Mr. Sutter said, “Curtis, I’m here to offer you your job back. This boycott has been hard on all of us. To be honest, my business has taken a real dip with so many Negroes not purchasing my products. The boycott has spread from Hadley to towns all over. Not one colored customer or supplier will buy from me. If things don’t pick up, I’m at risk of having to shut down.”
Mr. Sutter held out the crate toward Daddy. He said, “I’ve brought you and your family some cheese, and our best butter — Sutter’s Premium Salted.”
I’ve never tasted Sutter’s Premium Salted. We can’t afford it.
I was glad not to be in Daddy’s shoes right then. He had a hard decision to make. He wanted a job badly. But the boycott had brought on some ugly, dangerous things. And — Sutter’s Premium Salted was as good as a crate filled with gold.
Daddy didn’t even take a moment to think about Mr. Sutter’s offer. He said, “Sir, while I’m thankful for your butter, I can’t work for you. Your advertisement in our local newspaper made your opinions about segregation very clear.”
There was silence between the two men. Finally Mr. Sutter said, “I acted in haste, Curtis. I didn’t know where this integration was going. Besides, that was in the past. Can we just move on?”
There was pleading in Mr. Sutter’s voice. He was near to begging.
Daddy said, “I’ve moved on, sir.”
The straightforward way Daddy spoke is not how Negroes talk to whites in Hadley. Daddy was polite, but he was also standing up to Mr. Sutter.
Daddy said, “Thank you for the offer, but my answer is no.” Mr. Sutter couldn’t say anything to that.
He set the crate on our porch steps. He was leaving Daddy his gift. Daddy shook his head. He lifted the crate, handed it back to Mr. Sutter. “No, thank you, sir.”
Sunday, March 13, 1955
Diary Book,
I don’t know if Mama’s requests for laundry have doubled, or if the same number of people are sending more clothes to be cleaned and pressed. But man sakes, have the piles grown! On Sundays we no longer linger after church services for doughnuts and fellowship. We come right home and get to laundering.
Today I asked Mama, “Isn’t Sunday the day the Lord made for resting?”
Mama said, “If the Lord had meant us to rest, he wouldn’t have blessed us with so many shirts and skirts that need cleaning and pressing.” Lord, I’m tired of laundry!
Monday, March 14, 1955
Early Morning
Dear Month of March,
Please make up your mind! You seem very confused about who you want to be—winter or spring. Today you threw down more snow, enough to make Hadley look like a Northern town in December.
March, the official first day of spring is around the corner, so can you please go more in that direction?
It’s hard to be in-between, I know. I was born when it was part night, part day, so I understand having a toe in both places. I wake up during the in-between, so I know what it’s like to have one eye looking ahead and the other glancing back.
With me going to Prettyman, I’m between a colored world and a white one, so I feel the struggle of being pulled two opposite ways at the same time.
But March, I’m depending on you. In case you forgot, spring is not cold. Spring has no snow. Please be spring.
Begging,
Dawnie Rae Ready-for-a-
Warm-Day Johnson
Later
As sick as I am of winter weather, there was one good thing about today’s cold. After school, Gertie and me stopped at Orem’s Pasture on the way home, where we made good use of the snow.
It was Gertie’s idea.
“Dawnie,” she asked, “why are there only snowmen, and not snow ladies?”
I hadn’t ever thought about it, but Gertie was right. The closest I’d ever seen to a snow lady was a snow angel, but who knew if they were boys or girls.
Before I could answer, Gertie was rolling and packing snow to make a snow lady’s body.
“Do the middle,” she encouraged, so I started gathering enough snow for the tummy of our lady.
We formed the head together, placing it on top of the body’s two parts.
“Now we make it a her,” Gertie said.
Gertie had a pocketful of more gumdrops and licorice. She handed me a bundle of drops. I got right to work on a face. This snow lady would be colorful — orange eyes, a grape gumdrop nose. Gertie made the snow lady’s mouth, a wide smile, made bright from red-licorice lips.
Gertie bumped her boot to mine. She said, “Dawnie, you’re good with gumdrops.”
“You got a way with licorice, Gertie,” I said.
Gertie put her arm around both my shoulders. She led me to stepping back away from our snow creation so we could see it better from a ways off.
“Our snow lady needs to be more fancy,” Gertie said.
Gertie decorated the sides of the lady’s snowball head with lemon gumdrops to form loop earrings. The gumdrop jewels caught glints of the afternoon sun.
With two fallen twigs, I positioned snow lady arms that reached up toward the cloudless sky.
“That’s a happy lady,” Gertie said.
With all those gumdrop colors, our snow lady did look good. Gertie bit off a piece of licorice she’d yanked from her pocket. She chewed slowly. She was eyeing our creation, and thinking. Gertie snapped her licorice in two, shared a piece with me. Finally she said, “Our lady needs a stole.”
At first I thought Gertie was talking about something having to do with stealing, until she explained that a stole is like a mink collar a grownup wears for going to the theater.
“Like to the movies?” I asked.
“Like to a Broadway show or the opera,” Gertie said.
For me, ladies with fur collars going to the opera was stuff that only happened in movies.
“Have you ever been to a Broadway show or the opera?” I asked.
“Once — to each.”
“Is it like going to a baseball game at a stadium?”
“Baseball at a stadium is much better,” Gertie said.
“Do ladies wear stoles to a stadium?” I had to know these things.
“The ones with the seats close-up do,” said Gertie.
Gertie volunteered her scarf for our snow lady’s stole. She draped it from the back of the snow lady, coming around to hang off each of her twiggy arms.
“That looks silly,” I said.
“Lady clothes can be that way,” said Gertie. “But it’ll let people know this is no snowman — it’s a snow lady who’s going places.”
Since Gertie had given up her scarf, I let our snow lady have my mittens. I figured March would make up its mind soon enough, and decide to become spring. So I was happy to give up my mittens.
Gertie was quick to share one of her mittens with me. “You take my other one.” She fitted her left mitten onto my bare hand, kept the right mitten for herself. Then Gertie pulled open her coat pocket, still filled with candy. “Put your other hand in here to keep it warm,” she encouraged.
I slid my hand down in. The gumdrops and licorice twigs greeted my fingers.
My coat had a pocket, too. “Put your free hand in here,” I told Gertie.
Gertie did the same as me, slid her hand down in my coat pocket.
We said good-bye to Hadley’s first-ever snow lady. We walked the rest of the way, toward our neighborhood, with warm hands. Each wearing one mitten, the other hand safe in the pocket of a friend.
Gertie had taught me something important, too. When I do get to a stadium to watch Jackie Robinson steal bases, I will need to wear a stole.
Wednesday, March 16, 1955
Diary Book,
Tonight Daddy helped me with my homework by reading Leo Tolstoy’s “The Three Questions” out loud. It’s a fable about a king who wants to find answers to the three most important questions in life.
Before kissing me good night, Daddy asked me the study guide questions from the story.<
br />
1. What is the best time to do each thing?
2. Who are the most important people to work with?
3. What is the most important thing to do at all times?
Here’s what I told Daddy.
1. The best time to do each thing is when you’re sure it’s the right time.
2. The most important people to work with are people who need your help.
3. The most important thing to do at all times is the thing that helps those people.
Daddy said, “You, Dawnie Rae, have the right answers to ‘The Three Questions.’”
Friday, March 18, 1955
Diary Book,
I showed Mr. Williams the story by Leo Tolstoy. I watched his face as he read it. His eyes worked smoothly across the pages, taking in each word, pausing some, thinking.
He answered the three questions this way:
1. Yesterday is past — forget it. Tomorrow is the future — don’t fret it. Today is a gift, and that’s why it’s called the present. The best time to do each thing is now.
2. The most important people are the ones God’s put right in front of you. Treat them like you want to be treated.
3. The most important thing to do at all times is to believe.
I said, “You, Mr. Williams, have the right answers to ‘The Three Questions.’”
Monday, March 21, 1955
Diary Book,
Today is the first official day of spring, but there is nothing spring-y about it. Our front lawn is crunchy from icy dew that won’t let go. And it’s cold outside. I refuse to wear my hood, even though I still need it. Who wears a hood in March? Not me.
Saturday, March 26, 1955
Diary Book,
Daddy drove all the way to Norfolk looking for a job. He was gone for two days. He returned early this morning, honking his horn loudly as he pulled up to our house in his truck. Mama came out in her house dress. Goober and I followed in our pajamas. I was certain Daddy’d gotten a job. Why else would he be pressing his horn to make such happy sounds?
Morning was the color of a pearl. As soon as we got onto our doorstep, I saw why Daddy was honking. On each side of his truck he’d had a sign painted in curly letters:
LORETTA’S LAUNDRY. FULL SERVICE. FREE DELIVERY.
He said to Mama, “I hope you’ll hire a man whose child is taking such a bold stand by integrating her school.”
Mama had picked the morning paper up off our doorstep.
“Look, Dawnie!” Goober said. “Do you see Daddy’s truck?”
I smiled bigger than big. “I see it, Goob. I see it!”
Daddy came to where we stood. He hugged Mama. “Can I start calling you ‘boss’?”
Mama gave the top of Daddy’s head a playful slap with the folded newspaper.
She said, “You’re hired.”
Tuesday, March 29, 1955
Diary Book,
Daddy’s truck is drawing a lot of attention. Loretta’s Laundry has officially come to Hadley, Virginia.
Thursday, March 31, 1955
Diary Book,
Mrs. Taylor told us today that the Bell Ringer job will now be decided by the results of something called the “Seventh-Grade All Competency Exam.” Each student will take a final test for the school year. The test will cover every subject.
So, I need to know everything about parts of a cell. And, there might be so many questions about branches of government I’ll be wishing those branches could help me climb a tree out of my classroom window. And I bet the test will have enough algorithms to stuff a sofa. And probably thirty questions about “The Three Questions.”
The test will determine who becomes Bell Ringer starting in May and continuing through the next school year.
Later
Tonight when I helped Mama pack up laundry deliveries for Daddy to make tomorrow, I told Mama and Daddy about the Seventh-Grade All Competency Exam. Mama set her iron on its holder. The iron’s steam sputtered from its spout.
“One test decides? Whose knuckleheaded idea was that?” Mama asked.
“The school’s,” I said.
Daddy was balancing a stack of brown-paper laundry packages. His chin secured the one on top. “There’s a gift in it, Dawnie,” he said with a voice that knows.
A giant exam. Where’s the gift in that?
Friday, April 1, 1955
Diary Book,
The man on the radio announced the official start of baseball season is only ten days away! And even though it’s the first day of April, this is no April Fool’s joke. Batting time is finally coming soon.
The announcer asked everybody who was listening, “Will the Brooklyn Dodgers win the world championship?”
Daddy said, “If Jackie Robinson has anything to do with it, they will.”
The Dodgers have come close a few times, with Jackie playing on their team. They’ve played in seven World Series games, but not once in any of those series have they won the world championship.
Dear Mr. Jackie Robinson,
Will the Brooklyn Dodgers make it to the World Series?
I want to know.
Wednesday, April 6, 1955
Diary Book,
Thunder. Lightning. Rain. Rain. Raaaain.
I am not like most people when it comes to a storm. I like the rain and everything it makes. When the sky sends down a sprinkle, I pray for a sheet. Raindrops on my face make me happy. And, I’m a true puddle lover.
When there’s so much thunder that it sounds like heaven has spilled a bag of baseballs, I ask the Lord to have someone up there hire a drum band to bring on more booming.
As for lightning, let it strike!
How else can we see the sky’s design?
Mama practically sealed me in wax paper to make sure that not a drop of wet touched my skin. And she armed me and Daddy with umbrellas as wide as our porch roof. If there was such a thing as a wet-weather mask, Mama would have insisted on one of them, too.
Today, when Daddy walked me to school, I said, “I bet you can’t make it to Waverly and Vine without wanting to open your umbrella.”
“Bet,” Daddy said.
We were already soaked, and Daddy didn’t look too pleased. But Daddy, he’s a smarty. He slid his newspaper out from his coat’s inside pocket, opened it wide, and walked under the tent made by its pages. As good as rain feels on my face, it doesn’t compare to sharing a newspaper with my daddy.
Friday, April 8, 1955
Diary Book,
More rain.
More puddles.
Goody, goody!
Saturday, April 9, 1955
Diary Book,
Today after delivering laundry packages, Daddy took me to the only public place in town that’s not segregated — the Hadley Public Library—so I could study for the Seventh-Grade All Competency Exam.
When I got to the library, Daddy and I slid into one of the study carrels, where we laid out all my schoolbooks and papers. The library is supposed to be a quiet place, but there’s one person whose whisper is loud — Gertie. She and her daddy were in the study carrel next to ours. They were doing the same thing, studying for the exam. As soon as I heard Gertie’s voice, I folded myself over the top of my carrel, peered down, and saw Gertie’s head. There aren’t many people I can recognize by looking at their scalps, but from watching Gertie somersault, I know the top of her head as good as I know my own.
“Gertie!” I tried to speak softly, but it came out loud.
When Gertie looked up and saw me half climbing into her carrel, she was through with whispering. “Dawnie, come down from there. Help me study! What does metamorphosis mean?” she asked.
I came around to where Gertie was sitting. Daddy followed. Our fathers introduced themselves. Gertie’s daddy is a small man with a kind face and glasses that slide to where his nose almost ends. When he shook Daddy’s hand, he did it with both his hands wrapped around Daddy’s. He introduced himself as Dr. Saul Feldman.
“Pleased to meet you,�
� Daddy said, and brought his second hand around to join both the hands of Dr. Feldman.
This is another thing I will never forget if I live to be a hundred. Four hands — my daddy’s strong brown ones and Dr. Feldman’s gentle white ones — clasped together, greeting each other.
Dr. Feldman said to Daddy, “You have quite a daughter. Gertie’s told me about Dawnie.” He smiled when he said this.
We all moved to one of the library’s center tables, out in the open, which we covered with our schoolbooks, papers, pencils, writing tablets, and plenty of scrap paper for figuring. We started with Gertie’s science question.
What is metamorphosis?
I knew the answer right off.
“It’s when something changes from one thing into another.”
Sunday, April 10, 1955
Diary Book,
I don’t believe in the Easter Bunny, but I do believe in sweet things and surprises. Today, Easter Sunday, I got both.
At church, Yolanda kept to herself during the service. But afterward, when it was time for fellow-shipping, Yolanda asked if I wanted to play “Tell the Truth or Die Tryin’.” She was making an X over her heart before I even said yes.
Yolanda started off the game. “Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye. If I’m lyin’, watch me cryin’. ’Cause I know I will be dyin’.”
With the Might of Angels Page 16