by Davis, Sammy
He jerked his head, indicating around the corner. “Two buildings down. And I’m not your buddy, you black bastard!” He turned back to his sewing.
The corporal standing outside 202 checked my name against a list on a clipboard. “Yeah—well, you better wait over there awhile ‘til we figure out what to do with you.”
I was at the Infantry’s Basic Training Center at Fort Francis E. Warren in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
I sat on the steps where he’d pointed. Other guys were showing up and he checked them off his list and told them, “Go inside and take the first bunk you see.” I looked away for a moment and heard him saying, “Sit over there with Davis.”
A tall, powerfully built guy dropped his gear alongside mine. “My name’s Edward Robbins.” We shook hands and he sat down next to me. One by one, men were arriving and being sent inside. They kept on coming but no one else was told to wait with us. Then, finally, there was no point in hoping against the obvious. It was clear that we were the only ones being held outside while all the white guys were going right in.
The corporal went inside. We were sitting in front of a screen door so even though he lowered his voice I could hear every word he was saying. “… look, we got a problem. Those niggers out there are assigned to this company. I’m gonna stick ‘em down there. You two guys move your gear so I can give ‘em those last two bunks.”
Another voice said, “Hey, that’s right nexta me. I ain’t sleepin’ near no dinge.”
“Look, soldier, let’s get something straight right off. I’m in charge of this barracks and …”
“I ain’t arguin’ you’re in charge. I’m only sayin’ I didn’t join no nigger army.”
Embarrassed in front of each other, Edward and I looked straight ahead.
“… what about the can? Y’mean we gotta use the same toilets as them?”
“That’s right, soldier. They use the same latrine we all use. Now look, we got no goddamned choice. They used t’keep ‘em all together, but now for some goddamned reason they sent ‘em here and we just gotta put up with ‘em….”
It was impossible to believe they were talking about me.
“Yeah, but I still ain’t sleepin’ nexta no nigger.”
“What the hell’s the army need ‘em for? They’ll steal ya blind while ya sleep and there ain’t one of ‘em has any guts. They’re all yeller bellies …”
“Awright, knock it off. I don’t want ‘em any more than you do but we’re stuck with ‘em. That’s orders.”
They weren’t even trying to keep their voices down any more.
There was the sound of iron beds sliding across the wooden floor. The corporal beckoned from the doorway. “Okay, c’mon in and I’ll assign you your bunks. Let’s go,” he snapped, “on the double.” We picked up our gear and followed him through the door. I felt like a disease he was bringing in.
There were rows of cots on both sides with an aisle down the center. The guys were standing in groups. They’d stopped talking. I looked straight ahead. I could feel them staring as we followed the corporal down the aisle. He pointed to the last two cots on one side. “These are yours. Now, we don’t want no trouble with you. Keep your noses clean, do as you’re told, and we’ll get along.” He walked away.
I looked around the barracks. The bed nearest to ours was empty. All the cots were about two feet apart from each other except ours, which were separated from the rest by about six feet—like we were on an island.
A few of the men sort of smiled and half-waved hello. Some wouldn’t look over at us. The nearest, a tall, husky guy who must have been a laborer or an athlete, kept his back turned.
A sergeant came in and from the center of the barracks announced, “I’m Sergeant Williams. I’m in charge of this company and I …” His glance fell on the space between the beds. He turned to the corporal. “What the hell is that?”
The corporal quietly explained how he’d handled things. Sergeant Williams listened, then spoke sharply: “There is only one way we do things here and that’s the Army way! There will be exactly three feet of space, to the inch, between every bed in this barracks. You have sixty seconds to replace the beds as you found them. Move!”
He came over to me. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Sammy Davis, Jr.”
“Of all the men in this barracks did you arrive first or tenth or last or what?”
“About in the middle.”
“Did you choose this bunk?”
“Well, no, I was told …”
He looked around. By this time the barracks had been re-arranged. “All right, Davis. Move your gear one bunk over.” He turned to Edward. “You do the same.”
He addressed us all. “No man here is better than the next man unless he’s got the rank to prove it.”
I sat on the end of my bunk, the shock gone, immense anger growing within me until my legs were shaking and it was impossible for me to keep them still. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how they’d gotten to me. I saw one of the other guys polishing his boots. That was a good idea. The boots were a brand new, almost yellow leather and we’d been told to darken them with polish. I took off my watch and laid it carefully on the bed. I opened my shoe shine kit, took out the polish and brush, and began rubbing the polish into the leather, doing the same spot over and over, concentrating on it, working so hard that I could blank out everything else from my mind. Suddenly another pair of boots landed at my feet. “Here, boy, you can do mine, too.”
I looked up. It was the guy who had the bed next to me, and he’d already turned away. I grabbed for the boots, to throw them at his head—but I didn’t want to make trouble, not on my first day in camp. I put them down beside his bed.
He looked at me, surprised. “Hey, boy, don’t get me wrong, I expected t’give you a tip. Maybe two-bits for a good job.”
“I’m no bootblack. And I’m no boy, either.”
“Whoa now, don’t get so uppity, boy. Hell, if you don’t wanta make the money it’s okay by me.” He shrugged and walked over to Edward. “Here y’are, boy. You can do ‘em.”
“Yes, suh! Glad t’do ‘em, suh.”
“Well, that’s more like it. Glad somebody around here knows his place. And you don’t have to call me sir. Just call me Mr. Jennings. Y’see in the army you only call the officers ‘sir.’ ”
“Yes, suh, Mr. Jennings and my name is Edward. Anything you needs….”
I wanted to vomit. I was alone in that barracks.
Jennings was talking to a couple of the other guys. “This may work out okay. One of ‘em’s not a half-bad nigger.” He came by Edward’s bunk with three more pairs of boots. Edward’s face fell for a second but he brightened up right away. “Yes, suh, you just leave ‘em here and I’ll take care of ‘em.”
“You oughta thank me for settin’ up this nice little business for you.”
“I do thank you.” He smiled broadly. “Oh, yes suh. I thanks you kindly.”
Edward was avoiding my eyes. Eventually he looked up and moved his head just the slightest bit. For a split second he opened up to me and I saw the humiliation he was enduring because his fear of trouble was stronger than his need for dignity. I hoped he’d look up again so I could let him know I was sorry I’d judged him and forced him to let me look inside him and see the pain and weakness that was his right to hide.
Perhaps this was how he had to live, but I wasn’t going to take it from anybody. I wasn’t going to let anybody goad me into fights and get myself in trouble, either. I was going to mind my own business and have a clean record.
Jennings flopped onto his bunk. He sat up, reached over and took my watch off my bed. “Say, this ain’t a half-bad watch.” He looked at me suspiciously.
“Put it back.”
“Hold on, now. My, but you’re an uppity one.” He stood up. “Hey, Philips … catch!” He tossed the watch across the barracks. I ran to get it back but just as I reached Philips he lobbed it over my head to anot
her guy who threw it back to Jennings. I ran after it, knowing how ridiculous I looked getting there just as Jennings threw it over my head again, that I shouldn’t chase after it, that I was only encouraging them, but I was afraid they’d drop it and I couldn’t stop myself.
“Attenshun!!!” Every head in the barracks snapped toward the doorway. Sergeant Williams walked straight to Jennings. “What’ve you got there?”
Jennings opened his hand and showed him my watch.
“Whose is it?”
Jennings shrugged.
“It’s mine.”
Sergeant Williams brought it to me. Jennings grinned, “Hell, Sarge, we were just kiddin’ around. I was only showing the watch to the guys.”
“You’re a wise guy, Jennings. In the army we respect another man’s property. You just drew K.P. for a week.” He left the barracks.
Jennings looked at me with more hatred than I had ever seen on a man’s face. “You just wait. I’ll fix you for this, black boy.”
Hours after lights-out I lay awake trying to understand. How many white people had felt like this about me? I couldn’t remember any. Not one. Had I just been too stupid to see it? I thought of the people we’d known—agents, managers, the acts we’d worked with—these people had all been friends. I know they were. There were so many things I had to remember: the dressing rooms—had we been stuck at the end of corridors off by ourselves? Or with the other colored acts? That was ridiculous. Dressing rooms were always assigned according to our spot on the bill. And the places we stayed? They were almost always colored hotels and rooming houses, but I’d never thought of them like that. They were just our rooming houses. But, did we have to go to them? Didn’t we just go to them because they knew us and because they were the cheapest? Or wasn’t that the reason? Sure there were people who hadn’t liked us, but it had always been “Don’t pay attention, Poppa, he’s just jealous ‘cause we got a better act.” Or, “They don’t like us ‘cause we’re in show business.” And I’d never questioned it. In the last few years I’d known there was prejudice and hate in the world. I remembered several times Will telling me, “Someday you’ll understand.” But I didn’t understand and I couldn’t believe I ever would.
The physical grind of basic training wasn’t as rough on me as on some of the others because as a dancer I was in good shape. I didn’t even mind the food. I’d had far worse and far less.
Most of the men in our barracks gave me no problems, either because they didn’t care, or because after a day of Basic they were too tired to worry what the hell I was. But there were about a dozen I had to look out for. They clustered around Jennings and their-unity alone was enough to intimidate anybody who might have wanted to show friendliness toward me. When that group wasn’t around, the others would be pleasant, but as soon as one of them showed up, it was as if nobody knew me. The sneers, the loud whispers, the hate-filled looks were bad enough, but I didn’t want it to get worse. I tried to keep peace with Jennings without Tom-ing him as Edward was doing. I hoped that if I was good at my job he’d respect me, but when I was good on the rifle range he hated me all the more. If I was bad he laughed at me. I found myself walking on eggs to stay out of his way, casually but deliberately standing on a different chow line, always finding a place at one of the tables far away from him in the mess hall.
I was dressing, fastening the strap on my watch before evening mess and it slipped off my wrist and fell to the floor next to Jennings’ bed. Before I could reach it he stood up and ground it into the floor with the heel of his boot. I heard the crack. He lifted his foot, smiling coyly, “Oh! What have I gone and done? Sure was foolish of you to leave your watch on the floor. Too bad, boy. Tough luck.”
The glass was crushed and the gold was twisted. The winding stem and the hands were broken off and mangled. I put the pieces on the bed and looked at them, foolishly trying to put them together again.
“Awww, don’t carry on, boy. You can always steal another one.”
I looked at him. “What’ve you got against me?”
“Hell, I ain’t got nothin’ against you, boy. I like you fine.”
I knew I shouldn’t just take it from him like this. I knew I should swing at him or something, but I was so weakened from the hurt of it that I couldn’t get up the anger.
I wrapped the pieces in some paper and put it in my pocket. Maybe it could still be fixed.
Overnight the world looked different. It wasn’t one color any more. I could see the protection I’d gotten all my life from my father and Will. Yet, I couldn’t thank them for it. I appreciated their loving hope that I’d never need to know about prejudice and hate, but they were wrong. It was as if I’d walked through a swinging door for eighteen years, a door which they had always secretly held open. But they weren’t there to hold it open now, and when it finally hit me it was worse than if I’d learned about it gradually and knew how to move with it.
Sergeant Williams walked out of the mess hall with me. “I was looking over the service records and I see that you were in show business. We have shows at the service club every Friday. If you’d care to help out I’m sure it would be appreciated, and perhaps you might enjoy doing it.”
After the show, I was standing backstage with one of the musicians, a guy from another company, and I suggested we go out front and have a coke.
He said, “Maybe we better go over to the colored service club. You don’t want trouble, do you?”
“Trouble? I just entertained them for an hour. They cheered me. Hey, look, God knows I don’t want trouble but there’s gotta be a point where you draw the line. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m thirsty and I’m goin’ in for a coke.”
A few of the guys who’d seen the show saw us walking in and pulled chairs up to their tables, making room for us. Jennings was at a table with four of his buddies. They looked over at me and smiled or smirked, I couldn’t be sure which. I sat with a group from our barracks and it was the happiest hour I’d spent in the army. I luxuriated in it. I had earned their respect; they were offering their friendship and I was grabbing for it.
After an hour or so I said good night and headed for the door. As I passed Jennings’ table he stood up. “Hey, Davis, c’mon over here and let’s get acquainted.” He was smiling, holding out his hand. It would have been satisfying to brush him off, but if he was trying to be friendly it seemed better to accept it and keep peace. “Well, I was going back to the barracks….”
“Hell, you got time for one little drink with us.” He pulled out a chair for me. “Man, where’d you learn t’dance like that? I swear I never saw a man’s feet move so fast. By the way, you notice I ain’t callin’ you ‘boy’.”
“Have a beer, Davis.” One of the guys pushed a bottle toward me. “Here y’are,” Jennings said, “here’s one nobody touched.”
“If you don’t mind I’d rather have a coke.”
“Hey, old buddy, you’re in the army. It’s time you got over that kid stuff. You gotta learn to drink like a man. Try it. You’re gonna like it.”
The others were watching me. One of them grinned. “Yeah, you oughta learn to drink if you’re gonna be a soldier.”
Jennings said, “Listen, you’re gonna insult me in a minute. Any man who won’t drink with me …”
“Okay, I’ll try it.”
“That’s better. Now I’ll tell you how to drink beer. It can’t be sipped like whiskey or a coke. To really get the taste of beer you’ve gotta take a good long slug.”
The others nodded and raised their bottles. Jennings said, “Here’s to you.” I picked up my bottle to return their toast. I had it halfway to my mouth when I realized it wasn’t cold. It was warm. As it came close to my nose I got a good whiff of it. It wasn’t beer.
“Hell, don’t smell it, man! Drink it!”
I took another smell and all at once I understood the smiles, the handshakes, the friendliness from Jennings. Somebody had taken the bottle empty into the men’s room and come back with it f
illed.
Jennings was saying, “Come on, drink up, boy …”
I put the bottle on the table. The faces in front of me zoomed in like a movie close-up and I could see every line, every bead of perspiration, every blink of their eyes. The noise in the room was growing loud then low, loud then low. Suddenly I snapped out of it.
“Drink it yourself, you dirty louse.”
Jennings roared with laughter. “Hell, he even curses like a coke drinker, don’t he?”
I tried to stand up, but my chair wouldn’t move. Jennings had his foot behind a leg of it, trapping me. The old hate was back in his face. “You wanta live with us and you wanta eat with us and now you came in here and you wanta drink with us. I kinda thought you loved us so much you’d wanta …”
I felt a warm wetness creeping over the side of my shirt and pants. While he’d been talking he had turned the bottle upside down and let it run out on me. I stared at the dark stain spreading over the khaki cloth, stared at it in unbelieving horror, cringing from it, trying to lean away from my wet shirt and wet pants. My pocket was so soaked I couldn’t put my hand in for my handkerchief.
Jennings jumped up, pointing to me, jeering loudly, “Silly niggers can’t even control themselves. This little fella got so excited sittin’ with white men—look what he did to himself.”
I was out of the chair and on top of him. I had my hands on his throat with every intention of killing him. I loved seeing the sneer fall from his face and be replaced by dumb shock as I squeezed tighter and tighter, my thumbs against his windpipe. He was gasping for breath. In a desperate effort he swung around fast, lifting me off the floor. My own weight dragged me off him and I flew through the air and crashed into one of the tables. Within seconds the area was cleared as though we were in a ring together.
Until this moment it hadn’t been a fight, it had been an attack by 115 pounds of rage propelled by blind impulse. I hadn’t known it was going to happen any more than Jennings had. The weeks of taking it, the time of looking for peace, of avoiding trouble, had simply passed, and it just happened, like a pitcher overflows when you put too much into it.