach.

  ‘Better for us than you, Orange Juice,’ Odds laughed. ‘Na it ain’ but so much you kin ask of a damn apron.’

  ‘Iss gon’ fit,’ O’Jay chuckled.

  ‘Look like a rhino inna bikini,’ Odds retaliated.

  The four men all howled. O’Jay, at length, tied the apron around himself.

  ‘Gonna have a good weeken’?’ Lawman asked.

  ‘Wuz goin’ fishin’ tuhmaruh,’ O’Jay said scratching his head, ‘but the way I hear it, alla yawl may be livin’ wit’ me come the weeken’. I heard people tryin’ ta git some things done ’roun’ here.’

  ‘Tryin’ to.’

  ‘That means who ever doin’ the tryin’ bes’ be packed. Calhoun ain’ noted fo’ playin’ that young man revolution shit. HAHA!’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Yeah. Lemme run up here an’ help out at the bah.’

  ‘Right on!’ Earl said as O’Jay made his way between the rows of tables.

  ‘Hey!’ Earl called, ‘when you gonna git som
e new furniture. I’m back here gittin’ splinters.’

  ‘Where at? In ya elbows?’

  The three students laughed again.

  ‘Lemme make this call,’ Earl said.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Shorty? This iz Earl.’

  ‘Shorty? I like your nerve.’ The tone became softer. ‘How are you? I heard you’ve had some trouble.’

  ‘No real trouble. Not yet.’

  ‘You comin’ to see me?’

  ‘Thass what I called ’bout. I got a few things to do. I’m, uh, s’pose t’be the one who lays the deman’s on Calhoun. I’m goin’ over there in ’bout an hour or two. Hey! You still there?’

  ‘Ummm. Uh-huh. I was asleep when you called.’

  ‘Were you? I’m sorry.’

  ‘No. I need to be up. The place iz a wreck. Bobby had Peanut over here playin’ cowboys an’ Indians . . .’

  ‘What time iz it?’

  ‘Must be close to nine.’

  ‘Well, I’m goin’ over to Calhoun’s at ten,’ Earl said. ‘Can you have me somethin’ t’eat when I git by there?’

  ‘By where?’

  ‘By yo’ house, baby. Wake up now.’

  “Bout ten thirty?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I imagine I can do that. But you cain’ keep me up all night like you did las’ night.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good . . . Earl, I love you.’

  ‘You mus’ still be sleep. Bye, baby.’

  ‘Bye.’

  The beers were arriving at the booth when Earl got back.

  ‘S’cuse me, Miss Pretty Legs,’ Earl said. ‘Will you tell Ellen to come back here, please?’

  ‘Ellen, the waitress?’ Earl nodded.

  ‘Sure,’ the booth waitress replied, smiling.

  The three men sat in silence sipping beer. Ellen, the waitress from the front of the bar, came back. She was a student at Sutton as were most of the young women who worked at O’Jay’s. The owner seemed to realize where his interests were. His clients were students. His employees were students.

  ‘Can I help anyone?’ she asked the trio.

  ‘I jus’ wanned a better look at that smile,’ Earl said. ‘An’ perhaps . . .’

  ‘I knew you wuz lyin’,’ Ellen said, mocking irritation.