by Andrew Kane
Hannah waited for the police to take control, move against the crowd, make arrests and haul them away, but that wasn’t what was happening. What she saw, instead, frightened her to death. Once again, she couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched the crowd break through the police line, attacking with clubs and bats, forcing the police to retreat. A few members of the mob got bludgeoned by nightsticks as the cops got a few licks in, but in the end it was all the same. The street belonged to the mob.
Hannah related what she saw to Rachel, unable to hide her dread and hopelessness. What could they do now? There was no one left to call.
“Joshua, Mama, call Joshua!” Rachel insisted.
“Joshua? What could Joshua possibly do?”
“He’ll help us, Mama, I know he will. He’ll get us out of here.”
Gaven Cato was seven years old, and had just finished the first grade. He lived in a two bedroom apartment with his family, and spent summer days riding his bicycle and playing with friends. His parents had relocated the family from Guyana to Brooklyn only a year earlier, with hopes of finding a more prosperous life.
Gavin and his cousin, Angela, also seven, were the two children who had been pinned beneath Yosef Lifsch’s station wagon on that tragic August night. Lifsch, a twenty-two year old rabbinical student from Israel, was a devoted follower of the Rebbe, and had never been in any trouble of any sort. He was a man who prayed to God three times a day, gave ten percent of his income to charity and, like the Catos, lived in hope for a better world.
Gaven and Angela Cato were playing on a street corner, Yosef Lifsch was performing his duties to his Rebbe, and in one brief instant the fates of these three people collided. For Gaven, life ended within a few minutes. He would never have a chance at the things for which his parents so ardently labored. He would never sit behind that second grade desk, and neighbors would never again see him pedaling through the streets. For Angela, there were traumatic physical injuries from which she would eventually recover, but the emotional impact would last a lifetime. She would forever be scarred by reminders of her childhood playmate and cousin, of innocence shattered and lost one summer night on a Brooklyn corner. For Yosef, there would be an existence of grief and anguish, of the inescapable knowledge that he was the one behind the wheel of the vehicle that had marred so many lives.
For the rest of the inhabitants of Crown Heights, there was the storm; it had finally arrived.
CHAPTER 64
It was just past eleven-thirty. Joshua’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing for the past two hours; it seemed the entire neighborhood had his private number. He was about to go out and take a look for himself—against his mother’s better judgment—when it rang again.
“You get it, Mama. Tell them I’m out-of-town or something.”
“Wait! Joshua,” she called from the kitchen as he was nearing the door. “It’s Hannah Weissman. She sounds bad.”
He picked up in the living room. “Hannah?”
He listened to the panic in Hannah’s voice as she related what was happening. His heart began to race; he hadn’t realized how bad it actually was. The previous calls had described some degree of unrest, but nothing like what he was hearing now.
“What should we do?” Hannah asked desperately. “We have no police protection. They can just come in here and kill us if they want to. My God, what can we do?”
“How is Rachel?”
“Scared. She barely has strength to speak, and can’t even get out of bed.”
“Listen Hannah, please try to be calm, and try to calm Rachel too. I’ll be there. I’ll get you both out, I promise. Just hold on!”
Joshua hung up. Loretta stood behind him, her expression bewildered. “How are you going to help them?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
He took a circuitous route to his office, avoiding the streets where the violence was concentrated. He opened the front door, flicked on the light, rushed to his private office, and began searching through an old file cabinet. He’d defended a lot of clients in his time, but only one who truly owed him. He found the file, pulled it, and looked for the phone number. He prayed that Willie Johnson would still be living in the same place, would be at home, would remember him after seventeen years, and would be willing to help.
A voice came on the line, but Joshua wasn’t sure. “I’m looking for Willie Johnson,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Is this him?”
“Who’s asking?” Suspicious.
“Joshua Eubanks.”
“Joshua Eubanks! I’ll be! How you been, Mr Eubanks?”
“I’m okay, Willie. Sorry to be calling this time of night.”
“Oh no! It’s okay. You can call me anytime.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Willie, because I need to ask you a favor, and I don’t have a lot of time for chit chat.”
“What do you need, Mr. Eubanks?” Willie said as if he were ready to fill any request. Joshua felt good hearing it.
Joshua explained the situation, and what he wanted to do.
“That’ll take a few men, four maybe five.” Willie responded.
“The more, the better.”
There was a brief pause, then: “No problem. I know just the guys. You tell me where you’re at, we’ll be there within an hour.”
Joshua phoned Hannah from his office, told her to sit tight, and waited.
Willie showed on time, with four associates, two of whom Joshua recognized as having been among his alibis that infamous night seventeen years earlier. The men were large and ominous looking, exactly what was needed.
Willie looked pretty much the same, though a bit older and fatter. He embraced Joshua fiercely and introduced Joshua to the others, saying, “This here is my man, Mr. Eubanks. He believed in me when nobody else did, defended me because he knew I was innocent. Now, he’s got a problem and we’re here to help.” He didn’t have to say anything more. The others were obviously with him. Joshua didn’t want to know exactly what enterprise Willie was currently mixed up in, he was glad enough just to see the man.
Joshua explained the plan. Getting to the Weissmans’ building wouldn’t be a problem; unless, of course, someone from the street recognized him. That was where Willie’s men came in. It was their job to keep Joshua surrounded and shielded from view.
Getting Rachel and Hannah out was another matter. Joshua hadn’t completely figured that one out yet. He suggested avoiding the streets, and taking the back alleys.
“We’re going to have to hit the street sooner or later,” Willie said.
“I know,” Joshua responded, not having much else to offer.
“Look, don’t worry,” Willie said. “We’ll do what we got to do. No one in the streets is going to mess with us.” He pointed to his cohorts with pride.
“I don’t know, Willie,” Joshua said. “Those folks are angry. They’ve already scared the cops, and they think they’ve won. They’re all hyped up, and just aching for another showdown.”
Willie held back a smile, as if he were enjoying this. Two of his cohorts chuckled. “We ain’t no cops,” he said as he leaned in closer to Joshua and pulled his jacket open just enough to reveal a very large handgun hanging from a shoulder holster.
“Willie, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with…”
“No need to worry. I never use it. Just keep it for security.
His friends nodded in agreement.
Joshua then realized that they were all packing, but he was desperate and had no other options. He looked at Willie’s crew and knew that they were his best shot at getting Rachel and Hannah out. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go!”
They made it into the thick of things, and were on Rachel’s block just a few hundred feet from the entrance to her building. The crowd was yelling and breaking windows, while Willie’s crew did a good job camouflaging Joshua, who held his head down just to make sure. Then it happened, the loudest noise Joshua had ever heard—two cars blowing up in the st
reet. He couldn’t help but straighten up to see. He’d heard about riots his entire life, and had watched them happening on TV in other cities, but being in the middle of one was unlike anything he’d imagined.
The flames illuminated the entire block, and for a split second his eyes locked with someone else’s, a familiar face not more than fifty feet from where he stood—Professor Alvin Thompson. Joshua instantly knew that Thompson recognized him by the stare and grin of satisfaction on the man’s face. Thompson had waited for this night his entire life—the uprising of the streets, the launching of the revolution. It was the crowning culmination of all his teachings and yearnings. And now it was his to lead.
Joshua realized his plan had hit a snag. He expected Thompson to use the mob to stop them, discredit him, and prove once and for all that he was the Jew-loving, Uncle-Tom others had claimed him to be. It was only a matter of seconds.
Joshua was fearful of a confrontation, especially considering the artillery that Willie’s crew had. He placed his hand on Willie’s shoulder, about to abort the plan, when suddenly to his utter bewilderment Alvin Thompson turned away. It was as if the professor hadn’t seen anything at all.
Hannah rushed to the door, opened it, and gazed strangely at Joshua’s colleagues. “They’re friends. They’ve come to help,” Joshua said.
“How can anyone help, even the police ran away,” she said, panic still in her voice.
“Don’t worry,” Joshua answered, “we have a plan.”
Joshua went into Rachel’s room, and found her lying in bed. She looked at him. “I knew you’d come,” she said. “You always come when I need you.” It was difficult for her to talk. She took his hand.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “We have to get you and your mother out of here.”
“How?”
“With God’s help.”
She smiled, he could still do that to her.
Willie and company entered the room.
Rachel: “Joshua, who’s…”
Joshua: “Rachel, this here is Willie Johnson, and these are some of his business associates. They’re here to lend God a hand.”
Rachel: “Willie Johnson?” Hesitation. “I remember, he’s the one you…”
Willie: “One and only, Ma’am, at your service.”
Rachel: “Joshua, how can we possibly get out?”
He told her the plan.
“I can’t,” she said.
“What do you mean, you can’t? You have to!”
“Joshua, I can barely get out of bed without falling. How do you expect me to go running through the streets and alleys?”
“I’ll carry you.”
“You can’t! Not that far. You won’t be able to move fast enough.”
“A bunch of us will carry you.”
“Joshua.” she squeezed his hand. “I’m too weak. Too much pain. I can’t.” It was getting more difficult for her to speak.
“Rachel…”
“Please, I don’t want to leave my bed. Please! Just take Mama and go!”
“No! I’m not going anywhere without you,” Hannah insisted.
Willie held his hands up in surrender. His eyes said, What now? Joshua didn’t have an answer.
Joshua: “Rachel, you’re talking crazy. We can’t just leave you!”
Rachel: “I’m not crazy, Joshua; I’m dying. There’s not much left. I’m scared for Mama. You have to help her get out of here.”
Hannah: “Stop talking nonsense! I’m not leaving! Joshua, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but Rachel’s right; she can’t go anywhere, and neither can I. We’ll be okay. God will help us.” She didn’t sound too convincing. “Thank you,” she said, looking at Willie and his friends, “but we’ll be okay.”
Joshua noticed that Hannah sounded weak and frail herself. Rachel looked at him, and repeated, “Joshua, please, take her with you. For me.”
“I have an idea,” Joshua said. He took Hannah by the hand and ushered her to a corner of the room. “I can stay here with Rachel. I’ll take care of her, keep her safe.”
“You? What can you do?”
“Look, Hannah, if someone decides to come in here, I have a better shot at bringing the situation under control than you.”
“Control? You can bring the situation under control? Then why not go out on the street and do just that?”
“She’s safer with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but if you insist on staying also, you’re always welcome.”
“Mama, please! Stop arguing. Do you want me to leave this world knowing that you were harmed because of me? Is that what you want?”
“Rucheleh! Stop!” Hannah’s breathing was labored. She began swaying, and seemed to be losing consciousness. Joshua caught her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She was out.
“Mama!” Rachel screamed.
“It’s okay,” Joshua said, trying to sound reassuring. “I think she just fainted.”
“Mama,” Rachel called again.
“She’s unconscious,” Willie confirmed, trying to revive her.
“No don’t!” Joshua said to Willie, stopping him. “Let her be. It’s the only way we’re going to get her out of here.”
“And how’s that?” Willie asked.
“Carrying her.”
“And what about your friend?”
“I’ll stay with her. She’s too sick to go anywhere, and we wouldn’t be able to carry both of them anyway.”
“Who says we can even carry one?” Willie asked. “If she wakes up, she’s going to put up a hell of a fight.”
“You’ll just have to make it happen. And get her to a hospital right away,” Joshua said.
Willie responded with a reluctant, but conceding expression. “Okay, let’s do it before she wakes up.”
“Joshua,” Rachel said.
“What?”
“It could be serious,” she said. “We need an ambulance.”
“We do, but we don’t have one, and by the looks of things outside, there aren’t going to be any. Willie’s our best bet. They’ll get her through the mob and to the emergency room. I promise.”
“Don’t you worry, Ma’am,” Willie added.
“Joshua,” Rachel said.
He looked at her.
“You’re staying?”
“Of course I am.” He brushed her forehead with his hand.
“It’s not safe.”
“We’ll be fine.”
She didn’t argue. All the fight had gone out of her.
Willie and the others picked Hannah up and carried her from the room. “Don’t you worry, Ma’am. We’ll keep her safe and get her to a doctor right away.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, but Willie didn’t hear. He was already out of the room with Hannah and the others. Three seconds later, the front door slammed. Rachel and Joshua were alone.
CHAPTER 65
The riots in Crown Heights began on Monday evening, August 19, 1991. It took more than three days for the police to regain control of the streets. The official word from City Hall was that Mayor David Dinkins had been uninformed about the full extent of the unrest until the third day, due to a breakdown in communication. This, despite the fact that the mayor, Police Commissioner Lee Brown, and various other aides, had all visited the 71st precinct at about one o’clock Tuesday morning, for an emergency meeting with police brass. The mayor’s office argued that, notwithstanding the emergency meeting, the mayor hadn’t actually visited the streets until Wednesday morning and, thus, could not have had a true grasp of the situation until that time.
Investigations into the riots revealed that police were instructed by their superiors to exercise restraint and not make arrests. The department’s explanation was that they were concerned that their officers not escalate the situation and become targets themselves, which, in fact, had occurred in more than one instance. The department also claimed that arrests were made. There were six disturbance-related arrests on Monday, twelve
on Tuesday, and thirty on Wednesday. However, on Thursday, after a firm arrest policy was finally issued, sixty-one arrests were made, almost twice as many as the previous day.
Challenged by the media, accused of ineptitude, the department eventually admitted that there was too much ambiguity, and a breakdown in the chain of command in the field. Until Thursday, when they received specific orders, many officers weren’t sure about how to handle the situation. The department, however, has never assigned accountability for the breakdown.
There was additional controversy, particularly relating to the handling of 911 emergency calls. For unexplained reasons, many response times were far in excess of the norms for that area. Some critics have suggested anti-Semitism as a factor. Whatever the reasons, one thing remains clear: along with City Hall, the New York City Police Department, and 911, all of Greater New York, and the country at large, watched news reports for three nights before any significant action was taken to quell the unrest.
CHAPTER 66
A mid November chill filled the air; the sky was overcast, and the humidity was high. Joshua got out of the passenger seat of the ambulette and helped the driver pull the gurney out from the back. Rachel lay still upon the gurney, tired from the trip, eager for the warmth of her house.
It had been a gruesome week, but now she was home. For Good. She had consented to these last two treatments, more for Joshua and Hannah than for herself, but now it was over. There would be no more treatments; they had proved ineffective, and there was nothing else to be done.
Hannah greeted them at the door in her wheelchair. She was still recovering from her stroke, but was making good progress. With continued therapy, she would soon be using a walker and, perhaps, eventually a cane. She was eternally grateful that Joshua’s friends had gotten her to the hospital that night, for things could have turned out much worse.
Behind Hannah stood Loretta, who had finally quit her job, and would now be helping Hannah and Rachel full-time. Next to Loretta was a young Philippine woman, a nurse from a local hospice, who would set up and monitor some of Rachel’s medications.